by Aven Ellis
“So what happened?”
“She caught on to the fact that I’m a dork,” Beckett deadpans.
“If you call yourself a dork one more time, I will take you up on that offer to punch you in the eye,” I declare.
Beckett roars with laughter, and I begin laughing, too.
“I was starting out in Chicago, and this distance developed between us. On her part. I’d call, I’d text, send flowers—”
“Hey, I haven’t received flowers from you,” I tease.
“You’re going to get better than flowers,” Beckett answers.
Ohhhhhhhhh! A new swarm of butterflies dance in my stomach, but I know now is not the time to ask Beckett what he means by that, as much as I want to know.
“Anyway, she wouldn’t respond as much, or she didn’t seem like she wanted to be with me. Finally I asked her, ‘Do we need to break up?’ and she said yes.”
I wince. Both of my major break-ups were mutual, so I can’t imagine how this must have hurt Beckett.
“So then what happened?”
The light turns green, and Beckett drives forward. “I asked her what went wrong. I told her I loved her and wanted us to work, that I’d do anything to fix our relationship. But she said we couldn’t work because she realized she never really loved me. Not in the way she should love someone she could see a future with. Kelly said she loved the idea of being in love more than she ever did me.”
Tears instantly prick at my eyes. Beckett is so sensitive, so sweet, and I can’t imagine how this must have gutted him. To know the woman he loved never loved him . . . his heart was broken.
“I’m so sorry,” I say softly. “I know that must have devastated you.”
“I won’t lie,” Beckett says, stopping at another light and staring straight ahead, “it did. I didn’t date for a long time after that. I kept my head down and locked in on hockey and that was it. But one day it was gone. The pain, the agony, all these feelings—stopped. So I know the heart can heal. I’m proof of that.”
He turns his head toward me. “And then one day, this beautiful red-haired girl falls in the elevator in front of me. She loses her keys, kicks a wall, and states I’m a serial killer. And all of a sudden, it’s game on again.”
I draw a breath of air as I drink in his words. Beckett is willing to take the chance like I am. We’ve only known each other a few weeks but that doesn’t matter.
We know what we feel, and it’s mutual.
It’s game on.
For both of us.
I sit cross-legged on the couch, with my iPad on my lap, waiting to connect with Beckett via Connectivity video chat. January has moved into February, and Beckett has just started a long road trip out west.
And I miss him more than I ever dreamed I could miss anyone.
It’s so weird not to be around him because when he’s home, we’re together every day. I’ve gone to practices to get an idea of what his life is like as a hockey player. I attend almost every home game, usually bringing along Livy, and then meet Beckett at home afterward.
Of course, my job revolves around him for the most part, tweeting on his behalf, Instagramming pics for him, and monitoring each and reporting back to Tom with updates.
And his reach is growing. Before this last road trip, we hit the highest numbers ever with his social media. Beckett challenged what I was doing, saying my idea of posting a picture of him doing Pilates at the Buffaloes training center was boring, but it received more than 15,000 likes on Instagram. 15,000. With 307 comments, too! It was widely circulated on Tumblr and Twitter, and pinned on Pinterest, too.
I also proved my theory that anything Beckett posts will get a response. I tweeted a picture of him eating brunch on a Sunday, a simple picture of his plate filled with eggs and bacon and hash, and it had 163 likes in three minutes.
Needless to say, everyone has been pleased with my results. His following is growing due to more activity, in leaps. I’m logging the data and analyzing what days, time, and type of pictures get the best results to see the bigger picture, but fans are loving the inside glimpse into his life.
Part of my job is to read all the comments, too. Which is hard when people are jerks, but at least Beckett never sees them.
I chew my lip. I also get to read everything girls say about Beckett on social media.
Which is a lot.
And while my job doesn’t require me to keep stats on such things as prom invitations, declarations of true love, and how gorgeous he is, I do have them.
Oy. I don’t want to think about this, or all the super-hot girls that Beckett is oblivious to, so I shift my thinking to ChicagoConnect.
Tom has taken it upon himself to media coach Beckett for interviews and photo shoots, but I can see he’s not helping Beckett. Beckett tells me it’s all the same advice the Buffaloes PR department tells him, and he can’t change who he is. I told Beckett it’s not about changing—it’s about relaxing—but Beckett gets stressed even talking about it so it’s not going well.
I think Tom knows it, too, and that’s why he’s bringing me to a magazine shoot next week that involves both Beckett and Landy, which makes me happy.
I still have duties for Mallory, though. I’ve done some stuff on the ketchup account for her, and of course, she tries to link her personal shit to work so I have to do that, too. And I know she has it in for me and is waiting for me to screw up, so yeah, no pressure there.
My phone rings, and I grab it. It’s Super Stagers.
I wince. Oh, please, not now. It’s been a long day, and I want to sit here and talk to my boyfriend, not run down to Starbucks for an hour.
“Hello?” I say, answering the phone.
“Hi, Aubrey, it’s Shelley from Super Stagers,” she says cheerfully. “I’m wrapping up here at the office, but I wanted to give you an update on the condo before I leave for the day.”
