CHAPTER ELEVEN

 

Marriage is like owning an orange grove.

At first it seems like a good idea.

Then you realize you hate fucking oranges.

 

NOX

Lou places a drink on the bar beside Beck’s hand. My cheek twitches as she picks it up. Her gaze doesn’t leave mine. I should probably warn her. Like she warned me that she was going to rearrange my house.

God, I was ready to say to hell with it when I left the cabin. Seeing what she’d done to my home. Having her take my stuff like that. Even though she has no idea that along with my furniture she took the money I’ve been socking away to fix up Casey Records. And I was about to deal with those damn oranges too. But when she took the dresser she took all the cash I’ve managed to squirrel away. She doesn’t have a fucking clue though. There’s no way she would have realized the damn dresser had a hollow compartment in the top drawer.

Feels like Lena all over again. Feels like I’m making the same mistakes over again. Letting a woman run my life into the ground. Letting her walk all over me. Letting her take everything that matters to me.

I’d come to Mayhem ready to drink my ass stupid, but Finn and Dean had found me, talked me ‘round. Reminded me that Beck’s not trying to ruin me, only trying to get me to let her go. Which I can’t, so whatever she wants to throw at me, I have to find a way to deal with it. The money I’ve saved can wait. It’s nothing compared to what I’ll receive for dealing with Beck for a little while longer. She’s going to have to try a hell of a lot harder if she wants to shake me. And even then I’m here for the long haul.

She walks my way. Hips shimmying with each step. She raises the glass toward her mouth as she sits on the chair Dean vacated.

“You probably shouldn’t...”

Her throat muscles tense and release as she swallows several times. Until half the creamy liquid is gone.

I glance down at my beer. Have to shift position. Kind of uncomfortable to watch her throat work that way. Sexy. Makes me hard. Want to give her something else to swallow.

Her ass hits the chair. The glass in her hand clinks on the table. “Oh my God, what is that?”

I shrug. “Casey special.”

She coughs and clears her throat a couple times. “I doubt I’m going to be able to sleep for a week. So much coffee.”

“That’s the whole point. It was made to get you through the next shift, or show, or tour stop.”

“I can’t believe you suggested I have one of these.” She tucks her chin in and arches her neck. “I can’t believe your sister would make me one and not warn me.”

“I can’t believe you rearranged my house without asking me.”

She snaps her mouth shut and glances at the stage. Drags a stray bit of blonde hair behind her ear while she watches the band. “I didn’t expect you to be so furious about it.”

“Yes, you did.” She’s toying with me. Playing as though we’re at war. We probably are at war in her head. Girl has a real case of commitment phobia. But she isn’t trying to take everything from me. She’s trying to find a way out of a situation that’s uncomfortable for her.

“Okay, I did. I hoped it would make you want to sign.”

“I read those articles you’ve been using as your playbook.” Read them, ha! Know them backwards and forwards. Once I saw that byline, her byline, with my last name, I soaked up every single article. The first one was my favorite, not that I plan on telling her that.

Those pretty eyes focus back on me and she takes another sip of her drink. Sticks her tongue out, makes a face like she can barely stand the taste. “This is truly terrible.”

“You’ll grow used to it. After a while. Like beer.” I tip my pint in her direction and polish off the pale liquid.

“That’s not going to happen.” She turns her nose up and pushes her empty glass away.

“Those articles. You wrote them.” It’s not a question. Our first night together was her starting point for the series.

“I did.”

“Is that how you usually handle your problems, babe?” I sit up and lift her glass up, squeezing my fingers close over the top when I catch Lou’s eye. My sister gives a slight nod that she got the message.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Beck says.

I lean in, resting my arms on the table. “You’re trying to leave me with no option but to do what you want.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s what I’ve done.”

“Now, I’m going to tell you something.” I take her hand. It’s small and warm between my own. That stray tendril of hair flops forward again and I smooth it back for her. Going to tell her this plan of hers isn’t going to work. There’s nothing in her playbook that’s going to make me sign those papers. Too close to fixing my mistakes and making my siblings’ lives easier. Can’t quit on them. She tilts her face to my hand. My fingers graze her cheek and it’s like a shock to the heart. “I don’t want to let you go.”

