Keep Holding On: A Contemporary Christian Romance (Walker Family Book 3)

by Melissa Tagg

  “Shut up.” He budged past his brother.

  “Is that any way to talk to your host?”

  Logan’s laughter followed him into the house.

  Kit flopped over in the daybed in Charlie’s room—formerly Beckett’s sister’s room. She tried fluffing her pillow, flinging off the comforter. No use.

  Restless energy barred her from sleep. She should’ve known not to have that second cup of coffee after dinner. But it’d smelled so good—crème brûlée flavored, a perfect complement to their dessert of pumpkin cheesecake. That on top of the dinner of lasagna and breadsticks had put her into a blissful food coma earlier this evening.

  Or maybe it was the laughter, the conversation that had filled her with what could only be satisfaction. Pure, unadulterated satisfaction. For a few hours there, she hadn’t thought even once about the orchard or Dad or Lucas. It should’ve been enough to quell the effects of caffeine and lull her into a contented sleep.

  But she’d been lying here for nearly an hour, eyes that refused to stay closed tracing the pattern of curtain-muffled moonlight on the carpet. Finally, she slipped from the pink sheets of Charlie’s bed and padded barefoot to the doorway. Maybe a glass of water would help.

  She tiptoed past the bedroom that belonged to Logan and Amelia, where Charlie was bunking tonight, as well. Apparently the little family had decided to make an adventure of it. Charlie had insisted that Kit look in earlier. “We’re going camping in the house. We’ve got sleeping bags and pillows and blankets and everything.” She’d spied the bed edged against the wall and filling most of the rest of the room, a tent.

  They should win some kind of award for being the cutest family ever. Logan and his daughter and brand new wife. Even from the brief time she’d spent around Amelia, she’d been able to pick up on the bits and pieces of the woman’s own hurt-filled past. A broken marriage and unwanted divorce. Forgotten dreams only recently revived. Logan, of course, had lost his first wife in a tragic accident.

  Now look at them—so happy this house practically thrummed with it.

  One hand glided along the railing leading down to the first floor, where Beckett slept on the couch. She hurried into the kitchen, hoping the running faucet wouldn’t wake his sleeping form. She filled her glass and stopped the water, lifted it to her lips, and—

  “Can’t sleep?”

  At the whisper over her shoulder, she jerked and whirled. Before she realized what she’d done, she doused the whisperer in water.

  Beckett sputtered, but even in his own shock, he managed to stop her from shrieking with one finger to her lips. He caught her toppling glass with his other hand before it could hit the floor.

  Water trickled down his cheeks as he grinned and reached around her to set her glass on the counter behind her. Her alarm-filled surprise swept away in a wave of awareness. He stood so close.

  And smelled so good, both soapy and masculine—the tips of his hair still damp from the shower she’d heard him take in the bathroom across from Charlie’s room. Or maybe—more likely—from the water she’d just thrown in his face.

  “Sorry.” She murmured the word against his finger. Behind her, the faucet dripped.

  “What? You don’t think I got clean enough during my first shower of the night?” Even in a whisper, his voice still held its usual rich timbre.

  “If you hadn’t snuck up on me—”

  “I wasn’t sneaking.”

  “Then you must walk like a mountain lion or something, all quiet and careful-like.”

  Did he realize he’d pinned her to the counter? One hand still perched behind her. The other, he’d lowered from her mouth and instead angled around her opposite side to fiddle with the faucet until the dripping stopped. “Mountain lions walk quietly?”

  “I don’t know,” she hissed into his chest. “Probably.”

  And then, with a telling reluctance, she slipped under his arm and away from the counter. Away from him.

  When he turned around to her, amusement filled every nook and cranny of his expression. And maybe even a smug knowing. As if he could hear every note of the instantly and absurdly nervous hum feathering through her.

  Don’t be ridiculous. This is Beckett.

  Beckett who managed to make sleep-tousled hair and a faded old tee look almost alluring.

  Not almost. Entirely.

  “Sorry I woke you up. And threw a glass of water at you.”

