Jeremy hums, nodding. “Maybe he doesn’t seem happy because he’s around you.”
The words sucker punch my gut, making me wince. “I don’t think—”
“That’s just it, Becca. You don’t think. You did this to yourself.”
I scoff, my face flushing.
“Don’t you huff at me. When have you ever known me to not keep it real with you?” His brows jump to his hairline. “We’ve been talking for twenty minutes now, and I haven’t heard you shoulder the blame for any of what you’re feeling. Everything’s centered around Eli and how he makes you feel.”
Bullshit.
What the hell is Jeremy’s problem? He’s supposed to be on my side.
“I do not.”
“You do, Becca. Take a second and listen to what you’re saying. That man didn’t break your heart. You broke his. You have no right to him. You aren’t owed anything from Elliot Carson.”
Fire swirls up my chest, searing my cheeks. “I never said I was. Jesus, Jer.”
My wall of defense raises high, but his words sneak through the gaps. Maybe he’s right. Maybe everything he’s saying is true, but it doesn’t matter because all I can feel is the stinging lash of what feels like his betrayal. I came to him to feel better about my situation, not worse.
He shrugs. “Be mad at me all you want. Someone’s gotta say it.”
“Get fucked,” I snap.
His head tosses back with his laughter. “Oh, honey. I plan to. Listen, calm down a bit and think about what I said. Call me back once you realize I’m right, so I can say I told you so.” He winks. “I love you, sweet cheeks. Even when it doesn’t feel like it.”
He hangs up and I throw my phone across the room, screaming, trying to expel this fiery energy that’s padding my stomach and making me fit to burst.
I pace my room for hours, until the song of the cicadas and the lull of the moon calms my nerves. And then, finally, I think about what Jeremy said. I focus on how it feels when he whips out his mirror and shows me the truth in my reflection.
The one I never want to see.
It’s so damn tempting to close my eyes and turn away.
But maybe it’s time I stop and take a closer look.
Tonight is my folks’ thirtieth anniversary. I’ve never forgotten the date, but even if I had, it’s obvious with the way Momma has taken extra care in getting ready for supper. She’s even wearing her special pearls. The ones she says Papa gave her on their fourth anniversary, right before I was born.
I’m here because I know Papa won’t be, and I just don’t have it in me to let Momma suffer in her misery alone.
She’s sitting in the dining room, ankles crossed, her peep-toed shoes hanging off her heel, tapping her foot rhythmically against the wood leg of the table. She’s staring vacantly into the flames that are turning the beautiful cream candles from sticks to stubs—the melted wax a physical representation of how her marriage has diminished over the years.
I watch her from the hallway, my heart twisting because she looks so empty. So broken.
So alone.
I relate to her more in this moment than I ever have before, and it turns my stomach.
Taking a deep breath, I walk into the room, sliding into the chair next to her, reaching out and slipping my hand under her fingers.
“Why do you do this to yourself, Momma?” I whisper.
Her lips curl in, and she shakes her head. “He’s just runnin’ late.”
“Momma.” I sigh, my chest wringing tight. “He’s not gonna show. He never does.”
She flinches from my words, but that’s the only break in her stillness.
We sit in silence, the ticking of the grandfather clock on the wall reminding us that Papa is shit at upholding his vows. At upholding his service to God. At upholding his respectability as a man.
“When summer ends, I’m gonna go to California,” I blurt.
I don’t know what makes me say it. Maybe it’s a need to tell someone who understands what it’s like to waste away under Papa’s thumb, or possibly I’m just digging for a reaction. A break in that impenetrable mask she wears like a shield.
Her fingers squeeze mine tight before she moves her hand, picking up her glass of vodka. She sips it slowly, her delicate throat bobbing with her swallow before she places it back down. Everything about her is proper. Pristine. Carefully crafted to put on a show. Even her sorrow.
“I always hoped you would, Rebecca Jean. You weren’t meant for this life.”
My heart stutters, and I couldn’t be more shocked if she took out a knife and glided it down my middle, pulling out my insides and gutting me on the floor.
