Chapter Nine
“You know you don’t have to fix every little thing when you come over.” Beckett’s mother, Minnie, stood with her arms folded across her chest. Her hair was sticking out in every direction, failing to be tamed by the red bandanna tied around her head. “I’m perfectly capable of changing light bulbs and dusting cobwebs.”
“Kayla makes dinner and I fix stuff.” Beckett grunted as he fiddled with the bulb in his mother’s old-fashioned—and fussy as hell—light fixture. “That’s how it works.”
It could have sounded chauvinistic. Or, at the very least, pointlessly upholding gender stereotypes that he was fixing and his sister was cooking. But, on offering to assist with dinner, Kayla had shooed him out of the kitchen under the threat of bodily harm with a rubber mallet.
“Two bloody peas in a pod,” his mother muttered.
“Sorry Aaron couldn’t make it tonight,” Kayla said as she pounded away at the chicken breasts, winking at Beckett when their mother wasn’t looking. “He’s working such long hours lately. I feel like I hardly see him.”
“Does that bother you?” Beckett asked as he finally got the bulb to pop into place. After dealing with a complex coding issue today, requiring several hours sitting in the same position, his muscles protested being stretched.
“That he works a lot?” Kayla looked up. “Sometimes. But I get it, he’s in that stage of his career where he needs to prove himself. I’m sure a time will come where I’m working long hours and he’ll be wishing I was home.”
Beckett shook his head. “See, it’s not unreasonable,” he muttered to himself.
Certainly not the catastrophic event that Sherri had made it out to be. Make hay while the sun shines, that was his motto. Hard work now would afford them the luxury to take life at a slower pace later on. One didn’t get the reward without first getting their hands dirty.
Besides, he liked his job. He thrived on the stress and the deadlines and the problem solving. It made him feel alive. And that was a hell of a lot more than what most people could say.
“Sherri giving you a hard time about it again?” Kayla asked. “She doesn’t understand how passionate you are about your work.”
Minnie rolled her eyes. “Probably because she never had to work for anything herself.”
“Don’t say that,” Beckett said. “She works hard and she got that job on her own merits.”
Beckett shot them both a look as he climbed down the stepladder. This was exactly why he hadn’t told them about the latest breakup. Lord knew he didn’t need the extra drama from his family when they inevitably got back together.
Not that Sherri would afford him the same courtesy. God only knew what she’d said to her father this time—that he was some greedy bastard who ignored her and was married to his work.
Beckett frowned. Okay, maybe that wasn’t entirely off base…except for the greedy bit. It wasn’t that he intentionally ignored her, but some days he got so far into the zone that he tuned the rest of the world out. He’d always been like that—so focused and intent on achieving his goals that he lost himself in his work, in the lines of code and the cloud of ideas that fogged up his brain.
Then why have you been thinking about McKenna all day?
He shrugged off the little voice in his head that seemed intent on taunting him.
“Oh, Beckett. I meant to tell you that I had my makeup trial with your friend on Monday,” Kayla said. “She’s so lovely. And gorgeous. I thought you were just yanking my chain with that whole thing about her being attractive. Why didn’t you tell me you were serious?”
“I didn’t think her appearance would matter for applying makeup,” he said drily.
“But no denial that’s she pretty…interesting.” Kayla grinned.
Oh boy. This was why he wasn’t keen on McKenna meeting his sister. He knew Kayla would jump on the chance to play matchmaker…never mind the fact that she didn’t even know he was single at this stage.
You’re temporarily single and trying to fix it. Don’t get attached to the label.
“Did you like the makeup?” he asked as he came into the kitchen to toss the burned-out bulb.
“I did. I’ve got one more trial lined up, though.” She looked a little sheepish. “I swear I’m not trying to be a bridezilla, but I want everything to be perfect.”
“Isn’t that the definition of a bridezilla?” their mother teased. “It’s only makeup.”
“It’s important.” Kayla frowned. “I know it might seem silly, but his family is a big deal and there will be a lot of photos…”
Beckett noticed the slight tick in his mother’s expression, and the hardening of her mouth. Of course she was supportive of Kayla’s choices about the marriage, but there had been an undercurrent of tension brewing for a few weeks now. And it wasn’t the first time Kayla had called her fiancé’s family “a big deal.”
“I’m sure McKenna would do a great job,” he said, trying to steer the conversation back toward the fluffier side before things got too tense. “Her makeup always looks nice.”
“Since when do you notice someone’s makeup?” Kayla laughed. “I still remember the time Sherri came home with a new lipstick and flipped out because you said you couldn’t tell the difference. Granted, it takes a certain level of perception to tell the difference between two types of beige…”
“I figure it’s more relevant for me to notice McKenna’s makeup, since she’s a makeup artist. After all, I did pass on her details to you.” He rolled his eyes. “How could I recommend someone without first assessing their skill level?”