  “Stay up for a while. I couldn’t sleep, either. Let’s get a snack.” He turned to the fridge.

  “You’re actually hungry after that dinner we had?”

  The open fridge lit his profile. “That was, like, four hours ago.” When he turned back to her, his impish grin widened as he pulled the lid off a Tupperware container. “I knew it. One piece of cheesecake left.”

  Any argument died at the sight of the dessert. “I’ll get the forks.”

  He lifted one eyebrow. “Did I say I was sharing?”

  She grabbed two forks from the dish rack in the sink. “You’re too much of a gentleman not to.”

  “Quite right.” He said it with a proper lilt, then nudged his head toward the living room. He pushed aside the blanket Amelia had spread over the couch earlier and dropped onto the sheet-covered cushion. He looked up at her. “Well?”

  It’s not a bed, it’s a couch.

  And this was Beckett. Beckett. There was absolutely no reason for the flutter of nerves accompanying her movement as she sat.

  No reason except the firm outline of his arm against hers and the fact that he smelled like a darn forest.

  “Fork?” He snatched one from her hand and cut into the cake. He held up the bite in front of him before shaking his head and handing the fork to her with a sigh. “Now I’m such a gentleman, I’m giving you the first bite.”

  She curled her legs beside her as they ate, Beckett’s familiar quiet slowly chipping away at her unease until she’d almost entirely relaxed.

  “Speaking of gentlemen, tell me about Nigel.”

  So much for relaxed. “Why?”

  His shrug nudged her. “I don’t know. The guy came all the way to Iowa with you, helped out in the orchard that first day. I mean, kind of feeble-ish, if you ask me. Took a thousand breaks.”

  “Don’t be mean.” She couldn’t help a giggle.

  “But then he was gone and you haven’t mentioned him once. Awfully stoic for a breakup.” There was something tentative in his voice.

  “Actually, Nigel said he doesn’t know how we can technically call it broken up when I was never fully committed to begin with. He says I never let him in.”

  And he was right, wasn’t he? Which was worse—the way she’d held Nigel for so long at arm’s length? Or the way she’d let Sam in too far, knowing all along it wasn’t what she truly wanted?

  “I don’t know why I do it, ruin relationships. Lucas says it’s a Danby family trait, walking away.” She reached over Beckett’s arm for another bite of cheesecake. “That’s not the person I want to be and yet, if I look at the evidence, I’m usually the one pushing people away.”

  She chanced a glance at his face, wondering if his mind had suddenly rewound to the same moment hers had. The gravel road. The almost-kiss.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I think sometimes,” he said slowly, “there’s a fair amount of pushing away on both sides.”

  Except, the night of her wedding, he’d done the opposite of pushing her away. She dared to let the memory in—how it’d felt those few potent minutes wearing her wedding dress, buried against Beckett, feeling so very free and so very lost all at the same time.

  And then she’d felt his lips on her forehead, her cheek. Her breathing, her heartbeat, the breeze . . . everything had stilled.

  Until his head dipped and she yanked away, fear and confusion and an anger he didn’t deserve all unleashed at once.

  “Your turn.” She blurted the words, a near-frantic attempt to silence her memory. “You have to have had ple
nty of girlfriends over the years.” He’d never been short on dates in college.

  He stuck his fork into the last bite in the Tupperware container. He lifted his fork and offered it to her. She shook her head.

  Only after he’d swallowed it and then slid the container onto the coffee table did he answer. “No one.”

  “At all?”

  “Well, there’s this girl—Piper from law school. She’s with another firm in Boston. We’re kind of each other’s standing ‘plus one.’ You know, for corporate events, weddings, whatever. But that’s all it is.”

  “Does she know that?”

  He laughed. “She’s the one who came up with the idea. We were both ultra-focused on making partner as soon as possible. No time for dating or relationships or all that.”

  They shifted into a comfortable silence, the clock on the wall over the window ticking away the seconds as Kit tried to convince herself it wasn’t relief tingling through her. It shouldn’t matter to her whether Beckett had dated anyone, or if there was someone waiting for him back in Boston.

