37. Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Roman

T he house is quiet without my dad here. Not that he’s all that loud, at least not anymore. Still, though. It’s strange. It feels… empty. Even though I know I don’t want to leave Beck, I also don’t want to stay in this house—at least not long term. I haven’t talked to Holden about the possibility of giving it to him, but I really should call about that dumpster. I’ve been putting it off. It feels strange to even think about trying to fix the place up. I tried as a kid, and it brought me nothing but heartache. It feels like one of those things that isn’t meant for me. I’ll make sure Holden gets help with it when I offer it to him, though. I think he’ll quite like having this old house. We can get it fixed up for him. He’ll have something all his—that no one can take from him.

I run my fingers through my hair with a sigh before climbing out of bed and heading to the bathroom to shower. As the hot water rushes over my skin, I let my mind drift. It doesn’t take long to come back to Dad, though. It never does. When I’m not with Beck, when Holden isn’t here, when I’m alone in this place—with the memories and ghosts in the walls—my mind always comes back to him.

Hell, even when I’m not alone, it sometimes does. Part of me feels like I’m the reason he relapsed all those years ago. Alexis and Holden have both assured me that isn’t the case. Hell, Beck has too. But it doesn’t change how I feel. I was supposed to be helping him, trying to get him back on his feet, and I failed. But honestly, he failed too. Thirty days of hard work and what seemed like a real commitment to getting sober, blown away in less than forty-eight hours.

Sometimes, when I get lost in my thoughts, I wonder if things would’ve been different if I had been more involved—if I had come back home after he got out of rehab. I have to remind myself often that it wasn’t my place. He made his choices, and with every hit and harsh word he lobbed at me through my childhood, I had no obligation to help him. Hell, even if he had been an exemplary father, I still wouldn’t have an obligation to him. Therapy for the win. It’s hard sometimes—truly convincing myself of that.

There are days I wish I could go back in time—to my life before my mom left, before he started drinking, and find out exactly where it all went wrong. Alexis and I have talked a lot about that—the juxtaposition of the first eight years of my childhood versus everything that came after.

It’s hard to move on, hard to hate a man who was so fucking good at one time. He was attentive, caring, and loving. He went on field trips with me when I was in school. He played with me outside, helped me climb trees, and played tag with me. He’d read me bedtime stories. Sometimes he’d sing me to sleep. Sometimes I’d even sing with him. I loved being around him. I looked up to him so much. I’m sure I loved my mom too, but it was different with her.

Then she left. She left, and my entire life fell to shit. It was like a switch had flipped—so quickly that it made my head spin. It wasn’t a gradual shift. One night, Dad tucked me into bed, gave me a huge hug and a forehead kiss. He sang to me, told me he loved me. Then, in the middle of the night, I woke to screaming, crying, and loud crashes. I snuggled my rabbit, cried myself to sleep, and when I woke up, Mom was gone. From that night on, I never got tucked into bed again. I never heard my dad sing me to sleep. I never got to hear another bedtime story. Nothing.

That was the first time I saw my dad drunk. I don’t think I recognized it for what it was at the time. I remember thinking his voice sounded funny. It made me giggle, actually. I’d never heard him sound like that. At first, I thought he was doing a funny voice to make me laugh. But when I did, he screamed at me to go to bed. He had never yelled at me before. I cried myself to sleep that night too. And the smell of whiskey… I still can’t stand it—still can’t stomach the way it smells.

I shake myself from my maudlin thoughts as the water starts to run cold. After stepping out of the shower, I dry myself quickly and head back to my bedroom. I have no idea what I’m going to wear tonight, but the evenings are getting chilly, so I’m thinking something warm.

I pick up my phone to check the time, and there’s a text from Beck.

Beck

Hey, what’s the dress code tonight?

Me

Warmish, I think. We’re going to be outside.

Beck

Outside? What are we doing?

I smile at my phone.

Me

Didn’t I already tell you it was a surprise?

My phone buzzes again, and I glance down at it, smiling at the selfie Beck sent me—his hair an absolute mess, blue eyes sparkling, and his lower lip jutted out in a pout. He’s so gorgeous.

Me

You can pout all you want. It’s still going to be a surprise.

Beck

Ugh. Alright, fine.

I grin before setting the photo he sent me as my wallpaper. We didn’t get a chance to take more photos the other day. We’ll have to rectify that tonight.

Beck’s message that he was on his way home from work couldn’t have come at a better time because I’m truthfully dying to see him. I’m not sure how I managed to make it ten years without him, since thirty-six hours seems to be doing me in.

I gather the supplies we’ll need for the date and head out the door. I’m not sure why, but I’m a little nervous. Sure, Beck and I have slept together on the phone and in bed last night, but this is our first date. Our second first date. My stomach flips as a smile spreads across my lips.

When I pull into Beck’s driveway, he’s standing on the porch, wearing a hoodie and jeans. His hair is slightly damp, like he just showered, and his hands are tucked into his pockets.

