Could Be the One: (Lucas and Becca) (A Back to Jetty Beach Romance Book 2)

by Claire Kingsley

  I can’t come back from that, and it’s killing me.

  I come home from work on Friday, glad I survived the week. The weather is getting colder, so I go upstairs to find a thicker pair of socks. My feet are freezing. Just as I’m sliding them on, my phone rings. I know who it is before I even look. It’s my dad.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Hi, princess,” he says. “How was your week?”

  “It was okay. How about yours?”

  “I can’t complain,” he says. “I haven’t talked to you since the party. Did you have a nice time?”

  “Yeah, it was great.” Biggest lie I’ve ever told.

  “I’m sorry your mom and I didn’t spend more time with you,” he says.

  “It’s fine. You had a lot of guests.”

  “Yes, that’s true,” he says. “But it was our first time meeting your new boyfriend. We’d still like the chance to get to know him better. That’s why I called, actually. We’d like to have dinner with the two of you sometime soon.”

  I sink down onto the edge of my bed. Why did I ever say Lucas was my boyfriend? What a disaster. “Um, Dad, about Lucas…”

  “Is something wrong, princess?”

  “Well, that isn’t really going to work out,” I say.

  “What happened?” Dad asks, and I can hear the hint of anger in his voice.

  “It was my choice, Dad. He’s a very nice guy, but we want different things.” At least I’m not lying about that.

  “Oh, Becca.”

  I bite my lip to keep from tearing up, but the sympathy in his voice is too much for me. “It’s okay, Dad. I promise I’m all right.”

  “Princess, you’re crying.”

  I sniff and swallow hard. “A little bit, but it’s not that big of a deal. Really. I’ll be fine.”

  My dad is quiet for a long moment. Then I hear him talking softly to my mom. His voice is muffled, like he’s holding the phone away so I don’t hear them.

  “Do you want us to come down?” he asks.

  “No,” I say. “Don’t do that. I swear, I’m okay.”

  “Because we can be there in three hours,” he says.

  “I know, Dad, but you don’t have to do that.”

  There’s more muffled talking. “Doesn’t he live right next door?”

  “Yes, he does. But it’s fine. Dad, listen to me. I’m okay. Yes, I’m sad, but I’ll watch a comedy tonight and I’ll feel better. And I’ll spend some time with Juliet. Girl time, you know?”

  “Okay, sweetie. If you’re sure. I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says.

  I take a deep breath. “Okay, Dad. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Lucas’s front door closes and I squeeze my eyes shut, letting the tears trail down my face. Damn it, why does this have to be so hard? I wonder if I should move and get it over with. Knowing he’s right there, on the other side of that paper-thin wall, is almost too much to bear.

  I need to get out of my apartment tonight, so I text Juliet. She’s free later, so we make plans to meet up. I resolve to play it cool about my breakup—if that’s even what to call it. I’ll be honest with her, but I don’t want to wind up sobbing on her shoulder.

  A sharp banging sound startles me awake. I glance at the clock. It’s just after nine. I roll over, pulling the comforter up over my shoulder.

  Juliet and I drank too much last night. I didn’t cry over Lucas—at least not until somewhere in the middle of our second bottle of wine. Then it all came spilling out. Juliet hugged me while I cried, and then we drank more. Finn drove me home late, and now I have a pounding headache. I close my eyes and hope I can go back to sleep.

  There’s another set of bangs, and I realize it’s someone knocking on my front door.

  With a groan, I force myself out of bed. I throw on a cardigan and a pair of leggings and hurry downstairs to see who could possibly be knocking this early on a Saturday.

  I open the door and blink in surprise. My parents are on the step, smiling at me.

  “Princess,” my dad says.

  “What are you two doing here?” I ask.

  “Come now, Becca,” Mom says. “Is that any way to greet your father?”

  I step aside so they can come in. “I’m sorry. You woke me up and I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “You were still sleeping?” Dad says. “I figured you’d have already been out for a run this morning.”

  “Yeah, well, I drank a lot last night, so I’m kind of hungover.”

  I’m not sure what possessed me to say that. My parents look at me like an alien must have taken their daughter’s place.

  “Becca,” my mom says, like she’s scolding me.

  I rub my eyes and go into the kitchen. “Maybe I’ll make some coffee. Would either of you like some?”

  My parents share a look and my dad walks forward, like they silently agreed that he’s going to give the lecture.

  “Princess,” he says, “your mother and I have thought this over, and we really think it’s time you moved closer to home.”

  “This is home,” I say, gesturing around me. “I live here. That makes it home.”

  “Our home will always be your home,” Dad says. “You should be closer to your family.”

  “I don’t live very far away,” I say. “It’s driving distance. Lots of people live so far they have to take a plane to see their parents.”

  “Yes, but those people aren’t you,” he says. “Plus, we’ve become increasingly alarmed at the direction your life has taken since you moved here.”

  I pause with my hand halfway in the coffee canister. “I’m sorry, what?”

  My mom moves next to my dad. “Well, for starters, there’s that man you were dating.”

  “Lucas?” I ask. “Why are you so worried about him? He was really good to me.”

