27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Roman

B eck rushes from the room, his jaw tight and his eyes full of anger. In hindsight, it was easy to see Holden bothered him. I shouldn’t have said what I did about letting him take the stitches out. But at the same time, Holden is my best friend, and I won’t apologize for that or feel bad about it. I stare at the closed door, my heart thudding. That is not how I thought this trip would go. I never would have thought I’d see Beck here, of all places, which I guess is a little short-sighted of me considering I knew he was planning on going into the medical field.

When I drop my eyes back to my hand, the door opens, and I look up so fast I almost give myself whiplash. Fuck. Just Holden. I’m not sure why I was expecting it to be Beck, but the twinge of disappointment in my gut is not one I’m used to feeling when I see my best friend.

His eyes are wide, a shocked expression on his face. “Holy fuck, Ro. I’ve been working with Beck and didn’t even know it. If I did, I would have told you. I’m so sorry.”

“You really don’t have to be sorry. Judging by the way he talked to me, I don’t think it much matters.”

Holden narrows his eyes. “Was he mean to you? What the fuck did he say?”

I shake my head. “No. He wasn’t mean. I mean, he was shitty, but I can’t blame him for that.”

“He didn’t even wrap your finger,” Holden says, changing the subject.

“Yeah, he ran out of here like his ass was on fire.”

Holden washes his hands and grabs some gauze before sitting down in front of me. “Well, lucky for you, I know how to wrap fingers,” he says with a wink.

I hold my hand out to him dutifully, letting him do his thing. My mind starts to spiral, but Holden’s voice stops it. “I think you could get him back, if you wanted.”

I look up at him, but he’s focused on my hand. “What do you mean?” I ask, hope that I’m almost terrified to feel rising inside me.

“He’s mad, sure, but I don’t know, Ro. I think you could win him back. He took off like a bat out of hell when I said something about our relationship to him. Like full sprint, big tears in his eyes. I think he might think we’re together.”

I replay Beck’s reaction to me saying I’d let Holden take my stitches out, and try to look at it from a different viewpoint. Is it possible that his reaction was jealousy? I mean, he seemed pissed for sure, but what if it wasn’t just anger at me—what if he was angry at the situation? I know I’d lose my fucking mind if I saw Beck with someone else. He wasn’t wearing a ring, but I know Holden doesn’t wear jewelry to work either. So it could honestly just be anger with me. He could be with someone and happy. Thriving. He deserves nothing less.

The nurse who helped me when I came in, Michelle, walks in with my discharge papers just as Holden finishes wrapping my wound and stands. “I’ve got your papers here,” she says.

I take them from her and follow Holden to the door. When we’re back in the hallway, I turn to him. “Sorry about the no stuffed peppers.”

“Nah, don’t even stress it. I’m just glad you didn’t get hurt worse.”

As fucked up as this sounds, I don’t think I’d change it. Sure, getting my hand sliced open sucked, but holy shit , I got to see Beck. “Hey, Hold,” I start. “Do you, uh… do you think you could find out if he’s seeing anyone? I didn’t see a ring, but…”

Holden throws his head back with a loud laugh. “You want me to ask around to see if Beck’s single? You’re really asking me to get the tea?”

Well, when he puts it like that, I feel a little goofy. I give him my best smile as heat floods my face. “Yes. Please?”

He laughs again, rolling his eyes. “I’ll see what I can find out, Casanova. I’m assuming if he’s single, it’s officially Operation Win Beck Hart Back?”

I nod at him, excitement at the idea creeping in. I smile. “Yeah. Fuck yeah, it is.”

“Oh, I am so down to help you win him back,” he says, and a giddy sort of happiness rises in my chest.

I laugh, the feeling too big to keep contained. “But first, we have to find out if he’s with anyone. I’m not about to do anything if he’s happy with someone else.”

Holden nods. “I’ll ask around. Worst-case scenario, I’ll ask him directly.”

My eyes widen in alarm. “No! You can’t ask him. That’s insane.”