  But it mattered. No matter how much she denied it, it mattered.

  “Besides, Piper has green eyes.”

  The comment seemed to come from nowhere. “What?”

  He moved on the couch so he faced her, his gaze capturing hers. “I’ve always preferred blue ones.”

  She swallowed. “That so?” She squeaked the question.

  “And not just any blue eyes, but impossibly blue ones. Logan would have a word for them—luminescent or cerulean or, I don’t know, something fancy.” He leaned closer. “Blue eyes that glimmer with playfulness and shift with your mood and take on every stunning shade of every sparkling ocean, depending on the lighting.”

  When had he reached for her hand? And what was he doing? And how was she supposed to breathe with his face so close to hers, uttering such melting words right into her ear? Her heart was about to pump its way out of her chest—a swirl of delight and fear turning its beat erratic.

  “And that, Kit Danby,” he said, his breath warm over her cheek, “is legit flirting.”

  She sprang away, voice and words and heart sputtering. “Y-you . . . you’re awful!” She pushed him hard, and he let himself topple from the couch, laughing all the way down. “You’re—”

  She didn’t even know what, so instead she just attacked him from above with a throw pillow, her own laughter bubbling.

  “I’m sorry, it was just too easy.”

  She hit him again, and he lifted his hands in surrender but didn’t stop laughing.

  “I hope you wake up Charlie and Logan comes down to yell at you.”

  “So worth it.” He climbed back onto the couch.

  She tried to keep pummeling him with the pillow, but he plucked it from her hands with ease, cackling a dozen more apologies he clearly only half meant. Only when their laughter finally subsided did he flop back against the couch.

  “Just for the record, I have no idea what color of eyes that social worker back in Ames had.”

  Good. She didn’t voice it. Minutes drifted into an hour or maybe two as they talked more of the night away. She told him about her hopes to impress her father, lure him home. He regaled her with stories of famous military lawyers and the interesting cases they litigated. She filled him in on her travels while living in England.

  Eventually, the clock over the fireplace told her today had turned into tomorrow. And the steady, heavy breathing beside her let her know Beckett was on his way to falling asleep. Or maybe already had.

  For a moment that stretched with undeniable perfection, she just existed, resting in the cocoon of her best friend’s arm that had at some point stretched around her, the warmth of him beside her. Impulse glided in, heady and undeniable. She ignored every nudge of restraint, every warning bell in the back of her head, and leaned close to his ear.

  “I wish I’d let you kiss me that night, Beckett Walker.”

  “You didn’t have to drive me, you know.”

  Logan steered his sedan into the right-hand lane. Tuesday-morning traffic zipped around them, sheer clouds coasting in and around the Chicago skyline. “I know I didn’t.” Logan lifted the travel mug Amelia had sent him out the door with. “But I wanted to.”

  Beckett twisted open the lid of his own mug. The dark roast aroma wafted over him, and if he didn’t think he’d scorch his throat, he’d guzzle the entire thing. Grogginess clung to him like a second layer of clothing.

  Too many hours awake with Kit.

  And then too many hours awake without her.

  “I wish I’d let you kiss me that night, Beckett Walker.”

  She’d thought he was asleep. He nearly had been before she leaned over to whisper the words in his ear. What he hadn’t stopped asking himself since was, why in the world he hadn’t just opened his eyes and pulled her onto his lap and kissed her right then.

  He took a long drink, sputtering when the coffee burned his tongue.

  “I told you, that fancy coffeemaker of Amelia’s is insane. Gets the stuff so hot.” Logan flipped down his sun visor. “You have to wait, like, half an hour ’til it’s drinkable.”

  Beckett took another drink anyway and then, at Logan’s raised eyebrows, pointed to his mouth. “Burned off all my taste buds with the first swig, so now it doesn’t matter.”

  Logan took the exit and laughed. “Okay, moment of honesty?” He glanced over at Beckett, then back to the road. “I didn’t just offer to drive you because I’m the nicest older brother you’ve got.”

