I need to meet with Dottie’s lawyer. Could be here a little longer than I originally thought
West
Try your hardest to wrap things up. I miss my girls
We miss you too
Maybe we could talk later?
West
Sure. I should be free after Charlie goes to bed
Perfect.
West doesn’t know who Charlie’s father is. He never even asked if he lived in Golden Harbor. My guess is, he doesn’t want to know. But if I’m going to marry him, I owe him the truth. Especially now that Beck knows.
It will be a tough conversation that I would’ve preferred to have face-to-face. But time didn’t permit. There were so many decisions to make right after Dottie passed. Not only for the memorial, but she had specific afterlife plans. Some I haven’t even heard. I imagine that is the conversation I’ll be having with her lawyer.
“Mama?”
I flip my phone over on the table and glance up at Charlie just as the annoying seagull comes in for a landing a few feet from us on the sidewalk. “Hmm?”
“My daddy wants to take me to the beach. Can I go?”
Turning toward Beck, my lips slip into a frown as my stomach coils. How did I miss this part of their conversation? Is he wanting to take Charlie without me?
“Daddy says it’s a special beach. Please, Mama,” she begs.
I trace my fingers down the front of my throat. “I don’t know. I’m not sure we have time to go to the beach.”
“It’s close,” Beck assures me with grit in his tone, his expression stony.
Charlie’s got her little hands clasped while she straightens on her knees. “Pleeeease.”
Beck holds eye contact with me. In his I see the pain and anger that I caused. The very things he could hold over my head to get me to agree to anything he suggests or asks for.
“Sure,” I give in, faking a strong smile for Charlie. Just like I’ve been doing for the last six years, even when my heart is about to shatter and my chest threatens to collapse.
11
BECK
Rosie is Charlie’s mom, so I’m not an idiot; I know she calls the shots. Legally, I’ve got no rights here. Not yet anyway. But shouldn’t Rosie be bending over backward to make up for keeping her from me all these years? Instead, she’s choosing to be difficult. She’s treating me like I’m a criminal with supervised visitations with my own daughter.
Daughter.
The word, the idea—all of it—is still strange. But as far as six-year-olds go, Charlie seems like one of the good ones. She’s polite, happy, smart. Hell, maybe she’s the smartest Stone yet.
After I park my rig, Rosie releases a strangled sigh from the passenger seat. I roll my eyes. She can complain all she wants, but out of all the beaches along the coast, this one is still my favorite.
“This is the special beach?” she questions in an accusatory tone, the corners of her lips downturned.
“I thought Charlie would want to see it.” I give her a tight smile.
She leans across the console just far enough that I get an eyeful of her cleavage. A rush of hot air pushes between us as this moment holds by a thread. “I don’t know what your angle is,” she whispers, “but upsetting Charlie is not an option.”
Clamping my jaw tight, I lean too and lower my voice, narrowing my eyes at her. “Too late for that. You already deprived her of six years of knowing her father.”
