He opened the door wider and motioned for him to come in, knowing he would regret this. Already regretting it.
“Sit down there.” Beck pointed at the bar stool closest to the door. When his father didn’t sit, he shoved him down onto it. He trotted back to his bedroom, grabbing the medical kit from his closet and heading back to the kitchen.
His father was head first in his refrigerator, emerging with a beer in hand.
“It’s eight o’clock in the morning,” he said.
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Sit your ass down,” Beck ordered, motioning to the stool. He opened his kit pulling out the gauze, bandages, and wound cleaning supplies and spreading them out on the granite countertop. “Put the beer down and lift your shirt.”
His father gave him the hairy eyeball, taking a deep gulp of the beverage before almost slamming it down on the counter before lifting his blood sodden T-shirt, exposing a five-inch gash on his side.
“What the hell happened to you?” He leaned down, wiping down the area with antiseptic fluid to get a better idea of what he was dealing with. It wasn’t deep but a few stitches would make it heal better. Less chance of infection. “Wait. I don’t want to know. I’m sure you violated your parole or something.” He swabbed the wound again. “I need to stitch this up.”
“Forget it.” Sandy grabbed his bottle and took another drink. “Just slap a Band-Aid on it and listen to me.”
That got his attention. Not the words but the tone. His father sounded…worried. About him. Beck paused, wishing he didn’t give a shit, swallowing down his curiosity.
“Save it. I don’t want to hear it.” He finished cleaning up the wound, pulled the cut together with a couple of butterfly bandages, and slapped a hunk of gauze on top fastened down with tape. He wasn’t his most gentle, but he wanted to deliver his message and get Sandy out of his condo and out of Elliott. “You’re going to leave.”
“Yeah. I’ll get out of here as soon as I deliver my message.”
Beck rose to wash his hands, uneasy about turning his back on his father. It was something he’d learned not to do after countless times he’d been struck from behind, caught off guard, unable to defend himself. But he was bigger now, smarter, and much, much faster.
He turned, facing his uninvited guest head on. “You’re going to leave Elliott. This state. Now.”
“What?” Sandy squinted at him, lifting off the bar stool. He stalked over, stopping within a few feet of Beck. The atmosphere changed with that shift of movement, escalating from the uneasy tension to full blown animosity. Nobody could hate like family, and the Sutherlands had perfected the art of homegrown animus several generations ago.
“You’re going to leave here and not come back. Ever,” he added for emphasis.
“You’re out of your fucking mind.” Sandy didn’t bother to hide the grin that took over his face. It wasn’t a friendly smile and Beck recognized it. That flash of teeth usually preceded his fists flying, repeatedly.
Beck was ready.
“You’re going to get the fuck out of this town. For good. You’re done.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes.” He deliberately pushed steel into his voice, his hands flexing at his sides, body loose like any good fighter. You didn’t want to be tense. Tension slowed you down. “That’s right.”
His father shook his head, the grin now causing the skin on his back to crawl. He expected a refusal, a fight. Not what he got. “I’ve got a message for you. From Daniel Vega.”
“Really? What could he have to say to me?”
“He wants Eddie Wilkes’s territory. He’s a got a supplier to bring some really good shit here if he can come up with a good contact. A unique way to get this into the system.”
“I don’t”
“He wants you to be the contact. At the hospital.”
The laugh broke free and it sounded bitter and ugly to his own ears. He was never going back to that life. Never.
“Out.” He moved forward, pointing at the door, ready to physically manhandle him out of here if he had to.
“Vega wants you. He won’t”
“I don’t give a shit. Get the fuck out.” He barely kept it from coming out as a yell, but he wasn’t going to let his temper get the better of him this time. He walked past his father and opened the door, grabbing his arm on his way. Beck jerked him around, shoving him toward the door, his breathing so heavy that he almost missed what he said next.
“He’ll hurt your woman if you don’t do it.”
