Chapter 23

Beckett

I stormed down the street, the phone pressed to my ear and rage feeding every step I ground into the sidewalk. Concrete and dirt crunched beneath my shoes. People jumped out of my path, some of them did a double-take, anger etched into their expressions, but once they caught a glimpse of my face, of the anger bubbling from it, they backed the hell off, and fast.

“I’ve just gotten off the phone with them,” I barked at Kayla. “They’re not interested.”

“That’s… unfortunate, Beck.”

“Unfortunate? They’re potential investors. Cooper’s already snapped up the businesses we were interested in. This is a disaster. It’s not unfortunate,” I replied, but my tone didn’t carry the truth of it. I didn’t care about the businesses. I didn’t care about the investors. I certainly didn’t care about Cooper.

Red flags popped up in my mind. If I didn’t have my business, what did I have?

“I understand your frustration, but there’s not much we can do about that, now. We need to handle damage control. Beck, it’s a good thing you called me last night to warn me about this. I did as much as I could do before the pictures of you and Bebe—”

“Fuck!” I grunted.

A woman nearby gasped. I ignored her and kept walking.

“Before the pictures of you two surfaced. But it was too little too late.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, there was already an article up about you two faking the engagement yesterday evening.”

“That’s impossible,” I replied.

“I know. And it was written by some vlogger and shared about a hundred times across several social media platforms before you’d even kissed Bebe.”

“I didn’t kiss Bebe,” I snapped.

A cab honked right next to me, and another growl escaped my throat. I couldn’t contain my anger. I’d spent the morning trying but failing to get ahold of Olivia. She’d obviously seen the pictures. Every call had gone to voicemail. Every text had gone unanswered, most unread, too.

Christ, it’d been bad yesterday. What would it be like today? I’d find out soon.

Nothing would improve my mood except seeing Olivia.

“It doesn’t matter,” Kayla said. “That’s what it looks like. Listen, I don’t know how whoever this vlogger dude is found out, but he did, and it’s everywhere, in all the circles that matter. This looks bad, but it’s not the end. We can spin it some way. We can make it seem like she needed help, and you wanted to do the right thing.”

“What?”

“The kid. We’ll say that she wanted you to be a pretend dad to the kid, or that she loves you and you don’t love her, so you faked it because you wanted to help your best friend’s sister. Something cute and sympathetic.”

“You’ve lost your mind, Kayla,” I said. “And if you suggest something like that to me again, you’re fucking fired. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, and without a trace of irony. “But we’ll have to do something about the—”

“Not now.” The business was on the back burner, officially.

In all honesty, the reason I’d started it with Mike was because I’d never found a passion of my own. I was good at dominating people or charming them, according to my needs, but I was shit at picking out something I enjoyed personally.

I’d thrown myself into it not out of passion, but out of need.

Anything to forget her.

For seven years, that was all I’d focused on. Forget her. Put her in the past. Don’t fall for her. Don’t think about her. And now, it had all come back to bite me in the ass.

Money, clothes, alcohol, cars, success—all of it was stripped bare when it came to her.

“—discuss this in person.”

Fuck, I’d tuned Kayla out for a full minute, and she was still chattering on. “What? Repeat that.”

“I said that we’ll have to do damage control. Even if it’s not right now, we should at least meet to discuss this in person. We’ll go over what was said and formulate a game plan for—”

“I said not now. I’ve got someone to see.”

“Beck—”

I hung up and stowed the phone, then turned the corner into the street that contained Olivia’s apartment building. If she wouldn’t answer my calls, I’d go directly to the source. She’d never been able to resist me face-to-face. She’d crumble and listen to my side of this story.

She had to know that I would never touch Bebe. Not after her.

My thoughts dipped back to how she’d been in the jewelry store, picking out the ring, filled with cold fire.

I reached her building and entered, ignored the fucknut sitting behind the desk and headed straight for the elevator, my shoes tapping on the marble.

“Uh, sir? Sir! I’m afraid I have to ask you to give me your name and the apartment you’re visiting,” he squeaked behind me.

I hit the button on the elevator, tucked my hands behind my back, and waited.

“Sir!”

“You know who I am,” I replied.