  “I’d have thought you would have chosen someone more appropriate for you,” she says.

  I open my mouth to reply, but my dad cuts in.

  “Living out here has no doubt been an interesting experience,” he says. “But don’t you think it’s time you came back where you belong? Surely you’ve moved on from Brandon by now.”

  My back tenses up and a flash of anger hits me. “Is that what you think? That I moved away because of Brandon?”

  “Well, of course you did, honey,” Mom says. “It’s not that we blame you for how you felt. That was difficult. But running off certainly didn’t help matters.”

  “This isn’t about Brandon,” I say. “It was never about him. This is about me. I need to stand on my own two feet and finally be a grown-up. Not just a girl playing house. I moved here because I need space to figure out who I am. You shouldn’t be alarmed about my life. You should be happy and proud. I have a job I love. I have a place to live and I can afford the things I need. I have good friends nearby. Isn’t that what parents want for their kids?”

  “Yes, princess, of course we want that for you,” Dad says.

  “And as for Lucas, just because his family doesn’t belong to your country club, that doesn’t mean he’s not appropriate for me. Honestly, Mom, do you realize how bad that sounds? You don’t even know him, and you’re assuming he’s not good enough?”

  “That isn’t what I meant,” she says.

  I take a deep breath. “I know you guys wanted me to be with Brandon. But he wasn’t all that great. He strung me along for four years. At least Lucas was always honest with me.”

  My parents look at each other. I can tell this conversation is not turning out the way they expected.

  Dad’s phone dings and he pulls it out of his pocket. He turns to my mom. “They’re still waiting outside. They’ve already been here for fifteen minutes. I should go let them in.”

  “Who’s waiting outside?” I ask. “Let who in?”

  He hesitates, exchanging another one of those looks with my mom. “The movers.”

  I gape at him, my eyes wide. “What?”

  “Becca, calm down,” Mom says. “We took care of
everything for you. You can stay with us until we find you a new apartment closer to home.”

  I look between the two of them a few times, at a loss for words. They hired movers? This is crazy, even for them. I brush past and burst out the front door. Sure enough, there’s a moving truck parked in front of the building.

  My dad tries to say something, but I whirl on them. “This is unbelievable. I am not a child. I’m a grown woman, and you can’t show up here with a moving truck and pack up my life.”

  “Princess—”

  “No, Dad,” I say, holding up a hand. “This is not okay. I’m sorry that you worry about me. But you have to let me go. I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m happy here. Yes, I’m upset about what happened with Lucas; that part isn’t so great. But I like it here, and I’m not moving. I miss seeing you guys all the time, and I’ll try to come visit more often, but I’m not moving back. I’m really living for the first time, and I love it.”

  My parents stare at me for a long moment. I stand my ground, looking them in the eyes with my chin lifted. I can’t let them keep trying to run my life. If they move me home now, I’ll never be free again.

  “I’m sorry, Becca,” my dad says. “Your mom and I thought this was the right thing for you.”

  “I know you did,” I say. “But it’s not. You have to trust me to make decisions for myself.”

  I take a deep breath and go outside to talk to the movers. I apologize and try to explain that there was a misunderstanding. They look a little confused, but after speaking with my dad—they’re probably charging him for their time, but honestly, I can’t even feel bad about that—the moving truck pulls back out onto the street and leaves.

  Back inside, my dad opens his arms and I step in to hug him.

  “I’m proud of you, princess,” he says.

  My mom rubs my back and smiles. “If you’re sure this is what you want.”

  “I’m sure, Mom. Listen, you guys came all the way down here. Why don’t we go out to breakfast and then I can show you around town.”

  They agree and I go upstairs to shower and change. I’m still stunned they actually hired movers, but I can’t stay angry at them. I never could. I hope this was the breakthrough we needed, and they can finally accept I’m an adult who can take care of herself. Time will tell, I suppose.

  The sound of Lucas’s shower carries through the wall. Because of course he’s showering at the same time as me. I turn on the water and try to force thoughts of him out of my mind. I need to focus on being put-together Becca today. It wasn’t that I was lying to my parents—I am happy living here. But I don’t want them to see how hurt I am over Lucas. It will only make them worry, and there’s nothing they can do about it anyway.

  It’s simply something I have to learn to live with.

  24

  Lucas

  I wait outside my dad’s store, leaning against my car in the empty parking lot. It doesn’t open for another hour, but I know he’ll be here soon. He’s always in early. Anxiousness thrums through me. I haven’t spoken more than a few words to him since we had our discussion about money. That went worse than I thought it would. Although I was always afraid of hurting his pride if I told him how much money I have, I never expected him to accuse me of being a fucking criminal. But he couldn’t accept that I’ve earned everything I have.

  I went over to Becca’s place that afternoon, almost without thinking. I sat with her and told her what happened, and damn it if she didn’t make me feel a million times better. Remembering it now is like a knife twisting in my gut. It felt so good to sit with her—my head in her lap, her fingers running through my hair.

  With a heavy sigh, I try to put thoughts of Becca out of my mind. I’m here to see if I can clear the air with my dad. Ignoring him has been the easy way out, but I’m worried he’ll do something stupid, like close the store. Somehow, I’ll convince him to take the money. Even if he doesn’t want to speak to me again afterward.