“And you think that me playing spy and asking for personal information about someone I barely know isn’t insane?” He arches an eyebrow at me, lips turning up in a smirk.

“Ugh. Okay, fine. Try to be cool about it, though.”

He rolls his eyes again. “Pfft. When am I ever not cool?”

“Do you really want me to answer that or…?” I ask.

“Go home and let me handle this,” he says, glaring at me.

I hold my hands up in supplication. “Fine, fine. See you at home.”

“Try not to further injure yourself before I get there, please.”

“I’ll do my best,” I call out as I head for the exit.

When I get back home, I decide to check in on Dad again. I still don’t think I can make it into the room, but I guess if he really needed something, I could probably muster the courage. I push his bedroom door open and peek in. He’s still sleeping, and if it weren’t for the rise and fall of his chest, I’d be convinced he wasn’t alive at all. He really looks like a dead man walking, and even without the medical training that Holden and Lianna have, I have to agree—he’s not going to make it six months.

A sad pang echoes through my chest. It’s strange because on one hand, I really couldn’t care less about the man. But on the other, he’s still my dad. I just wish that he could have gotten his shit together. I’ve learned a lot about forgiveness from Holden. Mostly how it’s not always for the person or people who hurt you, but for yourself. He doesn’t want anything to do with his parents, and with good reason, but he told me once that he doesn’t have any ill will toward them. He said, “I want them to eat, but not at my table.”

At the time, I didn’t realize how profound that was. Now, I’m starting to understand. After Dad got out of rehab and literally broke my face, I wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. If I’m being honest, I still don’t. But I wish that he could have gotten help—for himself. It’s heartbreaking to see what he’s been reduced to. I wouldn’t have welcomed him back into my life, no matter how long he’d been sober, but I still wish he could have stayed clean. He was once full of love and life, but it’s clear that man doesn’t exist anymore.

I pull the door shut with a sigh and head to my room. I wish I had Beck’s number. I wonder if Holden could get it for me. I pull out my phone, ready to text him and ask, when an idea pops into my head and a smile spreads across my face. I’ll write him a note instead. I was far too detached from everyone in school to pass notes back and forth in class, but if I hadn’t been, Beck would have been the person I did it with.

I look around the room, my heart sinking when I realize I don’t have any paper here. Oh, my discharge papers. The last page only has one line on it. I could tear the bottom portion off. Mind made up, I rush out to my car, grab the sheet of paper, tear off the bottom of the last page, and toss the rest into the passenger seat. If I’m going to do this frequently, I’m going to need to go buy a notebook.

I head back into the house and go straight for the kitchen, hoping that the bottom drawer by the stove still holds all the junk, along with the pens. Some things never change, thank God. I pull out a pen and sit down at the kitchen table. My mind immediately wants to jump back to what happened to me at this very spot, but I don’t let it. Instead, I focus on the pen in my hand and the paper in front of me. What do I even say to him? This is important. It may be my only chance.

I stare at the paper, all my knowledge of the English language exiting my brain because really, how am I supposed to summarize my feelings in a couple of quick sentences?

“Uh, what are you doing?” Holden’s voice startles the hell out of me and I jump, letting out a surprised laugh.

My cheeks heat, and for a moment, I consider lying. But I can’t do that, not if I want his help to win Beck back. “I’m trying to write Beck a note. Like the kind you’d pass back and forth in school.”

Holden nods. “Well, I’m not sure that I’ll be any help with that since I dropped out my freshman year when I got kicked out. No cutesy notes for me.”

Fuck, I hate that. He must see something on my face because he laughs. “Calm down, Ro. I’m not losing any sleep over it. I came out alright, thanks to you.”

“No, you came out alright thanks to you . I gave you a support system, but you did the work yourself.”

He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t argue. He pulls the chair out beside mine and sits. “So, I’m assuming we want this short and sweet? And I’m also assuming I’m the one who has to give it to him?”

I turn my best puppy-dog eyes on him. “Yes, please. If you would.”