  “I don’t know, Seth’s older than me and he’s like a brother, too, and—”

  “Can it. I offered to drive you because I’m under orders from my wife to get the deets on you and Kit.”

  “You didn’t seriously just say ‘deets,’ did you?”

  “And you don’t seriously think you’re going to sidetrack this conversation, do you?”

  The GPS on Logan’s phone cut in, giving orders to turn left and continue for three blocks. Then the only sound in the car was Logan tapping his steering wheel and Beckett twisting and untwisting the lid of his travel mug.

  Until finally Logan cocked his head. “Well?”

  “You told me to ‘can it.’”

  “Fine, whatever. Just know Amelia’s back at the house working on Kit.”

  Poor Kit. He should’ve known not to leave her alone.

  “My wife and I both have newspapering in our blood, little brother. We follow stories until we have all the facts.”

  “Yeah, we’re not a story, though.” Parking on both sides of the street narrowed Logan’s lane. Reminded Beckett of downtown Boston traffic. Claustrophobic.

  “Don’t get me wrong. Amelia will be a hundred times subtler about it than me. But that’s only because she’s more polite. She doesn’t know Kit as well as I know you.”

  “And what do you think you know?”

  “I know we heard you both up last night. And even if we hadn’t, we would’ve seen the empty Tupperware and two forks in the sink.”

  Beckett shifted against his too-tight seatbelt. “Way to go, Nancy Drew.”

  “And I know you and Kit acted all kinds of awkward this morning. We’re talking, way past comical levels of awkward. I swear, she says ‘good morning’ to you and you’re tongue-tied for the first time in your life. You bump into her when you’re both going for the coffee and she suddenly matches Charlie’s bedroom walls.”

  Pink. Bright pink.

  The GPS cut in again, directed Logan west, noted the destination was on the right. Thank goodness for that. Freedom from Logan’s interrogation.

  “Look, if you don’t want to talk about it—”

  “I don’t.”

  “Okay.” The tease had slackened from Logan’s tone. He pulled up in front of a glass-fronted building. Metallic lettering over the curved entrance spelled out Department of Human Services. “But if you ever do, I’m around, you know?”

  Beckett stuck his travel mug in the cup h
older in the console between them and reached for the door handle. Same thing he’d said to Raegan a couple weeks ago. “I know.”

  And honestly, he did. For all his years of geographic distance from his family, even with all he’d missed, he’d never—not once—doubted that his siblings cared. Truth was, he’d always known all it’d take was a phone call, a text, and any one of them would appear on his doorstep in Boston.

  He’d simply let the shame that drove him from Maple Valley hold him back. Too, the burrowed, lingering wound of missing his chance to say goodbye to Mom.

  “I’ll go find a place to park and hang out. Just text me when I need to pick you up.”

  Beckett nodded and opened the car door, stuck one leg out, paused. He looked back at Logan. “She’s my best friend. Even after all this time, she’s still my best friend.”

  That was why he hadn’t opened his eyes last night. That was why he hadn’t made a move as she’d stood from the couch and carried the Tupperware and forks to the kitchen, then padded upstairs to Charlie’s bedroom.

  “You don’t want to do anything to mess it up.”

  “I’ve done it before.” And suddenly, Beckett had the urge to forget this errand that probably wouldn’t amount to anything anyway. Go find a park somewhere and sit on a bench and tell his big brother everything.

  But a car honked behind them and he jerked. “Sorry. Text you when I’m done.”

  He closed the car door before Logan could respond and angled around it. Focus. You’re here for Webster.

  The kid who somehow reminded him of himself. Part cocky athlete. Part lost and uncertain.

  Fluorescent white light spread through the open interior of the office building’s lobby. He stopped at a receptionist’s desk and asked for Kelly Polanski, the name Webster’s old social worker had given him.

  Soon he was following an intern down a hallway. The building aged as they moved farther in, shiny marble flooring shifting to worn carpet, office doors crammed together like too many hangers in a closet. Eventually they stopped in front of a door with Kelly Polanski’s name in the placard beside it. The intern knocked, then stepped aside so Beckett could enter.