Kayla looked intently down at the dinner she was preparing, trying to disguise her smirk by focusing on cracking an egg into a bowl. “Just how much assessment have you done?”
“Don’t wind him up,” Minnie said, shooting a conspiratorial look at Kayla. “You know he takes things seriously.”
“One of us has to,” he muttered.
“Hey!” Kayla and Minnie said at the same time.
His sister narrowed her eyes at him. “I take things seriously, but I also don’t live my life like every decision is life or death.”
Beckett scoffed. “Taking responsibility for my work and my finances is not living like everything is life or death. It’s called being an adult.”
Minnie shook her head. “You are too much like your father, Beck. You’ll dig yourself an early grave with all that stress.”
“Someone has to take care of you.”
Shit. He wasn’t planning on having this discussion tonight, but it looked like his worries had been bubbling away more than he’d thought. Not to mention Kayla’s comment about him enabling her—that had been eating away at him, too.
“I never asked for your goddamn money,” his mother said, her blue eyes blazing. “I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself. Did it from the day you were in diapers and I can do it now.”
“Really?” He folded his arms across his chest. “And how are you going to do that without a job?”
“You told him?” Minnie shot daggers at Kayla, who sighed.
“Yes, Ma. I told him.” She shook her head as she proceeded to dip the flattened chicken breasts into a bowl of flour and then egg. “I was worried.”
“I can do without the judgment, thank you very much. From both of you.” His mother folded her arms across her chest, her features settled into a dark expression. “I refuse to work in an environment where I’m not treated properly. And that manager is an idiot. I can’t work for idiots.”
Beckett looked skyward, digging as deep as he could to find the willpower not to remind his mother of all the other jobs she’d quit for similarly tenuous reasons. His mother’s issue with authority was more the catalyst for her employment flakiness than any of her managers’ lack of capability. Or her being treated poorly. In fact, at her last job, he had met the manager and had thought very highly of him. But Minnie Walsh did not like being told what to do. That was the bottom line.
“Besides,” Minnie said with a falsely nonchalant tone. “Greg’s moving back in. So I’ll have someone to help out with the bills.”
“What?” Beckett and Kayla both exclaimed at the same time.
Greg was Kayla’s father and possibly the only person in the world who made Minnie look like a pillar of employment stability. He’d relied on his family’s money for years, but Beckett had his suspicions that they’d cut him off a few years back. Not that they’d seen the man in at least half a decade—had no idea where he’d been, if he was dead or alive. It wasn’t like he called Kayla on her birthday or even sent a card.
“Has he been back here already?” Kayla’s hurt expression made anger wrench in Beckett’s chest. “I haven’t heard from him.”
“Oh, he’s been in and out.” Minnie looked oblivious to her daughter’s pain.
“Sounds like him.” Beckett’s jaw clenched. “He waltzes in and out as he pleases, with no regard for taking care of his family.”
“He’s a free soul, you know that. And I’d rather him be like that than tie himself to me for the wrong reasons.” His mother shot him a meaningful look.
Beckett rolled his eyes at the thinly veiled commentary on his relationship with Sherri. “Oh, and wanting to build a stable and secure life with someone is the wrong reason?”
“You should be more concerned with finding someone you love. Someone who excites you.” Minnie threw her hands up in the air. “Not someone who spends her every waking moment trying to guilt you into changing.”
Did Sherri excite him? No. But why was excitement a measure of a good relationship? It was far down on Beckett’s list of needs. And, from what he’d seen, Minnie’s definition of excitement meant being with a man so selfish he’d disappear without a word for years at a time. Why the hell would anyone want that?
“At least when he’s here I know it’s because he wants to be here, not because he feels obligated,” Minnie added.
“And what about what his daughter wants, huh?” Beckett shook his head. “Did that occur to either of you?”
“Stop it!” Kayla slapped her hand down on the kitchen counter. “Beck, I appreciate the support but I can speak for myself. And Ma, just…tell Dad I would like to hear from him. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”
Beckett dug his fingers into the back of his neck, kneading the tight muscles there. Kayla was right, she could speak for herself. But it killed him to see the way his mother was so oblivious to how Greg’s actions affected her daughter. It’d been this way for over twenty years, and nothing had changed. Greg would come and go without warning, Minnie would always welcome him back, and they both would forget about Kayla’s feelings.
Not exactly a great example of a successful relationship. It was hard not to wonder how their lives may have turned out if his father had beaten the cancer that took him so young. But then he wouldn’t have Kayla for a sister, and Beckett wouldn’t give her up for anything. Which made those lines of thinking pointless.
And sure, what he had with Sherri wasn’t for everyone, but it worked for him.
