Wrong then Right (A Love Happens Novel Book 2) (33 page)

“A cemetery. He’s dead.”

Stunned, she lifted her head, staring at his blank face. The blunt words hung in the air for what seemed an eternity before she placed a single, soothing kiss over his heart.

Knowing he’d refuse sympathy, her voice was serious, but not somber. “I know a little something about death, so I’m not gonna give you the whole, I’m sorry for your loss, speech. But what I will say is, that really sucks, Beck.” She squeezed his hand. “I bet you miss him a lot.”

His throat moved as he swallowed. Silent and still staring up, he nodded.

She laid her head on his pillow, wrapping her arm around his waist. Minutes passed before she felt him relax, his head rolling to rest against hers. Silence surrounded them in comfort as they laid next to each other, lost in their own thoughts.

“When my mom died, they covered me with a pool towel.” She knew he wouldn’t share his experience, but he would listen to hers. And a thin measure of peace could be found in the knowledge that others bore the same crushing weight of loss.

“I was in the bathroom with Rosa when we heard yelling. Then a loud bang. She started wailing and praying in Spanish, and I started crying, too, because I knew something bad had just happened. I remember being so frightened. And my skin hurt, like I had a sunburn. We had to wait in the bathroom for a long time. Just waiting. Until Ash finally came to get us.”

“I think he was crying, too,” she continued, whispering her way through the awful memories. “And that scared me even more, because I knew Ash wasn’t afraid of anything. He had a pool towel, with blue and white stripes. The kind you take to the beach. And he said, ‘close your eyes, Hope, and don’t open them until I tell you to.’ So I squeezed them shut and he covered my head with the towel, then carried me out of the bathroom. He kept telling me not to open my eyes.”

Her mind back in that moment of chaotic confusion, she recalled the same details as always, which were few. It was a blessing. “I got to sleep in a canopy bed in the big house that night. It had a yellow bedspread with ruffles, but it hurt my sunburn. The bedroom was gigantic. And it had a lot of doors. I remember checking to see if they were locked or not, and wondering where they all led to. I couldn’t figure out why there were so many damn doors. I was used to one.”

She eventually figured it out. The bedroom suites in that house were the size of a modest single family home.

“When morning came, Rosa tried to wake me up. I wouldn’t open my eyes until Ash came in and told me it was okay. It was years later before I realized why he did that. He didn’t want me to see my mom lying dead on the floor.”

Closing her stinging eyes to the disjointed memories, she sighed heavily, wishing for the darkness of Ash’s towel again. Beck was silent, lying utterly still next to her, but she knew he’d been listening, his hand randomly flexing in hers. The steady rise and fall of his chest lulled her into a light doze, until the rumble of his voice jolted her awake.

“They train you to believe you can single-handedly conquer the world.”

Hope didn’t move a muscle, afraid he might stop talking.

“Exercise after exercise, until you do everything exactly right, with methodical precision and unwavering confidence, a hundred times over. They train you for everything, including how to walk like your life depends on it, because much of the time, it does. What they don’t train you for, is carrying the headless body of your best friend three and a half klicks to a helo drop, knowing his family will find peace more easily if they have a body to bury.”

He inhaled a deep, serrated breath, letting some of the pain flow out in a long, cathartic exhale. He’d told the story in one, long-winded rush, as if pausing to breathe was impossible. And she knew he was out of words.

Hope bit her lip as tears filled her eyes, trying desperately not to sob.

“Good Lord,” she said loudly, wiping the wetness away as she sat up. “They make hardcore anti-depressants for people like us. We’re exactly who they had in mind when they concocted the formula.”

He smiled, his green eyes softening, and she smiled sadly back, running a finger over the arch of his brow. “I wish you could’ve had a towel.”

“Me, too.” Cupping her cheek, he pulled her close. “Thank you.”

“For what?” she asked, the question barely more than a breath.

He hesitated. “For listening, I guess. For not telling me to sac up.” Then he kissed her, fusing their lips. Sealing their bond.

Pulling back, he laid his forehead against hers. “For not asking questions that require answers I can’t say out loud.”

And then he reached for the sheet, sliding it up over them and effectively shutting down their pity party. They laid facing each other, hands laced palm to palm, finding it was easier to maintain eye contact when you weren’t spilling your innermost secrets.