“Wh–what?” I gasp. “You’ve always told me I’m doomed for this life.”
Her eyes flash, and finally, there’s a chink in her frigid exterior. “When you got nothin’ but time, you start to reflect. The years have turned me into a jealous, bitter woman. I’m not proud of it, but it’s happened all the same.”
I suck in a breath, sucker punched by what she’s saying. Momma’s word has always been my gospel, even when I didn’t want it to be. She whispered in my ear and poisoned every decision of my life. I’m not sure what to do with this new information.
I’m not sure I believe it.
Anger, sharp and hot, percolates through my heart, dripping into my bloodstream. “You’re really gonna sit there and tell me you didn’t mean what you’ve said over the years? That it was all ‘cause of jealousy?”
“Indeed, there is not a righteous man on Earth who does right and never sins.” She swallows, her fingers trembling over mine. “I’ve let down God in a lot of ways, but the one I’ll burn for the most is failin’ at bein’ your momma.”
“No.” I rip my hand from under hers. “No. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to sit here, quote the Bible, and act like you’ve had some big revelation. For years you beat into my brain that I could trust no man, that I’d end up chained and shackled no matter what... you can’t take that back.”
Momma laughs, a sad, hollow sound. “Oh, child. Why would you listen to me? I’m an old lady who wastes all my days pinin’ for a man who can’t even remember that he married me twenty-six years ago.”
I cock my head. “You mean thirty.”
She frowns, taking another gulp of her vodka. “No, Rebecca Jean. I mean twenty-six.”
My lips pull down, creasing my forehead. “But I’m twenty-six. Y’all were married long before you had me.”
Momma sighs, patting the top of my hand. “Sometimes I forget the truth myself, we’ve been so good at lyin’ all these years.”
My heart stops.
“But I’m sick of lyin’,” she says on an exhale. “I met your Papa when I was young, dumb and gullible. I knew he didn’t love me. He never even took me on a date.” She shakes her head, raggedness inscribed in the lines of her face. “I was so enamored with him I didn’t mind much. But then I got pregnant.”
My mind whirls, bile climbing up my throat. “But you said he loved you. That once upon a time, he would have moved mountains.”
She shrugs. “I lied. Your papa moved many mountains, but they were never for me.”
I gasp. “What? No, I… how did I not know this?”
Betrayal—dark and thick—trickles through my veins.
“How could you not tell me this?” I hiss.
“You think this is somethin’ I’m proud of?” she snaps. “Gettin’ knocked up like the town whore, and bein’ shamed into movin’ to a new town? One where no one would see the scarlet letter I ripped from my chest?” Her eyes blaze, and I’m stunned into silence. “You think it was fun to watch you go down that same path?” She pauses, her hand wiping a stray tear. The first one I’ve ever seen her shed. “Besides,” she sniffs, “we have an image to uphold.”
Revulsion pours over me, a sticky, black sludge that weighs me down and makes me want to puke.
Everything I’ve known—everything I’ve believed in has bee
n a lie.
I shoot to my feet, suddenly unable to stand being here for a second longer. “You disgust me. You and Papa both.”
I wait for an apology, but after a few moments I realize I’ll be waiting forever.
The mask has dropped back down, her face a blank canvas, waiting for whatever she chooses to paint for the world.
I should know better than to hope.
I race out of the house, unable to breathe from the weight of the lies.
My entire life is a lie.
Ripping my phone from my purse, I pull up Jax’s number and send him a text.
Me: Cali? I’m in. When do we leave?
42
Eli
It’s already been a long day and it’s only twelve-thirty. Sarah and I just arrived at the church to meet with Becca about the wedding.
I don’t think I want it to happen at all, which makes me a piece of shit. Especially after using Sarah to fuck the feelings I have for Becca away. It was an asshole thing to do, and I’ve been nauseous over it ever since, but it also showed me clarity because I know I need to let her go. She deserves someone who can love her fully, and goddamn I wish that man were me. Coming back here has pulled up the deepest parts of my longing, and I know I’ll never feel for Sarah the things I do for Becca.