Did it, really?
A little voice of disquiet needled at him, but Beckett shut the thought down. Of course it worked. Sure, Sherri could be demanding and he could be distant, and their communication styles didn’t exactly mesh. But they’d had a lot of good times together over the years. He was doing the right thing. Being with Sherri was what he wanted—they would work out the kinks in their differences in expectation. Eventually.
But why then did McKenna suddenly pop into his head, unbidden.
You have a plan and you’re going to stick to it. No detours. No distractions.
…
McKenna walked along the street to her apartment building, her chin buried in a thick wooly scarf. It was dark and drizzly outside. Miserable, like her. She hurried along the pavement, cursing herself for wearing heels when flats would have been far easier and more comfortable. But she’d developed this habit of dressing outrageously for family dinners—a little middle finger action to her parents’ overly conservative views on personal appearance.
And really, pink glitter stilettos were the only thing that would go with a silver sequined dress.
She laughed bitterly. Her mother had looked like her head was about to explode when McKenna had walked into their foyer. Her brother, Jason, had stifled a snort behind his hand, but his girlfriend had looked horrified. And McKenna wasn’t even showing that much cleavage. Truth was, she hated the dress—it was too tight and felt scratchy against her skin. But she hated being forced into a box even more.
She walked through the front doors of the apartment building and gave a wave to the concierge. The heating was cranked to accommodate for the unusually shitty weather—even by Melbourne’s standards—but she didn’t want to take her coat off yet. She’d wait for the safety of the elevator.
“Yeah, because it’s fine to give your family an eyeful but you wouldn’t want to flash the concierge,” she muttered as she jabbed the up button.
When the doors slid open, she stepped inside without checking the direction and found herself heading down instead of up. Sighing, she hit the button for her floor and shucked her coat. A second later, once they’d hit the basement parking area, the doors slid open.
Beckett stood there, wearing well-fitting jeans and a navy V-neck jumper that clung to the muscles in his chest. His stormy expression dissolved when he saw her—his brows lifting out of a frown like sunshine breaking through clouds. Dammit, how did he do that?
His gaze raked her over as he stepped into the elevator and stood beside her. “Coming or going?”
She stifled the urge to play with the double-entendre, not wanting to discourage him from talking to her instead of grunting like he used to. “Coming.”
“It’s early.”
“Not early enough,” she said with a wry grin. “It was a family dinner.”
“Oh.” He raised a brow, looking a little confused. She couldn’t blame him—it looked like she’d gone shopping in the sale section of Club Rats R US. “I had one of those, too.”
His tone said that his night had been about as good as hers. “Why are families so difficult?”
He laughed. The deep, smooth sound rippled through the air, sending a pulse of awareness through her. She almost sighed at the little shiver that darted down her spine. Was it possible for her ears to have an orgasm? Because she was pretty sure they just had.
“I don’t know.” He shook his head.
“It’s like they try to be difficult, you know?” She mimicked his action. “I mean, I’ve resorted to dressing like this”—she waved a hand up and down in front of her—“to distract them from talking about the real ways I disappoint them. I’m basically Vegas Bender Barbie at this point. And for what? So they’ll talk about my skanky outfit instead of telling me, yet again, that I should consider going to university so I can get a real job?”
The silence that followed her outburst was broken only by the cheerful ping of the elevator. Wow, that had gotten a little too real a little too quickly.
“I’m sure you have no idea what that’s like,” she said, hoping to hell her face wasn’t as shiny and pink as her shoes. “I mean, you’re a big, successful entrepreneur and all. Your family must be really proud of you.”
They stepped into the hallway and Beckett looked at her, his intense blue gaze drilling right through the sparkle and flesh until it hit bone. “Do you want ice cream?”
McKenna blinked. “Huh?”
“I have some in my freezer.” He cocked his head.
It was impossible to read a man like Beckett. But she figured the offer of food was a good thing. Had she somehow broken through that tough outer shell? The thought warmed her far more than it should have.
“Sure.” She couldn’t stop a smile spreading over her lips. “But I’ll get changed first, if that’s okay. This dress sheds like crazy and I don’t want to defile your couch.”
Oh God. Wrong. Choice. Of. Word.
Defiling Beckett’s couch—with Beckett—was exactly what she wanted right now. She had all this pent-up energy and he looked tastier than a giant slab of cheesecake. Luckily for her, he seemed to take her intended, rather than Freudian, meaning.
“Sure. I’ll leave the door unlocked.” His eyes skated over her one more time, leaving fire blazing in her blood, before he headed toward his apartment.
Biting down on her lip to stifle another stupid, dangerous smile, McKenna unlocked her front door.
She was going to hang out with Beckett. A simple dessert between family dinner survivors wouldn’t be so bad, would it?