That stopped him. Actually it was the cold ice that coursed through his body that nailed him to the spot, frozen in place. He loosened up enough of his body to turn the ice cold fury on his father, nailing him with a direct glare, up close and personal.
Sandy took a half-step back and Beck used this advantage, looming over the other man.
“What the fuck did you say?”
“Your woman. That little black girl with the sweet ass.” Sandy’s expression told him he knew he was venturing into territory that would push Beck too far, but he stood his ground. He was spoiling for a fight. They were long overdue. “Vega’s been watching Virginia Crawford, watching both of you. He knows where she lives, the car she drives. He’s willing to mess with her to convince you to help him out. We had a guy who was taking deliveries but he got caught and busted. All you have to do is a simple pick-up and delivery. Six months. Tops. It wouldn’t be forever. Just a little while.”
Beck didn’t believe that for a second. That’s what all drug dealers said to convince normally sane people to dip their toes into the waters of supposedly non-addictive recreational drugs. He’d said it once upon a time, a memory that added to the bile roiling in his gut.
“Ginger?”
“Is that what you call her?”
The wire of tension holding his body together snapped under the strain. If he’d ever wondered where his last fucking nerve was, Sandy had just found it. Beck didn’t even think about it, his fist shooting out and connecting with a crunch against the other man’s jaw. Fuck, that was going to swell and hurt like a son of a bitch.
It was worth it.
“You tell Dannny Vega that he can kiss my ass.”
He expected Sandy to snarl and try to hit him back. But all he did was wrap his hand around Beck’s neck to hold him still while he spoke. His breath was hot and smelling of beer on his face.
“Son.” If the anxiety and fear in his voice didn’t stop Beck from throwing another punch, that one word sure as fuck did. Son. A word his father hardly ever used. It scared the shit out of him. “This isn’t a request.”
“What are you saying?”
“Vega isn’t playing around. He’ll hurt her. Kill her. He’s…determined to make this deal.” Sandy’s expression changed for a split second, fear shadowing his eyes. He wasn’t making this up. He believed it. He was scared…for Beck.
Beck shook his head, unable to grind out any words. He opened the door and shoved his father out, unable to trust himself not to do something that he should regret but wouldn’t. Something that would fulfill all the early predictions that he’d end up behind bars like his father.
He stalked into his condo, unable to sit, unable to focus with all the shit ricocheting off the inside of his head. His hands shook, and he pressed them together until he felt the bones cracking under the strain. This was fear. He’d known the fear that came with an adrenaline rush, chased it for the respite it gave him but this was different.
His worst fear was that this ugliness, the dark fringe of his life, would touch Ginger had come true. A million times worse than his nightmares.
With a cry of fury that wrenched with exquisite pain from his gut, Beck picked up the bar stool and hurled it across the room. The thud of wood against exposed brick wall and the crystalline shattering of the table lamp didn’t make him feel any better.
He knew what he had to do. Danny Vega was serious. He knew it in his gut that this was persona
l. Whatever imagined grudge Danny carried around was coming to a head, and Ginger was caught in the crosshairs. It was his worst nightmare come true, his past was creeping into his present life.
And the woman he loved—the one he’d always loved—was in danger.
He knew what he had to do.
He needed to get her as far away from him as possible.
Then he would deal with his past.
Chapter Eighteen
Beckett was avoiding her.
Virginia tried to push down the thought as she checked her phone again and officially pushed herself into stalker territory. A fire in a large apartment building had flooded the ER with patients and once again his shift had slid into two. Brief glimpses of him as she went about her own job didn’t help loosen the growing knot in her stomach because sometimes you just knew when you were being given the brush-off.
And she just knew.
It wasn’t what he’d done, but what he hadn’t done that was bothering her. No smiles, no jokes, no stolen kisses in her office when he’d come up there with a fictional issue. No invitation to meet him back at his place.