  This week has been the worst. Things fell apart so fast after the anniversary party, my head is still spinning. The shock of seeing Valerie wore off pretty quickly. It wasn’t hard to see her because I still have feelings for her. It was hard because it reminded me of how badly she hurt me—how vulnerable I was. And of all the reasons I had for staying out of another relationship.

  It’s Becca that has me tied up in knots.

  When I’m home, I hear every little sound coming through the wall—a constant stream of tiny reminders that she’s next door. And that I can’t go see her.

  I’ve tried to respect her wishes and leave her alone. I don’t call or text. I avoid going to my car when I think she’ll be out front, and I don’t go anywhere near her back door. As much as I wish I could, I don’t try to change her mind.

  I fucking hate it.

  Dad pulls up in his old pickup truck. He gets out and nods to me. “Son.”

  I follow him inside. He doesn’t say anything, so I don’t either. He takes off his coat and tosses it onto the chair in his office, then goes into the back. Without a word, I start helping him pull out boxes and restock shelves. He’s never been a big talker, but I keep hoping he’ll say something. There’s such a huge gulf between us, and I’m not sure how to bridge it.

  We finish up, and it seems like Dad isn’t going to say anything else. I guess that means it’s up to me.

  “Dad, about the store…”

  “We’ve been over this,” he says. “I don’t think we need to discuss it any further.”

  “Can we just move past the fact that you don’t trust me for a second? I need to make sure you aren’t going to do something crazy.”

  “Crazy like what?” he asks.

  “Like close down.”

  He looks away.

  “No, Dad. I’m not dropping this.”

  He takes a deep breath. “I’ll be open through the end of the month, but after that I have to close. I can’t afford to keep the doors open.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose, frustration eating at me. “Damn it. You don’t have to close. I told you before, I can help you.”

  “I won’t take your goddamn money,” he says, his voice sharp.

  It takes every ounce of my self-control not to tell him to fuck off, and leave. “Do you actually believe I’m a criminal? What do you think I did for that money? Do you think I was out on the street selling drugs, or are you picturing some kind of white collar crime?”

  He grunts and looks away again.

  “If that’s what you think of me, you don’t know me very well,” I say.

  “Who has that kind of cash sitting around?” he asks.

  “I do. I work hard for the money I earn. Maybe it’s not selling tools, but there’s nothing unethical about it. It’s risky, not criminal. There’s a difference. I understand this stuff, Dad. It comes naturally to me and it always has.”

  He doesn’t answer, and the knot of anger sits in the pit of my stomach, eating away at me.

  “You know what? Forget it,” I say. “You don’t respect me enough to talk about this and you obviously don’t trust me. I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

  I walk away and I’m almost out the door before he speaks.

  “Lucas.”

  I stop, but keep my back turned to him and let the silence hang between us.

  “Maybe I have a hard time because you do something I don’t understand,” he says.

  He pauses and I turn to look at him, but wait. I’m tired of having to draw every word out of him. If he has something to say to me, he needs to say it.

  “You’re right. I should trust you,” he says. “I raised you to be a good man.”

  That’s got to be one of the deepest, most heartfelt things my dad has ever said to me. It’s right up there with the only time he said he was proud of me, when I graduated college.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “You can really part with that kind of money?” he asks.

  “Yeah, I can. Dad, I have it five ti
mes over, and I’d give it to you in a heartbeat.”

  He blows out a breath and looks down at the floor. “It will be a loan.”

  “All right.” Whatever makes this work for you, Dad. Just fucking agree to take it.

  He walks over to me and looks me in the eye, holding out his hand. I take it and he shakes mine in a firm grip.

  “Thank you, son,” he says.

  A lump rises in my throat and I swallow hard, choking back the sudden rush of emotion. Dad nods and drops my hand.

  “I talked to your mother again,” he says.

  “Uh-oh,” I say. I’m not thrilled that my mom keeps calling him to dig for information about me, but I understand his need to change the subject. “I just talked to her the other day. Why is she calling you again?”

  “It’s that social media stuff,” he says. “She saw pictures of you with a girl. She said you told her you aren’t dating anyone, so she wanted to know if I knew what was going on.”

  Ah, fuck. “Yeah, that was Becca. She’s… she’s a friend of mine.”

  “A friend?” Dad asks. “Is that all?”

  “Yeah, that’s all.”

  Dad raises one eyebrow at me, but doesn’t press the issue. This is one time I’m grateful for his emotional repression.

  “All right, son, I’ll let you get back to your day.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  I head back to my car and get in. At least I cleared the air with Dad. That was weighing on me more than I realized. Now that he and I are good—and I know he’ll let me help him out—I can quit worrying about him.

  I consider not going home. It’s still early, and I don’t have anything going on today. But I don’t want to sit at home, listening to Becca through the wall.

  Maybe I need to get out of town for a little while. Put some distance between us. I could just head out to the highway and drive—see where I end up. That actually sounds pretty good, but I should run home first and grab some clothes.

  My plan seems like a great idea, until I turn onto my street and see a fucking moving truck outside Becca’s apartment.