“It is,” she scolded herself. “Because you want to jump his bones.”
So true. She did want to jump his bones. Even Mr. Whopper was getting jealous. But that would be bad for the plan. Bad for Operation Self-Love.
Her breath hitched. What if he’d stripped and was taking a shower? It was all too easy to imagine the hard muscle beneath his sensible button-down shirts. He was the hot IT nerd of her dreams.
She pulled up Emery’s number and shook her head as she typed.
McKenna: Help!!! I’m having a self-love emergency.
Emery: You know I love you…but not like that.
McKenna smirked. Trust Emery’s mind to go straight to the gutter.
McKenna: Not that kind of self-love emergency. There’s a guy…there’s not supposed to be a guy!
Emery: Sexy toy guy?
McKenna: Can we not call him that?
Emery: STG for short.
McKenna: Fine. He’s too tempting. I’m about to have ice cream at his place. Having visions of defiling his couch. How did this happen???
Emery: Are you planning to check something off the sex bucket list??
Emery then sent a string of eggplant emojis, and McKenna shook her head.
McKenna: You’re supposed to be my self-love Sherpa.
Emery: I never agreed to that.
McKenna: What should I do??
Emery: …
The three little dots in the bottom corner of her phone’s screen taunted her. Emery never gave that much thought to a text—it was straight from her brain to her fingers. No filter.
McKenna: Well?
Emery: Is he the right guy?
McKenna put the phone down and huffed. The whole reason she even imposed Operation Self-Love was because of her inability to pick the right men. That was, men who didn’t think she was vapid or stupid for her career choice, who wouldn’t put pressure on her to change. Who didn’t think she talked too much. And that went double for guys who’d just gotten dumped by the person they were supposed to marry.
She’d been the rebound girl before. Not. Fun.
McKenna: No, he’s not the right guy. He’s totally Mr. Wrong.
Emery: Then pick up a vibrator and move on.
Emery was right. What the hell was McKenna doing with her life? Wasn’t the very definition of insanity making the same mistake over and over while hoping for a different result? But before McKenna had the chance to figure out what to do about Beckett, her phone started to vibrate.
“Crap,” McKenna muttered. Her mother’s number flashed up on the screen.
She never called to chat. If there was one thing McKenna had worked out about her mother—it was that a phone call meant she was about to get bitched out.
“Hello?” She tried to sound like she’d picked up the phone in a rush, without seeing who’d called.
“McKenna.” Her mother was the only person who could instill such gut-twisting emotion with only the use of her name. “I was going to let it go tonight, I really was…”
“What were you going to let go?” She tried to keep the exasperation out of her voice, because there was nothing that fired Amy Prescott up faster than the sound of someone sighing.
“Your dress, your attitude…just you!”
“Oh, so the usual then?” She cringed as soon as the words flew out of her mouth. How was it that the second she had to deal with her family she regressed to this sarcasm-loaded way of communicating? It was like their mere presence turned her into a sulky teenager.
But dammit, she was so sick of them and their judgmental attitudes.
“You cannot turn up to a family dinner dressed like you’re about to go work a street corner.”
McKenna looked at herself in the mirror of her bedroom. The silver sequined dress had thin little straps that followed the curve of her shoulders and a built-in bustier which pushed her boobs up. She’d worn a black cardigan over the top, because it was cold out, but it didn’t do much to dull the impact of the dress. Sure, it was a little over the top for dinner. And sure, she’d worn it to prove a point.
But having her mother tell her she looked like a hooker…well, that was low. Even for Amy.
“I have to afford my crack habit somehow,” she said sarcastically. “Also, it’s usually dark out and sequins reflect the car’s headlights. So really, it’s a safety thing.”
“McKenna, you are just…” Her mother broke off in an irritated huff. “I try so hard with you but you refuse to listen to anyone. Your life could be so great, you could have the world at your feet. But you make stupid decision after stupid decision.”
The pause stretched out for several heartbeats and McKenna could practically see her mother shaking her head.
“You can’t expect anyone to support you if you continue to act like a child,” she added. “I can’t say I’m surprised that Gage wouldn’t put up with it.”
McKenna swallowed, anger burning a path up the back of her throat. “What’s the real problem? That I came to dinner with my boobs out or that I refuse to let you stifle me with your life plans.”
“Stifle you? I’m trying to enlighten you. I’m trying to help you see that you need to change.”
Amy was right. McKenna did need to change. She needed to take charge of her life and go after the things that she wanted. She needed to change by not being afraid of failure. And, most importantly, she needed to change by seeing that her family might never support her dreams…and she needed to be okay with that.
“I appreciate your concern,” McKenna said. “But I’m not going to be your Mini Me. Sorry, but that’s not the life I want.”