He looks at me for a few seconds and cracks up laughing. “My God, you are hopeless. Yes, fine. I’ll make sure he gets it.”

“Thank you! But now, I need to figure out what to write, and that’s way harder than I thought it would be.”

“Hmm,” Holden muses, his eyes distant, like he’s really thinking it over. “I say make it short and to the point. ‘I miss you. I love you. I want you back’.”

“Maybe not that to the point. I was thinking more like, ‘I’m sorry, please don’t hate me forever. What can I do to make it up to you?’”

Holden drums his fingers on the table. “Boring.” Little asshole.

I roll my eyes and write out a small note. Nothing crazy. I can only hope he doesn’t throw it away without even looking at it. I fold it up and hand it to Holden, and he takes it from me with a smile.

“I’ve got a good feeling about this, Ro. I think it’s all going to work out.” I’m not sure I share his optimism, but I hope he’s right. Maybe something good can come from Dad dying. It got me back here—something I would’ve never done on my own. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I was too scared of Beck’s reaction. But now we’ve gotten the first meeting out of the way. If he’ll have me, the only way to go from here is up.

I wake up again in the middle of the night. A glance at the clock shows it’s after two in the morning. Tonight there is no nightmare—only the vague remnants of a dream about Beck. A very good dream, if the state of my cock is anything to go by.

I know I shouldn’t; I don’t even know if he’s single, and jacking off to my ex alone in bed is pretty pathetic. But I can’t help myself. I roll onto my back, my fingertips trailing down my chest, brushing over my nipples as I go, the nubs hardening under my touch. The sensation paired with the mental image of Beck sends a little jolt to my cock. Fuzzy memories from the dream surface; breathy words of praise whispered in my ear, soft touches against my skin, the warm press of his body on mine. It’s more impressions than actual details, but it doesn’t matter. It’s more than enough.

A soft moan escapes me as my hand travels lower, slipping into my boxers. I grasp my aching erection, stroking from base to tip. A shudder works its way through my body at how sensitive I am. I close my eyes and imagine it’s Beck’s hand touching my cock instead, his breath on my skin. A gasp tears from my throat as I rub my frenulum in little circles with the pad of my thumb, pleasure shooting out from my cock into my lower stomach, my balls pulling tight against my body.

Wetting my finger in my mouth, I slip my hand into my boxers. Widening my legs as much as I can so I can slip a finger past my balls, I rub circles under the sensitive head of my dick while gently pressing a fingertip against my hole. My hips jerk as my body trembles. Fuck, I’m not going to last. That must have been a better dream than I thought. I drag my thumb against my slit, pre-cum oozing out, and making the glide slick. God, that feels so good. I press the tip of my finger inside my body, mindful of the fact that spit does not make good lube, while my hand wraps tightly around the head of my cock. I give it a gentle squeeze, and a shockwave of pleasure pulses through my body.

I want to draw this out, but I can’t. I’m already too close, my body trembling, and my muscles strung tight. My hole clenches around my fingertip as memories of Beck whispering to me, touching me, and fucking me float through my mind. After giving the head of my cock another soft squeeze, I stroke down, gripping the base of my dick tightly before sliding back up. The first full stroke makes my eyes roll back in my head, and a low groan rumble in my chest. I catch my bottom lip between my teeth in a valiant effort to keep myself quiet. I pick up my pace as tingles work their way through my body. A bitten off whimper escapes me as I pull my finger out and push it back in, gently fucking myself with just the tip as I continue to stroke myself.

Within seconds, I’m coming, my body shaking, the release so powerful it’s blinding. I stroke myself through it slowly, milking myself until I’m too oversensitive to keep going.

For a few moments, I lie in the blissful haze before pulling my finger free of my body. After taking off my soiled boxers and tossing them to the floor, I get up to go clean up. I make sure to peek into the hallway to be sure I’m not about to get caught by Holden, before rushing across to the bathroom. I clean up quickly and do a mad dash back to my room.

I all but dive into bed and roll to my side with a smile tugging on my lips. It takes no time at all for me to drift back to sleep.