I park the car and get out, bounding up the driveway to meet him. I feel a bit like a teenager as I approach him, and I can feel my cheeks heating. This is so ridiculous.

Beck grins, pulling his hands from his pockets and holding them loosely at his sides. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I breathe, feeling a little awkward, which is so strange. It’s not an uncomfortable feeling—more like nervous anticipation. We both start talking at the same time.

“Are you—”

“Can I—”

We both chuckle, and my cheeks are practically burning. “You first,” I murmur. Beck steps into my space, bringing a hand up to brush it along my cheek, his eyes tracking the movement. I know he’s looking at my blush, and his light touch and the intense way he’s staring at me have butterflies rising in my stomach.

His eyes find mine. “Can I kiss you?”

I nod quickly, and before I’m even done, his hand drops from my face to grip the side of my neck, pulling my face toward his. I expect the kiss to be harsh, but it’s not. It’s soft, seeking, almost a little innocent.

He pulls back. “Okay, what were you saying?”

I swallow hard. “I, um, I was wondering if you were ready?”

“Yeah. Are you gonna tell me what we’re doing?”

I shake my head, then take his hand in mine. “Nah, you’ll see soon enough.”

“I missed you today,” he admits. “Fuck, I’ve missed you for ten years, but knowing you were nearby and that I’d get to see you? It made it feel so much more intense for some reason. I could barely even focus on work.”

“I missed you too. I spent the entire day counting down the minutes.”

He offers a small smile as we head toward my car.

He comes to a quick stop. “Oh shit! Can I go grab my sketchbook?”

“Yeah, of course.” Truthfully, I’m so glad he’s drawing again. I know it was never something he wanted to do seriously. It was mostly a hobby for him, but that he spent all this time without it? Fuck. It’s a tough pill to swallow.

He gives me a quick peck on the lips. “Okay, be right back.” And then he’s jogging back toward the house.

I lean against the hood of my car while I wait for him to come back. I’m not kept waiting long. Within minutes, he’s walking back out of the door, his sketchbook and a pack of his fancy, expensive pencils tucked into the crook of his elbow.

For the first time in the history of our entire relationship, I beat him to the passenger door and open it for him. He looks at me with wide eyes and a soft part in his lips. I lean in to give him a quick kiss and shut the door behind him after he climbs in.

When I get in, he’s glancing into the back seat—which is cheating—but that’s okay. I’d almost bet he won’t be able to guess what we’re doing solely from the blankets I have piled into the back seat.

It doesn’t take us long to reach the little park on the outskirts of town. It’s not like our town is filled with crazy bright lights, but there is basically zero light pollution out here, and the stars are gorgeous tonight. The forecast was perfect for what I had in mind.

Beck stares out the window in confusion. “What are we doing, beautiful?”

I turn in my seat, taking in his full profile as the moonlight reflects off his face through the window. “Stargazing.”

His lips turn up as he looks at me. “Yeah?”

I nod. “As you can see, I brought us plenty of blankets. I figured we could go out and lie together under the stars, and just talk.” I shrug, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious about my choice for a date night.

Beck’s smile grows wider. “That honestly sounds perfect. Let’s go.”

Relief floods me, and I climb out of the car, grabbing the blankets from the back seat. We walk together through the park until we reach a clearing on the side of a hill. It’s gorgeous here during the day, but there’s really something to be said about the scenery at night.

I spread the blankets out, creating a little bed on the grass, leaving one extra for us to cover up with if we need it. We’re both dressed okay for the weather, but just in case.

Once they’re settled, we lie down, side by side, on our backs. Beck lets out a soft sigh, his hand instinctively finding mine in the dark. As our fingers intertwine, my soul settles.

“It’s beautiful out tonight,” Beck finally says after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

“It really is. I hope you don’t think this was a stupid idea.”

He pulls his hand from mine, and props himself up so he can look down at me. “I don’t think it was a stupid idea at all. It’s sweet. Intimate. I like it.”

I hum, reaching up to play with the strings hanging off his hoodie. “What made you choose to be a physician assistant?” I ask. “I thought you wanted to be a nurse, like your mom.”

“I did, but then I changed my mind.” He turns his eyes away from mine. “I was really excited to come home and tell you about it.”

Guilt floods me. “I’m sorry.”

He gives me a smile tinged with sadness. “It’s okay. I’ve already forgiven you. I promise it’s alright.”

It’s really not okay, but I’m forever grateful for the chance to try to make it that way. “Do you like it?”

He raises his free hand, slipping it under my hoodie. His fingers caress my bare stomach, and my muscles contract under his touch. “Yeah. I really do. I’m sure I would have liked being a nurse too. But this feels like my calling, you know?”

I nod, slightly breathless from his gentle touch. “Why not full medical school?”

“I thought about it, but honestly, I didn’t want to go to med school. Too much time.” He gives a little one shoulder shrug. “Besides, I can do most of the same things as a doctor.”

“That makes sense. I never had that kind of ambition. I like working with the kids at the center.”

“I bet you miss them, huh?” he asks, his fingers pausing, a slightly worried expression on his face.

