He went all the way back to his car, and I watched with a sort of buzzing panic I didn’t understand. Beck took the fuel handle out of the car and plugged it back into the machine. He rounded the trunk of his car again, and without glancing back over at me, he climbed into the driver’s seat. It started up with a roaring purr.
I’dwantedhim to pry, I realized. To push, to poke, to revive the stubborn flame that had blown out.And instead of swallowing my pride and asking him to stay, instead of surrendering, I’d ended up alone.
Dad’s voice was cruel in my head.I didn’t realize how big your ego had gotten.
I leaned forward against the sudden clench in my stomach, eyes filling once again. After everything,of coursehe’d leave. If he couldn’t get a rise out of me, in his eyes, there was no point in conversation. I hated myself for being hurt. I hated Beck for even appearing in the first place, and I hated Destelle for calling, and I hated Dad for pointing out my flaws, and I hated?—
“Hop in.”
I jerked up to find Beck had circled around to park at the curb in front of my bench, the passenger window rolled down. The cab of his car was shadowy, so I couldn’t see through his sunglasses like I could a minute ago.
I blinked against the rush of tears. “I-It’s fine, I?—”
“Did you hear a question mark at the end of that sentence?” One dark brow arched over the rim of his sunglasses. “Because I didn’t.”
The stubbornness stirred in my chest like a cat waking from a nap. “You can’t order me around.”
“Watch me.” Beck leaned across the console and popped the passenger door open, shoving it wide. “Get in, Nell.”
I-N-E-V-I-T-A-B-L-E. It was a word, I knew, that would always be synonymous with Beckham Jennings. My legs ached as I stood from the bench, feet shuffling in Jamie’s shoes, carrying me to his car. I reachedup and swiped at a tear that’d slid down my cheek, wiping it away before I fell into the passenger seat.I-N-E-V-I-T-A-B-L-E.
Beck put the car into gear the second I closed my door, reaching for the dial on the radio. “What are we feeling?” he asked me, pressing theforwardarrow on his playlist. “Screamo? Indie? Taylor Swift?”
I looked at him from the corner of my eye. “You have Taylor Swift on your playlist?”
“‘The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived’is everyone’s cry in the car song, isn’t it?”
I snorted out a laugh, and I caught Beck’s lips twitching up in response.
He didn’t drive back toward Biscayne Park, but in the opposite direction. I didn’t really care where we were going, just that I wasn’t alone on the bench anymore. And that I didn’t have to go home just yet. And that Beck hadn’t left me alone, even though he definitely should’ve, and I definitely should’ve let him.
Beck pulled a bottled water up from the cupholder between us, offering it to me. “I haven’t opened it yet,” he said, as if that was where my thoughts would go.
“I didn’t see you go into the gas station to get this.”
“I didn’t. I brought it from Aunt Ally’s.” Beck pulled it back, lifting his knee up and holding the steering wheel in place. In one smooth, quick move, he cracked the seal, removed the cap, and offered it back to me. “Have a drink.”
“Where were you going?” Clearing my throat, I grabbed the water bottle from him; it nearly slipped out of my grasp. “When you left your aunt’s house.”
“I don’t know. Nowhere.” He didn’t look at me. “I was just going for a drive.”
“You’re a bad liar.”
“It’s not a lie.”
“It’s not the whole truth. What happened to you saying you wouldn’t lie to me?”
Beck didn’t reply this time. Instead, he twisted the dial up on the radio, letting the music settle into the cracks of silence between us. The water soothed my aching throat as I took sip after greedy sip, until the bottle was half gone and crunching between my fingers.
When Beck slid to a stop at a traffic light, he passed the bottle cap back, and then pressed a button near the rearview mirror.
With a mechanical whir, the convertible’s top began lifting away, the panels peeling back. The warm air rushed in, chasing away the air conditioning that had kept the interior chilly. Sunlight slid across the dash, warming my bare arms and the hollow at my throat.
“I hated this last time,” I grumbled, anticipation still licking through me.
“Trust me,” he began, and the light above us flicked green. With his knuckle, Beck slid his sunglasses higher up on his nose. “A convertible is much more fun from the front seat.”
And the car launched forward.
