Star Struck (23 page)

When Beckett returns he has a photograph in h
is hand. I bring my legs up to my body as he sits beside me. My bare toes brush over his jeans. “This was taken a couple of years ago.” He drops the picture into my hand.

I lower my gaze, my eyes connecting with the glossy photo. “She’s so pretty.” Glancing up at him, I smile. “She looks a lot like you.”

“And you.” Beckett tucks his finger under my chin.

“Not really. We ju
st have the same coloring.”

“It’s more than that.” Beckett takes the picture back and stares at it, a wistful expression cloaking his face. “Quinn was the sweetest person I knew. There was an innocence and
openness in her eyes that’s just like what I see in yours.”

“So what you’re saying is that we’re both naïve?”

“I wouldn’t say naïve. I would say that you aren’t jaded.”

“Not yet anyway.” I smil
e a little sadly, knowing that at some point Quinn had to have been tainted in order to take the path she did.

“You never will be if I have anything to say about it.” Beckett turns to me and kisses me softly on the cheek. Then he drops the picture on the coffee table. “Hey, I have something I want to talk to you about.”

“Okay.” I face him.

“I’ve been thinking about how awesome it was when we did those songs together at the festival.”

“It was.” A smile leaps to my face at the memory.

“I think we really have something together, Star.” Beckett reaches for my hand, rolls it between his fingers. “How would you like to be the lead singer of our band?”

“What?” I’m dumbfounded. “No, it’s your band.”

“I don’t mean instead of me. I mean with me. I don’t want you to just sing backup anymore. I really think we can get a recording contract if we present ourselves as a team – you and me together.”

My heart leaps in my chest. “I would love that.”

“Me too.” Beckett scoots forward, his head tilting toward mine. His hands come up around my face, and he crushes his
lips to mine. I reach my arm out tracing my fingers up his neck and rest them behind his head. As I drink in the taste and feel of him, I know this is exactly where I belong.

“So, are you ever going to tell me about this new boyfriend of yours?” Mom stands at the stove, stirring a pot of noodles. Her brown hair frames her face in tiny curls, and an apron is tied loosely around her waist.

I sit at the barstool, my elbows propped up on the tile counter. “What makes you think I have a boyfriend?”

Mom swivels her head and smiles at me. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe that huge grin on your face and the fact that you get a text every few seconds.”

As if on cue, my cell vibrates. I glance down at it.

Writing a song. Thinking about how much your lyrics suck.

I have to bite my tongue to keep myself from laughing out loud. I quickly type back.
Start being a jerk again, and I’ll write another tortured song.
When I look back up Mom is staring at me wearing an amused expression. “Sorry. I didn’t realize I was being so obvious.”

“We sort of suspected it over Thanksgiving. Well, at least Leo did.” She wipes her hands on a rag.

“He’s pretty perceptive for a seventeen-year-old boy.”

“He just looks up to you. He always has.”

I think about Beckett and Quinn, and my heart aches for all he’s lost. Now I know why he’s so sad. My life has been a walk in the park compared to his. Remembering how much he hated my cheery lyrics that first time we wrote together, I totally understand why now. Only now he makes me so happy that I can only write sappy lyrics again. I know, because right before I left to come here we tried to write together again. I grin, thinking about how he teased me endlessly that night. He said that he’s ruined me and I’ll never write a good song again.

My cell buzzes again.
Not gonna happen.

Which part? You being a jerk, or me writing a tortured song?

Both.

Mom leans across the counter toward me
. “So tell me all about him. I want to know everything.”

I squirm uncomfortably on the stool. How much do I really want to tell her? “Well, his name’s Beckett.”

“I like that. It’s different.”

Yeah, I should’ve figured that knowing how much my mom likes different names, hence Galileo and Star. A thought strikes me. “Hey, do you remember the band Killjoy?”

“Of course. I loved them.”

“His dad is Barry Nash.”

“Really? Your dad’s gonna flip.”

I prop my head up with my hand. “Dad liked them too?”

Mom nods, returning to the stove. “Is Beckett a musician like his dad?”

“Yeah, he is.” I take a deep breath. “That’s actually how we met. I sort of joined his band.”

Mom whirls around, the spatula in her hand dripping on the floor. Recovering, she sets it down on the counter and reaches for a dishtowel. “You’re in a band?”

“It’s not really a big deal. We just practice once a week and play sometimes on the weekends. It doesn’t take away from my studies, I promise.”

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”

I shrug, grimacing. “I wasn’t sure how you’d take it.”

Mom walks toward me. “Honey, you can tell me anything. You know that.”

“But it just seemed like you didn’t really want me to pursue music.”

“I don’t want you to give up your schooling for it, but I don’t mind if you do it as a hobby.”

“Thanks
, Mom.” Guilt washes over me for not telling her sooner, but I also feel relief that it’s finally out in the open now. This must’ve been how Beckett felt when he finally shared about Quinn with me. It’s hard to keep a secret trapped inside.

“What does Beckett play?”

“Guitar, and he’s our lead singer.” My lips push upward. “He’s so talented, Mom.”

“It sounds like you really like him.”

“I do.”
I may even be falling in love with him.

Early Christmas morning, my phone trills. With my eyes closed and my head still pressed to my pillow, I reach out and run my fingertips over my nightstand until they flutter over my phone. Snatching it up, I press it to my temple. “Hello.”

“Merry Christmas, Star.”