I don’t want to feel them.
I would give anything not to feel them.
But five years ago they dug into my skin and settled into my bones, becoming an integral part of me.
I don’t think I’ll ever forgive her for what she’s done, for the way she shattered me to pieces. Regardless, it wouldn’t be fair to live a lie with someone else even if it means I end up alone.
The last time I saw Becca, we threw some hateful words, mine laced with hurt and hers laced in truth. I have no idea if she’s upset, pissed, or indifferent. More than likely, she doesn’t care at all, which just makes me wish I didn’t either.
We get to Preacher Sanger’s office and the door is open, so we walk in. He’s nowhere in sight, but Becca is sitting behind his oak desk, hands resting lightly on the top, her gaze unfocused.
I expect her to startle when she sees us, but she’s so lost in her thoughts she doesn’t even acknowledge we’ve arrived. I tilt my head, the base of my spine tingling in warning. Usually, less than a second in her presence and I’m ready to explode, but right now there’s no buzz. No electricity flowing off her skin and soaking into my soul.
Something’s off.
“Rebecca.” I use her full name for a reason. To see if there’s a spark. A reaction. I’m searching for that fire. The one only Becca can provide. But I don’t find it, and dread sneaks through my chest, pooling in my stomach.
She’s always been my flame, bright with her glow, and dangerous in her beauty. But the closer the light, the bigger the shadow.
I was a fool to find comfort in her shade.
I’m desperate in its absence.
My voice jolts her out of her daze, and she musters up a small smile. “Hi, y’all. Come on in.”
Even her voice is flat.
“Everything okay?” Sarah asks, walking forward and sitting.
I follow behind but hesitate, my hands wrapping around the top of the chair as I stand behind it. I angle my head trying to catch Becca’s eyes.
She avoids my gaze.
“You okay doing it in here?” I remember the last time when she couldn’t leave the room fast enough.
She lifts her shoulders. “Here is fine. This won’t take long, anyway.”
Sarah’s eyebrow raises. “Oh? I’m excited to talk about what our options are—”
“I’m leavin’,” Becca interrupts.
My heart slingshots against my ribs. “What do you mean you’re leaving?”
She keeps her eyes firmly on Sarah, not sparing me a glance.
“I’m movin’. It’s a spur of the moment thing, but since I won’t be here after this weekend, obviously, I won’t be able to help y’all with your weddin’.” She wraps a strand of hair around her finger.
My gut clamps so tight it makes me nauseous.
Sarah smiles big and wide. “Oh, how exciting! Where are you moving to?”
Becca opens her mouth, but a man’s voice interrupts.
“Don, I—oh, I’m sorry y’all, I’m lookin’ for the preacher.”
I twist in my seat, recognizing his auburn locks immediately. They’re identical to his son’s, who I played ball with in high school.
My stomach sinks. Great.
His brown eyes widen and he walks farther in the room, coming to stand beside my chair. “Elliot Carson. I heard you were back in town, but I didn’t believe it for a second. Can’t believe I’m seein’ you right here, in the flesh. How ya doin’, son?”
I nod. “Mr. Mazey, good to see you. I’m doing great, thanks. How’s Pete?”
Mr. Mazey chuckles, running a hand down his face. “Petey’s the same as he’s always been… tryin’ to put his mama in an early grave.”
I smile. That was definitely the truth back in high school. It warms my insides to know that not everything has turned upside down over the years. That even though things have changed for me, other things are still the same.
“This is my fiancée, Sarah,” I introduce. “Sarah, this is Mr. Mazey. I played ball with his son.”
I feel Becca’s stare on the back of my neck, and I grip the arms of the chair to resist turning around and trying to catch her eyes.
“Fiancée, huh? Y’all meet at that fancy college of yours? We follow all your games, you know. Lotta winnin’ goin’ on down there.”