Virginia loosened the tension planted in between her shoulder blades as she watched the digital numbers click off the floors as the elevator took her to the ground floor of the hospital. They’d made a real connection at the farm. The sex was amazing as always, but this time it was different because he let her see him, the guy underneath the bluster and bravado. That guy was nothing like her father and the realization gave her room to breathe and released some of the tension. Beck was a tornadoa controlled vortex of destruction and awe-inspiring natureand while she would have normally run for shelter, she found herself walking into the windstorm because anywhere else left her feeling bored and restlessly empty.
But he had left the hospital today without a word, her texts about whether they were still on for tonight unanswered. She was not a woman to sit and wonder so she was going to his place to talk. If he wanted to give her the brush-off then he’d have to do it person. She was too old, and they’d lost too much time already for her to play games and hide the fact that she wanted to explore this with him.
The other night on the farm had changed something between them and she couldn’t go back to being the scared, control-freak woman she’d been before she had seen the scars that criss-crossed his heart. Two fucked-up people should not work, but she couldn’t imagine anyone else dealing with her issues. She longed to be the woman who ensured that Beckett realized he wasn’t the kid running drugs or dodging his father’s fists anymore.
The elevator doors opened, and she stepped out of the Muzak-calm and into the shockwave of sound unique to a busy hospital. She paused, digging her car keys out of her purse when a voice she did not want to hear sounded off behind her.
“Ms. Crawford, are you leaving?” Mr. Bent left off the unspoken “already” hanging in the air like fog.
Virginia clamped her lips together, staving off the urge to run. She glanced over to see two of her favorite work colleagues from the finance department lose their smiles and veer off in the opposite direction when they saw him behind her. Nobody liked him. Some people pretended to like him, but that was just to kiss his ass and curry favor. Not this girl. She’d kept it professional, cordial if not a little bit distant, letting her outstanding work speak for itself.
“Mr. Bent.” She spun on her high heels, reforming her grimace into a polite smile. “It is the end of my workday, and I have an urgent personal appointment.”
“I see.” His lips were so tensely poised in disapproval they were blanched white. “Well, if you think you can do the job on banker’s hours, then that’s your call.”
She bristled, her own back taut with her reaction, but she counted to ten and let it pass. She’d never win so she wouldn’t risk antagonizing him by challenging his claim.
“My assistant will set up a meeting the day after tomorrow to vote on the position of ER Team Leader.”
Crap. She hoped she had more time, but his tone told her that she’d gotten as much as she was ever going to get. Mr. Bent was not going to like her vote, and she wasn’t getting into it now—not if she wanted to get over to Beckett’s place anytime soon.
“Fine. I’ll be ready.” She moved to make her way to the parking lot when his next words, delivered evenly with almost no inflection stopped her. “I understand that you and Dr. Sutherland have been spending a lot of time together.”
She closed her eyes briefly, cursing the smallness of small towns. There was no faceless anonymity to hide what should have remained personal.
“We have.” No reason to deny it. They were not violating any hospital policy by seeing each other. While her position oversaw the operations of his department, he reported through the medical chain-of-command. In addition, there was no anti fraternization policy except between those of supervisor and employee. But still…
“I trust that you won’t let it cloud your decision.” There was a mild hint of a warning there, and she didn’t miss it.
“I will have clear and concrete professional reasons for my vote, and as I socialize with both of the candidates, I am not concerned about that issue. They are both fine candidates ad we have a tough decision ahead of us.”
He eyeballed her, the sour twist to his mouth nothing unexpected. To be a young man with a great career and family, he was an unhappy person.
“Have a good night, Mr. Bent,” she said as she turned to walk out of the building, praying that he didn’t keep the conversation going.
Don’t look back. Don’t look back. The mantra played over and over until she hit the asphalt of the parking lot and clicked the button on her keychain to unlock the car. She ran through the steady, cold rain, yanking the door open and throwing her purse and briefcase into the passenger seat, sliding behind the wheel. She turned the ignition and got the hell out of dodge.