“Did you talk to Val? He nearly pissed himself when I showed up.”

“Good. Serves him right,” she said, but shook her head. “He won’t return my texts. Ironic, isn’t it?”

“Give him some time. And when you do talk to him, cut him some slack. People fuck up. Everybody has their own shit to shovel and sometimes it gets so deep you can’t stand your own stink anymore.”

She blinked, digesting that sage piece of advice, disgusting as it was. “I love it when you get all philosophical.”

There. She’d said it.
Love
. Not in the way she wanted to, but at least the word was out in the open. But his silence spoke, too. She’d thrown chum into the water and gotten no bites. Not even a freaking nibble.

Upping the ante, she threw another juicy tidbit out. “I might not go to Denver.”

“Hope. No.” He rolled away, severing both physical and mental connection.

She sat up, holding the sheet against her bare body. “I might work at the club through the winter,” she pressed. “I could save enough money to enroll at the university next fall.”

Beck sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands and his back to her. Not a good sign.

“Bridget’s roommate is moving out, so she needs someone to fill the spot.” Just in case his objection was about them living together. “We could carpool.”

Not that she wanted to leave, but she wasn’t a squatter. They could date like a normal couple. Because normal couples dated these days, right? Hell, she didn’t really know. Maybe they just met for a quick dutch dinner, then went to a motel and screwed their brains out. If so, she was on board.

He spoke over his shoulder. “You’re going to Denver, Hope. No matter what. Even if I have to drag your sweet ass there myself.”

“Wow, what a nice thing to say, Beck! Romantic words every woman wants to hear from the man she just had sex with.” She threw up her hands. “And spilled her guts to, by the way!”

“I’ve been inside a crack house.” He scrubbed a hand over his head while her brain tried to comprehend his words. “As a paying customer.”

“You’ve done crack?” Call her sheltered, but she didn’t know anybody who’d done crack. And she wouldn’t know a crack house from a... well, a regular house. It would probably be run down. Maybe on the wrong side of the tracks. A pimped out Range Rover in the driveway and broken appliances in the yard. And Jesus Christ, why was she getting bogged down in what constituted a crack house?

“I was this close.” His fingers were an inch apart. “The only thing that stopped me was Grant. Called me right before the exchange. Some fucked up kind of twin thing.” He shrugged. “It didn’t matter, though. The new bottle of Jack Daniels I’d just bought gave me what I needed. It took the whole bottle, but it got the job done.”

Okay, so crack was out. But, alcohol was in. “What did you need?”

“Oblivion.” Pointing to his head, he added, “Lights out.”

“Because of Josh.”

He froze, looking stunned. As if the connection had never occurred to him. “No. Because I want it. Badly. So badly, that saying badly is putting it mildly.”

“Beck, I haven’t seen you drink in all the weeks I’ve been here.”

Yes, she’d seen him drinking bottled beer the night at the Vistancia, but she never saw a tumbler of booze in his hands. And she’d witnessed nothing since. He’d only come into the club twice and the second time, he’d been drinking ice water. The first time, he’d ordered a bottle of beer from her, but left with it still sitting full.

“I haven’t. Not in ninety-seven fucking days. But I want to. And it doesn’t change who I am, princess. Once a drunk, always a drunk.”

“I have never seen you drunk, so please don’t call yourself that in my presence,” she said, hating that he reduced himself to that. “I read your bio on Ash’s website. You’re more like, I don’t know...” she searched for the right words. “A national treasure or something. Hero material. And ninety-seven days is amazing, Beck. That’s three days away from double digits. A milestone.”

He looked at her, nodding his head thoughtfully. “A national treasure, huh? I wonder if that’ll get me laid more often?”

Her mouth gaped. “Well, that wasn’t nice, you stubborn asshole. And you better hope it does, because your personality sucks!” Sputtering in outrage, she looked for her clothes. “Meaning, it’s so bad, it won’t get you laid!”

“Don’t leave. Please.” He stopped her when she grabbed a pair of panties, searching the floor for her shorts, ready to walk. “Please, don’t leave. I’m sorry. Fuck—” He groaned in frustration, gripping her shoulders gently. “I’m sorry, Hope. That was a stupid thing to say and I didn’t mean it. But I’m nobody’s hero. I’m not and I don’t wanna be. I’m just a man.”