The doors skated open, and I stepped inside, turned, and pressed the knob that would take me to her floor. Silver slid closed and revealed my image, still grave and stark, all in black and white, but hazy now.

Softer around the edges?

That was what she’d done to me. Made me soft. I couldn’t think the dreaded “word” for it. I couldn’t fathom it to be true. Olivia and Penny mattered now. How they were handling this situation. How this would affect them in the future, with those assholes breathing down O’s neck.

The ride to the top took forever. Finally, I was out, down the hall and in front of her door.

I knocked so hard the wood rattled in the frame.

“Olivia,” I said, and even to me, my voice sounded tense—drawn tight like a guitar string about to snap.

“Go away, Beckett.” Her voice was a balm. I rested my forehead against the door.

“Open up. We need to talk about this.”

“No, we don’t,” she replied. “Listen, Penny’s taking her nap. She’ll probably wake up soon, and I don’t want any interferences in her schedule. You should leave.”

“Bullshit.” I balled my hands into fists. I braced them on the jamb on either side of that door. Just a panel of wood separating us. A single panel. I could almost feel her on the other side.

“This is over, Beckett,” she whispered, right up against the door. “It would be better if you didn’t come back here again. Listen, I understand why you wanted to do this whole engagement thing, but it didn’t work.”

“It doesn’t change anything,” I replied. We hadn’t actually been engaged. Why did this feel like an epic breakup? I’d never had a breakup before. The closest I’d come had consisted mainly of me calling a cab for the chick the morning after.

“You know that’s not true,” Olivia whispered. “You know that this goes deeper than the fake-out. This is bone deep for me.”

“O—”

“No. It’s bone deep for me, but it’s not for you. I know that, now. I understand what type of person you are. You’re the man who can never give me what I want, no matter how much I want you to.” She gave a small, sad laugh. “Typical of me to choose the one guy who could never connect on the level I needed.”

My tongue glued itself to the top of my mouth.

Tell her! Tell her now! Tell her before she shuts you out for good, you fuckhead.

But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

Memories shrieked through me. The time I’d picked my mother off the floor, weeping because my dad hadn’t been home in months, hadn’t called or messaged. The letter she’d left me on the day she skipped out for good—I hadn’t heard from her since. My father’s expression when she’d gone: blank, uncaring.

All of it had pointed me to the truth that love was a farce. That people who loved you left you. That was that.

Silence expanded between us until I was certain she’d left.

A tiny noise proved me wrong. A hiccup? A sob?

But her voice came through strong. “I can’t hold on to this fantasy anymore. I can’t hold on to you. And I think it would be better if you didn’t come around for a while. Penny needs some time to adapt, and we’ve got a long battle ahead of us, no doubt. We’ll do it on our own.”

“I can help.” The only cogent thought I’d formed in the last couple minutes.

“No. I don’t want your help. I don’t want you around. I don’t want to feel anything anymore. Take it back, Beckett.”

A paper slipped underneath the door, and upon it waited the fake ring we’d gotten from the jewelry store. I bent and picked it up, then froze. Not a paper, several papers. Letters addressed to O, the ones I’d written to her in high school and college.

“O,” I said.

“Just take it and leave, OK? We’ll be fine, ha, not that you’re that concerned about it, but we will be.” Her voice was far too cheery.

I left the ring on the floor, but picked up the papers, held them in trembling hands.

“Thanks for trying to help,” she said. “Goodbye.”

And then footsteps traced away from the door, and my world exploded into pain.

So much pain. More than I’d realized was possible.

What the fuck was this? Why did my chest hurt?

My heart ticked like a broken clock. I balled up my fist and drove it into the doorjamb, once, twice as hard as I could hit. Anything to transfer the pain from my chest to my fist. My knuckles split, and blood leaked down my fingers.

My hand throbbed, but it didn’t help.

The agony was still there.

I lifted my fist and stared at it, then opened it. The letters I’d written were balled up inside. I dropped them and backed away from the door, staring at it as if it’d done this to me. Whatever this was.

Don’t play dumb, asshole. You know exactly what this is. You know exactly what you’re feeling.

I lifted my hand again—to beat the door, to tear it down and get through to her, but sanity struck at me. Penny was in there. Olivia needed space.

And I? I needed a heart transplant or a head transplant.

A soul transplant.