Sarah titters. “We sure did. I started working with him his very first year. Been there for almost all of his one-hundred and thirty-five wins.” She grins at me, and I smile back, but there’s a pinch in my gut at the way the conversation is heading. I don’t want to talk about basketball. Not here. Not with Mr. Mazey. And definitely not with Becca.
“One-hundred-thirty-seven.”
Becca’s voice cuts through the air and slams into my chest, pushing the breath from my lungs in a whoosh. My head snaps in her direction so fast my neck pulls.
“I’m sorry?” Sarah asks.
Becca shakes her head, glancing at the desk. When she looks back up, her eyes collide with mine and lock on. That fire I was searching for roars to life, blistering me from the inside out.
She swallows, her throat bobbing with the motion. “You said he’s won one-hundred-thirty-five games. It’s one-hundred-thirty-seven.”
“Oh?” Sarah looks to me.
I’m sure she wants me to defend her, and maybe if I was a better fiancé, I would.
But I can’t.
Because Becca’s right.
My ribs bruise from the pounding of my heart. I can hardly catch my breath, let alone voice a thought. My mind whirls at the insinuation of her knowing my record.
Of what that means.
“Well,” Mr. Mazey shifts in place, clearly uncomfortable. “Alright then. It was nice to see you, Elliot.” He looks to Becca. “Will you let your daddy know I stopped by?”
Becca nods, the red of her hair falling over her shoulders and highlighting the flush of her cheeks.
It’s silent after he leaves. Sarah’s hand claws into my thigh, her eyes narrowed on Becca.
“You know,” Sarah says. “Since you won’t be here to help with the wedding, I don’t think there’s any reason for us to stick around.” She turns to me. “Ready to go, honey?”
No.
I want to stay. I want to lock Becca in this room and keep her hostage until I purge her from my fucking soul and finally gain some closure. I need it more now than I ever have before. But I don’t think I’ll get the answers I deserve, even if I ask. So I shake off my need, and let Sarah lead me out the door.
Driving home, I’m a nervous wreck, my hands tapping out an unsteady rhythm on the wheel.
“What’s wrong?” Sarah peeks at me from the passenger seat.
I
sigh, running my fingers through my hair. “Can we talk when we get to the house?”
She stiffens, her fingers twisting in her lap. “We can talk now.”
I cringe. “I don’t wanna do this in the car.”
“Well, I don’t think I want to stay in this car and wonder what has you so twisted up.”
I glance at her before staring back at the road, clenching my jaw. My stomach tosses, but I breathe through the upheaval.
“Sarah, I really don’t—”
“Just say it.” She squeezes her eyes tight, her head angling toward the window.
My heart falters, and suddenly I’m not sure I can. Checking my rearview mirror, I pull to the side of the road, turning on the hazards and facing her.
“Why do you love me?”
Her nose scrunches. “What?”
“Why do you love me?” I repeat. “Because I’ll tell you…” I pause, swallowing around the regret that’s pouring from my heart and scratching up my throat. “I haven’t been good to you. Not really.”
She reaches out her hand, rubbing up and down my forearm. “Yes, you have.”
I shake my head, briefly closing my eyes against the sting. Fuck, this is hard. “You know… I’ve been floating through life for as long as I can remember, only skimming the surface. Never delving deep, never wanting to. And then you came along. And you were this… balm to wounds I didn’t even know were still aching.”
She smiles, her eyes glassy.
My palm taps my chest. “You numbed my pain, and you never asked for more. And I’m so, so damn grateful for that, Sarah. I love you for that.” The pit in my stomach grows. “But I’ve been wracking my brain, and I can’t think of a single goddamn thing I’ve done that would make you love me.”
She squeezes my arm. “I just do, Eli. Isn’t that enough?”
My nostrils flare against the dip of my heart. “I don’t know, Sarah. Don’t you think that’s an issue? The fact that you can’t even say what it is you love? How do you know it’s real? How do I?”
She sucks in a breath, her hand leaving my arm and covering her mouth. “Are you saying you don’t know if you really love me?”
Beneath the Stands: An Enemies to Lovers, Best Friend's Brother Romance (Sugarlake Series, Book Two) Page 21