A knot forms in my stomach. Please don’t tell me the seller has accepted an offer. Don’t make me move away from Beckett.
“An offer has been made on the condo,” Shelley says excitedly. “And it’s a solid offer. The property is, for all intents and purposes, sold!”
I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. I can’t breathe. I can’t speak.
I’m losing my condo.
I’m going to have to move away from Beckett.
My brain races to find a solution to keep me near Beckett.
“Um, are there any other condos in this building I could move to?” I asks, praying she says yes.
“No, Aubrey, unfortunately there aren’t.”
“Anything nearby? I’m flexible, you know. Gold Coast, Lincoln Park, Wrigleyville,” I begin rattling off the various neighborhoods, desperate to stay near Beckett.
“Oh, I love your flexibility,” Shelley says. “I have one opening, and it’s out of the downtown area, but I think you’d love it!”
Okay. In order not to be homeless, I’ll take it. I swallow hard. I might have to commute from the suburbs, and it will be a pain, but Beckett and I can make this work.
“The suburbs?” I ask.
“Mmm, you could say that,” Shelley says excitedly. “It’s a gorgeous property, on Lake Michigan, and the house is a mid-century modern showplace. Beautiful stone fireplaces, including one in the master suite. With all the updates, including heated floors.”
I nod. “Okay. How far north of the city is it?”
Shelley laughs. “You’re going to have a totally new experience,” she says. “Because you’re moving to Wisconsin, isn’t that wonderful?”
Chapter 23
The Aubrey Rules To Live By, Rule #23: Every relationship has obstacles. And how my new boyfriend responds to them will tell me if he indeed is the one for me. I will do my best to remain calm a
nd think rationally about how to face them, too.
**Note** Beckett did NOT sign up to date a girl who lives out of state.
**Note #2** When am I going to see him? WHEN? By car I will be nearly two hours away.
**Note #3** This could kill our relationship.
**Note #4** WHY DO I NEVER HAVE TISSUES AROUND WHEN I’M CRYING WHY?
My Connectivity video chat icon flashes, and I see Beckett is trying to connect with me. A wave of nausea washes over me. We’re just beginning. I don’t want to be in Wisconsin. I don’t care that load of people make this commute every day, as Shelley assured me. I want to be near him. I want to be able to see him whenever I like.
And this move could change everything.
I click on it and there he is, smiling at me from his hotel bed in Portland.
“Hey, gorgeous,” Beckett says, his eyes shining at me. But the smile quickly evaporates from his face. “Aubrey? What’s wrong?”
I try to hold back my tears, but Beckett blurs in front of my eyes. “I’m moving,” I blurt out.
“What?” Beckett asks, confused. “What are you talking about?”
“My condo sold,” I say, forcing the words out over the huge lump in my throat. “I’m moving out. Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Beckett asks. “Are you kidding? That’s bullshit. How the hell can you move in one day?”
“My furniture is in storage, remember? And Super Stagers needs this furniture for another property right away. So I have to get out immediately. Luckily I only have to move my clothes and a few things. Livy’s going to help me. Sunday is the only day I have where I won’t have to do it after work at night.”
Beckett rubs his hand over his face. My heart freezes. This is his uncomfortable move. Oh, God, this is going to go downhill fast, as he doesn’t even know I’m moving to freaking Wisconsin yet.
There’s no way, with his game schedule and practices and public appearances, he is going to want to date a girl who lives two hours away.
And with that thought, I burst into tears.
“Aubrey!” Beckett says, his voice alarmed. “Sweetheart, it’s okay. Just a different location, that’s all.”
“B-b-but it’s not,” I manage to get out. “I-I-I’m moving to Wisconsin!”
And then, despite my rule about not to get all overly emotional in front of a new boyfriend right away, I lose it. A sob breaks loose from my throat, and the full-on cry begins.
“What?” Beckett asks.
“Wi-wi-sconsin,” I sob. “North of Milwaukee.”
Beckett’s eyes register nothing but shock. I can’t tell if it’s from my location or from me crying about moving to said location.
“Sweetheart, stop,” Beckett pleads.
Him calling me his sweetheart makes me cry harder, and now my nose is running. Oh, God, I’m ugly crying in front of Beckett, fantastic!
I sniffle and look around for a tissue. “I need a tissue,” I blurt out. I set my iPad aside, get up, searching for the damn box, but can’t find it, which means I need to resort to toilet paper. I blow my nose, snag the roll, and come back to Beckett.
“You okay?” Beckett asks softly, his eyes reflecting nothing but concern for me.
“No,” I say truthfully. “I don’t want to be away from you. I don’t! And now I’m in a freaking different state, and we’ll never see each other an—”
“You don’t think we’ll see each other?” Beckett interrupts. “Is that why you’re crying?”
I sniffle and nod. “Yeah. You didn’t sign up for this, Beckett. You wanted to date the girl downstairs and now you have to take a train to see me and worse I’m doing the ugly cry in front of you and my face is blotchy I’m sure and you must think I’m crazy or have PMS for crying like this but I don’t an—”
“Breathe,” Beckett interrupts, his voice calm and commanding at the same time. “Please stop and breathe, Sweetheart.”