Over her tantrum, she returned his hug, feeling his big body melt into hers.

“A good man,” she whispered, taking another chance as she patted her chest. “My man.”

“Don’t derail your life for me, Hope.” He patted his own chest. “There’s nothing here.”

Placing her hand over his, covering his heart which beat like every other living, breathing person’s did, she looked him in the eye and called bullshit. “I disagree.”

“I live my life by the hour, honey, not the day. I get through one hour without a drink, then I start on the next hour. Some days are good. Some are bad. Those I take by the minute.”

She remembered the bottle of whiskey in the pantry, readily available. As if to test himself.

“Hold on,” she said, holding up a finger. “Don’t move, okay?”

Running down the stairs, she grabbed her canvas bag and scrambled back up.

Surprisingly, he was standing in the same spot. Taking his hand, she led him back to bed, pulling the thin sheet up over them. Then she shook out the faded pink plaid, the small blanket only big enough to cover his upper body.

“This is my bad news blanket. Rosa gave it to me after my mom’s funeral.” Tucking it around him, she patted it into place. Looking into his eyes, she saw the vibrant green fading, replaced by exhaustion. “When things get really bad, I wrap myself up in this blanket and I breathe. Minutes go by fast. Hours don’t seem so long. And eventually, the bad goes away.”

His brow lifted. “Forgive me if I’m skeptical.”

She shrugged. “You’ll see. We’re not so different, you and I. With our fists up, ready to fight the world alone. But we’re not alone. We have each other. An open heart isn’t an open invitation for someone to hurt us. Good things can happen. Yeah, people fuck up,” she said, snuggling into his body, feeling relief when he pulled her tightly to him. “But we cut them some slack because everyone has their own shit to shovel and sometimes it’s so deep, even they can’t stand the smell anymore.” Tilting her head up to him, she grinned. “A wise man once told me that.”

He snorted. “Sounds like a real dumbass.”

“Nope,” she whispered. “He’s a warrior, and a hero, and a carpenter. He likes to make things go ka-boom and pow-pow, and he makes my heart go pitter-pat. Not much of a talker, though.”

With a smile on her face, Hope fell fast asleep in his warm, protective embrace, under the cover of her bad news blanket. Safe and sound in the arms of her lover and her love.

And it was beautiful while it lasted.

Because much like a dreaded storybook fairy tale, the clock soon struck the top of the hour, a loud, dooming bell signaling the dawn of a new day and taking with it the happy princess she’d come to be and the charming prince she’d come to love.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

In her dream, the incessant pounding came from a shirtless and sweaty Mr. Man Candy. He was building her a custom closet the size of Rhode Island, with angled shelves for her collection of flip flops, glass front cabinets to showcase her designer knock-off handbags, and a motorized rail system for her cocktease uniforms that would make any decent dry cleaner green with envy.

In reality, the incessant pounding was coming from outside the open window, the drapes pulled shut over the blazing, late morning sun, but doing little to block the annoying noise.

Groaning, she whipped the covers off her naked body and padded to the window.

Beck had left the bed hours ago, up as usual with the sun, and she figured he was already at work by now. The Price is Right played quietly on the huge TV mounted to the wall, and considering the showcase showdown was in full swing, it had to be almost ten. Too late in the day for her to make a fuss over neighborhood noise, but if that bitch across the street was the culprit, Hope might pull her fake hair extensions out with a single tug.

Blinded by the sun, she squinted, staring at the source of the pounding. It wasn’t the neighbor. It was Beck. And a Realtor.

Grabbing the first article of clothing she could find—the white dress shirt Beck had worn that night at the Vistancia—she broke the plastic hanger in her haste and flew down the stairs. The front door ricocheted off the wall when she whipped it open, stubbing her big toe against the metal threshold. Frozen, she stood in the doorway and watched Beck hammer a
FOR SALE
sign into the ground, just under the canopy of her jacaranda tree.

Somebody could take a baseball bat to her kneecaps and it wouldn’t hurt more than this.

He stopped, hammer in mid-air, acknowledging her presence for a split second before the pounding resumed, the jarring echo cutting through the tension.