“Yeah, I do,” I breathe. “But I wouldn’t want to be anywhere but where I am right now. With you.” That seems to relax him some, and his fingers resume their soft, slow stroking. “Holden used to try to convince me to come back home.”

He seems a little shocked by that. “Really?”

I nod. “Yeah, I was… not doing well. At all.” I let out a pained chuckle, old memories trying to shove their way into my happy bubble. “If I wasn’t waking up screaming because of what happened with Dad, I was crying about you. Holden used to tell me all the time to go home. He kept saying he wasn’t a kid anymore, that he could manage on his own.”

He doesn’t say anything, but a million emotions flicker over his face.

“Like I said before, I wanted to come back. But I couldn’t leave him, you know? He relied on me. As fucked up as it sounds, he gave me purpose. Made me feel like I was worth something. Not because of who he was to me, like with you. But because of who I was to him . I took care of him. Hell, sometimes I feel like I raised him. But honestly, he raised me too. He’s the biggest reason I wanted to start working at the center. Things were… really fucking bad for him, Beck. His teen years make mine look like a picture-perfect life.”

He pulls his hand out from under my hoodie to run his fingers through my hair. “I think that makes sense. With him, you were me . You had something to work for. Someone to fight for. I wouldn’t have guessed that about him, though. He carries himself with so much confidence and poise.”

I know that most of that is a front, a defense mechanism. Just like his snark. He’s actually quite vulnerable and soft underneath that tough armor. “Yeah, he is pretty confident in certain things. Like his job. The stuff he’s confided in me about, the things he went through to survive? I couldn’t put him through that again. That’s why I didn’t leave. And then by the time he finished nursing school, I figured it was too late.”

He swallows hard, his fingers toying with the ends of my hair. “I understand. I think it probably would have been an impossible choice for me as well. It’s easy for me to say you should have done this or that, but until you’re in that position…” His voice trails off, and I feel myself relaxing some.

“Come here,” I whisper, gripping his hoodie and pulling him toward me until he’s on top of me. He doesn’t hesitate to kiss me, running his tongue along my bottom lip and then slipping it into my mouth. I gasp, arching my hips up.

His hand tightens in my hair as he kisses me deeper, our bodies and lips moving in perfect synchrony. He brings his other hand to my hip, once again sliding under my hoodie, his palm warm against my skin. “I missed this,” he whispers.

“Me too. So much.”

Using his grip on my hair, he tilts my head to the side so he can kiss along my neck. Everything feels new and somehow exactly like it used to. I’m so turned on I can barely breathe, and I know we’re either going to have another sex-adjacent situation on our hands or we’re going to have to stop.

He lifts his weight off me. Stopping it is, I suppose. He pulls his hand from under my hoodie and slides it between our bodies, toying with the buttons on my jeans. “Can I?” he murmurs, his lips brushing my skin as he speaks.

Oh. So, not stopping then. I nod rapidly. “Yes, please.”

He sits up, much to my disappointment, and straddles my thighs. After quickly unbuttoning my jeans, his hand slips inside, gripping my cock. I groan, my hips thrusting up, pushing my cock into his hand.

My hands frantically undo his jeans, and then I’m pulling his hard length free. He scoots back just enough to tug my jeans down. I watch as he spits in his hand, then grasps both our cocks in his grip. The heat of his dick on mine and the way he squeezes us tightly together sends a shudder through my body.

His eyes find mine in the dark. “Is this okay?”

I nod. “Perfect.” My voice is barely above a whisper.

He braces one hand on the ground next to my head and leans forward, pressing his lips back to mine. He moves his hand, stroking us together as his mouth explores mine.

The build-up is slow—heat spreading from my cock to the rest of my body, melting me into the blankets below us. He doesn’t speed up his strokes, or deepen our unhurried, gentle kisses. My balls start to throb and part of me wants to thrust into his hand—speed this up—but I don’t. I force my hips to stay still. He whimpers against my lips, his hips stuttering. His strokes slow even more. He pauses at the top and smears the pre-cum wetting the head of our cocks with his thumb. Sharp pleasure explodes in my body at the touch, my back arching and my body starting to tremble.

“Close,” I whisper. He squeezes our cocks tighter together, the slippery heads rubbing against each other in his fist. I groan at the sensation, trying to hold off. I don’t want this moment to end.

He pulls his mouth from mine and sits back up, then pulls my hoodie up, exposing my stomach. He goes back to stroking, but it’s slow—so slow. My hips twitch. My orgasm is coming at me in slow motion, my body buzzing and tingling. “So close,” I groan. His hips rock, his cock sliding along mine. I fight it with everything I have, my body twitching, breathing in short gasping pants. “I can’t stop it, Beck,” I whisper, feeling the pleasure start to explode at the base of my spine.

“Then don’t, beautiful.” That’s all it takes. My dick jerks against his as rope after rope of cum covers my stomach. I whine and shake through it, and seconds later, Beck’s coming too, his sharp gasp tearing through the quiet night, mingling with the sounds of the crickets.