I immediately stop speaking.
“Breathe,” Beckett insists.
I pause, close my eyes, and draw a shaky breath of air. Then I exhale slowly. I open my eyes to Beckett, which makes me want to cry again, but I don’t.
“Okay,” I say, my voice wobbly.
“I want you to listen to me,” Beckett says firmly. “Where you live doesn’t matter. It doesn’t. I’m not dating you because you’re convenient. I’m dating you because you’re Aubrey. And we’ll figure this out. But I promise you there is no distance that will come be between us. I’d go anywhere to be with you. When I get home, we’ll take this on and figure it out together. I promise you we will.”
An overwhelming feeling washes over me as I take in his words. I know he’s telling me the truth. That I’m what matters in this, not where I live. That Beckett will be with me, and no matter what obstacle is, he is right by my side. My problems are his.
This is what love is, I realize, my heart pounding against my ribs. Beckett listens to me. He provides calm to my world. None of my problems are silly or trivial, and he will take them on with me.
He accepts me, all of me, the crazy and the silly and the explosive bits, and wants to be with me.
No matter what.
If I was typing, I’d be using shouty caps to say I LOVE YOU to this amazing man, the one I know, without a doubt, I love with all my heart.
“Aubrey?” Beckett asks, interrupting my thoughts.
It’s all I can do not to confess my feelings. But it’s too soon to spring it on him, I know that. It’s crazy how fast I’ve fallen for him.
But when you find love, you know.
And I have no doubt about what my heart is telling me about Beckett.
“Okay,” I say. I reach for the roll of toilet paper, rip off some, and blown my nose.
“Is that toilet paper?” Beckett asks.
I feel my face turn red. “Um, yes.”
“We’re going to Target when I get back. Obviously you need someone to supervise your shopping list.”
I laugh, and Beckett laughs with me.
“I’m sorry I had a meltdown on you,” I confess.
“So you really don’t want to be away from me, do you?” he asks softly.
“I don’t.”
“I don’t want to be away from you, either,” Beckett says.
I smile through my tears. “Even though you just saw me ugly cry?”
Beckett smiles back. “Ugly cries don’t scare me.”
I love you, I think.
“I mentioned PMS,” I tease.
“I hear girls have that,” Beckett deadpans.
“You really did mean it when you checked yes, didn’t you?”
Beckett’s face goes serious. “I did. I check yes to everything, Aubrey. And I promise you, we’ll figure this out.”
I know we will, I think, staring at the man I love. Distance will be an obstacle. It will limit our time together and make logistics a challenge.
But when you love someone, you work through it.
And when Beckett returns to Chicago, we will.
“Here you go,” Livy says, handing me the box she has just removed from her trunk. I take it, and she picks up one more. “This is the last one.”
She slams the trunk to her SUV, and we walk toward the house as snow falls down on top of us from the gray sky. The winds from the lake gust up, and it’s brutally cold today.
“The first thing we’re doing,” I say through my scarf, “is making hot chocolate.”
We head up the drive to the sprawling house, the one built in the 1950’s and considered an architectural gem. I have to admit, the house is crazy cool, with lots of open spaces and high ceilings. I love the stone fireplaces, and the kitchen is gorgeous, with a long kitchen island, one I swear I could fit fifte
en chairs around. Windows are abundant and there are fun curved walls, too.
And if I could pick it up and drop it on Lake Shore Drive next to the building where Beckett lives, it would be perfect.
I step inside the foyer and set my box of sweaters down. Livy follows behind me, setting the box she has on top of mine, and I shut the door. We begin peeling off our winter gear, and as soon as we’re done, I lead Livy back to the kitchen so I can rummage through my food and find the hot chocolate supplies.
Livy takes a seat at the kitchen island built for forty and studies me as I sift through a box for my cocoa mix.
“You seem to be handling this okay,” she says as she watches me.
I take out a box of Lucky Charms and sigh. “It’s not ideal, but I know Beckett and I will figure it out. So I’m looking as this Wisconsin thing as an adventure in commuting. And I can add living in Milwaukee as an unexpected life experience.”
Livy smiles at me. “That’s true.”
“Ah, Swiss Miss!” I exclaim excitedly as I find the box. Then I turn my attention to Livy. “And it’s the kind with marshmallows.”
Livy laughs. “I’m going to have to ignore my clean eating habits to drink this, aren’t I?”
“Come on, it’s fun,” I say, moving from cabinet to cabinet until I located some mugs. I retrieve two and set them on the island. “And it’s so cold. If you weren’t driving back to Chicago, I’d offer to put some amaretto in it.”
“Plain old Swiss Miss is fine,” Livy says.
“Thank you so much for helping me move today,” I say. “I would have had to make two trips without you.”
“Please, no big deal,” Livy insists. “But why do I have a feeling I’ll be helping you move into Beckett’s place someday?”
I fill a Pyrex pitcher with water and stick it in the microwave.
“Livy! We just started dating a month ago,” I say, shutting the door and staring at the buttons. Crap, now I need to figure out a new microwave. I hit a few buttons and thankfully, it starts.