I open my eyes and sit up in bed. “Merry Christmas, Beckett.”

“I can’t wait until you come back so I can give you my present.”

“Does it involve scented candles and roses?” I tease.

“You have a dirty mind, Star Evans.”

“It’s your fault.” I tuck an unruly strand of hair behind my ear.

“It is, huh?”

“Yeah, if you weren’t so hot I wouldn’t think like this so much.”

“It is a curse for sure.”

I shake my head. “So even Christmas isn’t making you more humble, huh?”

Beckett laughs
, and I long to be near him. I want to feel his arms around mine, his lips against mine.

“You’re thinking about it again, aren’t you?” Beckett says, and I hear the smile in his voice.

“Shut up.” I giggle.

“Man, I love your giggle. I think I love it just as much as I love your singing.”

I feel my cheeks warm. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Star. But it’s only a few more days, and then you’ll be back.”

“I can’t wait.”

“Me either.”

The couple of days after Christmas fly by in a whirlwind of shopping and hanging out with my family. They’ve wanted to know everything about the band and Beckett, and I’ve shared as much as I can. So far they’re not being wei
rd about it which is good. Dad’s a little guarded, but he’s always like that when it comes to me. I guess it’s a dad’s job or something.  Beckett and I have talked and texted every day that I’ve been here, and I can’t wait to go home tomorrow and see him in person.

After dinner I slip into my room and dial his number. Leaning against the wall I hold the phone to my ear.

“Hey, Star,” Beckett answers.

“Hey.” I slide down the wall and sit on the carpet. Just hearing Beckett’s voice makes me feel content. “I’
m so excited I get to see you tomorrow.”

“I know,” he says
, but his voice lacks its usual fire.

My stomach twists. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I don’t know. You just sound distant or something.”

“Oh, I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Like what? Did something happen?” Agitated, I coil my hair around my finger.

“Sort of.” He pauses. “We’ll talk about it when you get back.”

A sense of dread blankets me. I can tell by the tone of his voice that this isn’t going to be a pleasant conversation. “Are we okay, Beckett?”

“Of course, Star.”

I want to believe his words, but something isn’t right. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow then.” I hang up, wondering if I’ll be writing tortured lyrics again soon.

30

Beckett

“You’re really going through with it, huh?” Tate gives me a curious look
from where he sits on the recliner when I hang up with Star.

“I don’t have a choice, man.” I groan, dropping my cell on the coffee table.

“You always have a choice.”

“Not this time.” Just thinking of what I’m about to do causes my insides to churn. I lean my head back on the couch cushions and let a long stream of air push past my lips. Even though I know I’m doing the right thing, it doesn’t make it any easier. I know it’s going to rip my heart out of my chest to do it.

“I just don’t think you should rush into anything, Beckett. Give it time. Talk it through with Star,” Tate says.

I shake my head. “It’s too late. I’ve already made my decision.”

“It’s just that you finally seemed happy for the first time in a long time.”

“And this will make me happy too.” I force a smile, hoping I’m right.

“I hope so.” A weary expression cloaks Tate’s face. “How do you think Star will take it?”

This is the part I don’t want to think about. I had been so looking forward to Star returning to Seattle, but now I
’m dreading it. After mulling over Tate’s question for a minute, I answer honestly, “I think Star will take it the same way she takes everything. With grace and understanding.”
And it’s going to make me fall for her even harder.

My stomach is in knots, and my chest is so tight I can barely breathe when I hear the knock on the door, signaling that Star is here. I glance down at her wrapped present sitting on the coffee table. I remember when I bought it and couldn’t wait for her to open it. Now I’m not sure that it’s going to matter at all. This day isn’t going to turn into the heartfelt homecoming I had originally envisioned.

I barely have time to get the door open before Star is in my arms. I a
m assaulted with a rush of limbs, hands, lips, and her amazing honeysuckle scent. For one second I contemplate changing my mind. Perhaps being with Star is worth giving up everything for. I wonder if simply this would be enough for me. As her lips collide with mine and her hands massage the back of my head, I find myself fantasizing about what a future with her could be like. It’s tempting, but the minute we part reality crashes over me and I know I can’t afford to think like that.

“I missed you so much. “  Star walks past me to get inside.

“Me too.” I close the door, the weight of what I have to say bearing down on my shoulders.

Star sits on the couch, her gaze landing on the small wrapped box. Her eyebrows lift. “Is this for me?”

I plop down next to her. “Yes, it is.”

She picks it up, rolling it in the palm of her hand. “It’s a little too small to be roses and scented candles, huh?”

“Still can’t get it off your mind, huh?” I grin, even though inside I’m dying. Bantering with her just makes this that much more difficult.

She nudges me with her elbow and giggles. Then she tears into the wrapping paper with gusto.
I watch her flushed face with a growing sense of dread. There’s nothing I want more than to take her in my arms and never let her go. I’ve never felt like this about anyone, and the thought of letting that go seems crazy to me. But then again, I don’t believe in fairy tales. Just because I like Star so much now doesn’t mean I always will. And what happens then? If I give up on this opportunity for her, won’t I grow to resent her for it one day? That’s a chance I just can’t take. As Star reaches into the box with a pleased smile spreading across her face, my stomach knots. Why did I allow things to go this far? Why couldn’t I be stronger when it came to her?

She pulls the silver necklace out, the star dangling from her fingertips. “Oh, Beckett, I love it!”