Beckett’s place was not far from the hospital—not just a luxury in his position—and she barely got through four songs on the radio when she pulled into a space and hopped out, running through the rain. Butterflies—no swarms of killer bees—tumbled in her stomach as she crossed the cavernous lobby in the converted warehouse-turned-condos and got on the elevator.
If she wanted this with him, she was going to have to work for it. She was not easy. He was not easy. All she could remember was Beckett murmuring, “just give us time” against her skin and she knew this was the right move. God only knew he was going to have to chase her down and keep her from doing something stupid when her demons came to visit.
The doors slid open onto his hallway, and she walked forward, picking up the pace, her heart pounding too hard for it to just be the exertion. Her hands were ice but her back was hot, nerves shot. She hit the doorbell before she could chicken out.
Voices muffled behind the door. At least two. One—Beckett—getting louder as he approached the door. The footsteps stopped, and she had the odd impression that he was looking through his peephole. Another murmur of voices, a twist of the lock, and a press on the knob and it flung open, revealing a disheveled, shirtless, barefoot Beckett wearing nothing but a pair of soft, old jeans. His eyes were guarded, no joy in seeing her on his threshold.
He did not invite her in.
“Ginger.” He glanced over his shoulder and her gaze followed, curiosity overwhelming her good sense. “I didn’t know you were coming over.”
She guessed he didn’t. And neither did the woman who stood in his kitchen. Hair wet and long over her shoulders. Cup of hot coffee in her hands. Wearing one of Beckett’s old rugby T-shirts. And nothing else.
She knew from the slant of his shoulders, the eyes-wide stare of the girl, and the heaviness of the air in the space that this woman was not a cousin. Not just a friend. Virginia knew what freshly fucked looked like and this chick was a winning Pictionary entry.
Virginia could only stare, the pain and fury choking the air out of her and making sound impossible. The swarm of bees in her bel
ly were now a loud buzzing torrent of sound in her head, the pinpricks of pain as they stung.
“Ginger,” he swung his gaze back to hers, moving his body to block out the room behind him. His voice was pained, his face the epitome of contrite.
She wasn’t going to fool herself that he felt bad with his fuck buddy just a few feet away. He was just sorry he got caught. Bastard.
“Ginger,” he said again, this time with less vigor and a distinct edge of embarrassment.
“Who’s your friend?”
“She’s…” His voice drifted off as he glanced over his shoulder to the woman. Their eyes connected across the room and something in Beckett’s demeanor changed. A stiffening in his shoulders and back, a slide of any concern off his face only to be replaced with the cocky nonchalance that she thought they’d put in the rearview mirror. “She’s a friend. Why are you here?”
Her ear drums buzzed with the realization that she’d fallen for his crap again. And it hurt. The last time she’d cried and begged him to explain but not this time. This girl didn’t need it. She’d heard it all before.
“That’s a great question. I have no idea why I’m here.” She turned to leave but his voice stopped her. Some deep, sick part of her wanted to hear what he could possibly have to say.
“Ginger, look…we didn’t talk about anything exclusive.” He cleared his throat, swallowing hard as if he had to prep himself to say what came out next. “You and me? I’m not good for you in the long term. I’m not…safe enough.”
She opened her mouth to blast him, call him out as a liar, but she stopped. He was right. They hadn’t talked about commitment or anything remotely resembling a relationship. Spilling their guts about their pasts wasn’t rings on fingers or changes to Facebook statuses. It left her breathless and limp from orgasms, but it didn’t change anything about them.
“You’re right.” She backed out of the doorway.
“Wait. No.”
“For what, Beckett?” She lifted her chin, trying her best to project that she was a modern woman who didn’t give a shit, but she’d settle for keeping her voice steady. “Our time has passed. We said our good-bye, our hello, and now our good-bye again.”
Southerin Nights and Secrets (Boys are Back in Town) Page 15