“Please don’t,” she whispers, dropping her gaze to the table. Her voice is cut off by the noise of the band, but the words her lips make are clear. Their meaning, though... could be anything. Please don’t tell me that. Please don’t let me go. Please don’t expect me to drink another one of these awful drinks. But I get a split second, one flash of the hurt and sadness in her eyes before she shuts it away. Don’t know what put it there but I want to ease it or erase it or destroy it. Want to see her smile again. If I can.

We’re both quiet as Lou puts fresh drinks on the table between us. She pauses and squeezes my shoulder before she walks back to the bar. Beck’s hand stays in mine as I lean in even closer. She doesn’t pull away. I wait for her to. Expect it.

The band wraps up their set and leaves the stage. My beer disappears. Half her drink too. The crowd heads for the exits. Lou shouts that it’s last call. An eternity seems to pass between us, before she comes back to me. Beck glances at our hands with a strange uncertain expression. “You really won’t let it go, will you? I could take everything from you.”

“You could.” My chest tightens uncomfortably. It’s hard to breathe. I force my lungs to fill with oxygen. Push it out. There’s not much to take. My family. My dad’s name. Hollander. Everything else I’ve already let slip through my fingers. My music career. The studio. All of it gone because of my careless decisions. Only marrying her, being with her doesn’t feel careless and for the first time in years there’s a spark inside me that gives me hope. “But you won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No, I don’t.” All I have is a hunch. And some hard-earned experience. “But there’s only one thing you could take from me now that would mean anything.”

“What’s that?”

I chuckle as I climb to my feet, pulling her up with me. Lift her chin with my fingers. “Would it be smart of me to tell you that?”

“No, probably not.” She winces and chews on her bottom lip. Her chin juts out a little and she stares at me as she takes her hand from mine and folds her arms under her tits. “But it doesn’t matter. It’s only a matter of time before you realize I’m right and you’re wrong.”

“Don’t be so sure of that.” Her tenacity brings out the ox in me. If she can be stubborn then so can I. Especially when I’m almost certain that none of the crazy things she’s done so far have been to actually hurt me. Only to push me away. And she’s ignored the easiest way out of this situation from day one. Surely she’s considered leaving. “Why are you still here, Beck?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re still here. With me. You moved into my house. You say you want me to sign the papers, but you act like you’re scared, and you just want me to hold you tight.”

Her eyes grow round, the blue popping under thick lashes. Soft lips part as she gasps. Her gaze sweeps to my arms and my chest and up again to my face. There’s a galaxy of thoughts in her irises. Shock. Fear. An awareness that wasn’t there before. She swallows and the little triangle at the base of her throat becomes more prominent. Spinning on her heel, she sprints for an exit.

The crowd is clearing, heading off in different directions as I leave Mayhem. Her short little skirt makes a swish sound with every step she takes. Her heels click on the pavement. I married this crazy lunatic. I married a girl who asked me to hold onto her for better or worse, and I let her down. I let her run and hide. Because I didn’t know her. Didn’t understand what she needed from me. Because I’m fucking good at letting people down. I have a knack for it. Damn near a talent. 

I catch up to her as she hops the gutter on the far side of the road. Grab her hand and pull her back to me. Wind both arms around her waist and crush her to my chest.

“Let me go.” She thumps a hand against my bicep. She’s breathing shakily. Her whole body is vibrating with tension.

“Tell me why you’re still here. It doesn’t add up, Beck. It doesn’t make sense. You don’t need me to absolve this marriage. You could do it from anywhere.”

“It’ll take too long,” she cries.

I drop my arms to my side and take a step back. For her to be in such a rush there has to be a reason. Is she planning on marrying someone else? I don’t like the idea. It’s bitter and prickly and as irritating as a badly strung guitar. And it doesn’t make sense. Not with the girl in front of me who can’t manage to even say the words that come with relationships. “Why? It’s been almost two years.”

“Twenty-one months and two weeks,” she says.

“Fine. Why now?”

“You won’t understand.” She shakes her head. “Trust me. It’s better if we don’t talk about it.”

“You might be surprised at how much I can understand if you open up to me. Together we might even be able to make this situation easier.”

She laughs. It’s high pitched. A little cracked. “Are you superstitious at all?”

“If you’re asking me if I believe black cats are evil, and walking under ladders will bring you bad luck, no.” I shrug. “But I own a lucky pair of jeans that I wore the day my band was signed. And I had routines I ran through before gigs. Would have sworn by them at the time like a footballer swears by his lucky jockstrap.”

“What?” She frowns. Purses those pretty lips in a way that distracts me.

“You don’t know what a jockstrap is?”

“Of course I do.” She flutters her hands between us like she’s swatting mosquitoes. “That’s not the point. You were in a band? You went on tour? You’re Dalton Casey’s son. How do I not know this? Music is what I do. How do I not know about you?”

“How about we walk and talk?” I take her elbow, turn her around. “The truck is back this way.”

“Will you tell me?”

“Tit for tat. You tell me why you’re so damn pushy about getting me to sign those papers. I’ll give you a lesson in ancient history.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Everything is. Just give it a try.”

We walk the length of the block and turn down the side street beside Mayhem before she speaks. “Okay.” Furrowing her brow, she takes a deep breath and hugs herself tighter. “We McClains have bad luck. Like ridiculously bad luck when it comes to relationships. Including marriage.”

“Is that what you’re scared of?” I take out my keys as we approach the truck. “That this will fail. So you’re trying to make it impossible from the get go.”

“No.” She shakes her head fervently. “You don’t understand. I’m not trying to make it impossible. It is impossible. We don’t work. And we can’t. Even if I believed in...”

“Feelings?” I unlock the truck and open the door for her.

“Yes, that will do. Even if I did, which I don’t, that would only make it worse. My grandmother calls it a curse. She says we’re cursed.”

“And you believe that.”

“I...” she glances at the ground beside her, “...don’t. There’s plenty of scientific reasoning as to why relationships don’t work. Thousands of articles on the internet and in medical and science journals.”

“But?”

“Two years seems to be the length that any McClain relationship lasts.” She exhales and scrapes those same loose strands of hair back behind her ear. “I probably sound crazy. Or like I’m making this up. But I’m not. I’m trying to save us both from wasting our time.”

She’s so damn sincere. And Liv’s three month offer slips right into that timeline. Like Beck’s friend is desperately hoping I can prove to her that this belief she has isn’t real. And I want to prove it to her. I want to catch her up and not let go. The same way I wanted to when I married her. I meant it inside Mayhem when I told her I won’t let go.

Getting close to her, I take her hand, find her pulse with my thumb and finger. It echoes in my own chest. Doesn’t feel like science to me. Doesn’t feel like a bad thing either. “We’re not cursed, Beck.”

“You still don’t understand.” She stares up at me with sadness. “My mother was married multiple times. Even my own parents were only together for eighteen months. My brother. Dash. He’s the only one in my family who got married and made it to two years. His wife died on the anniversary of their first date. Wanna know how long they had together? Two years, literally. Okay, and a few minutes if you want to be pedantic. But that’s not the point.”

“Christ.” No wonder she’s freaked out. No wonder she chooses to hide behind statistics and science. It would be easy to string these incidences together and label them as a curse. And if her whole family is set on believing it’s so... “I’m sorry.”

“Now you get it?” Hope shines in her gaze. “You understand why you should sign.”

I shake my head as I tug her into my chest, cradle her in my arms, and nuzzle the top of her head. I understand exactly why I shouldn’t do what she wants. And it’s not just about the money and the studio, though it should be. Without the cash Liv’s promised me, I’m letting my family down. My dad. Myself. Screwing up yet again. Without it I have nothing to offer her. “Angel, don’t waste your time, because I am never going to sign them. Understand?”