He’s teasing, but I find it sobering. Just do it, Forrester. He deserves better.
I inhale.
Twenty-Four
This Isn’t a Booty Call
Beck
“Listen, Beck,” Forest says, and my mind wheels. It’s unusual to get a three o’clock call from Forest. This isn’t a booty-call time. This is either a something-is-wrong time or a butt-dial time, and Forest doesn’t seem like a butt-dial kind of guy.
“I’m having a difficult time. My truck just fucking died. For good.” His voice is gruff, frustrated.
“Oh shit.” He doesn’t ever complain to me, but it’s obvious that money is tight. “Look—I know you’re allergic to asking for favors. But are you stranded? I’ll come pick you up.” There’s almost nothing I wouldn’t do for this man. Even if he asked me to root for the Ducks against an Original Six team. It would hurt me, but I’d do it.
The line gets very quiet for a second. “It’s both. I’m stranded. And also allergic to asking for favors.”
“If I offered you a ride, are we talking hives? Or anaphylactic shock? Where are you, by the way?”
Another pause. “I’m waiting for a rental car, but it’s gonna be a while, and, well…” He sighs. “It’s Charlie who needs a pickup from hockey practice.”
My heart does this weird skip. Forest asking for help is like spotting a unicorn. If unicorns were grumpy and had commitment issues. “I’ll go get him.” I say quickly. “It’s no bother.”
Another long pause, and I wonder if he’s about to change his mind. “I’ll text you the address. They just walk outside after it’s over at four. He’s supposed to be at his mom’s tonight, but she’s stuck at the hospital…”
I’m already pocketing my keys. “No problem. I got this. I’ll just bring him to your place?”
“That makes the most sense,” he agrees. “Are you sure I’m not tearing you away from something?”
“Well yeah—video games and masturbation. But not at the same time.”
A snort of laughter. “You kill me.”
I guess I’ll take that as a win, too.
He sighs. “Thank you. I’ll be stuck here for another hour at least. Charlie has a key. As long as he’s safely inside, you don’t need to stay.”
“Don’t worry about a thing.”
Twenty-five minutes later, I’m pulling up to a hockey rink where a few kids lurk near the drive circle. I roll down the passenger window and wave at Charlie.
He lights up when he spots me, like I just announced that school’s been canceled for the rest of the year. “Beck!” He picks up a backpack and hockey bag that’s almost as big as he is and bounces toward the Jeep. “What are you doing here? Where’s Dad?” He drops his gear and yanks the door open.
“His truck died, so he asked me to pick you up. Did you get the text?”
Charlie shrugs. “Nah, no text.”
I get out to stash his gear in the back of the Jeep. “So you’re going to jump into a strange car just because I said your dad sent me?”
Charlie laughs, but I pull out my phone and text Forest.
Beck
Got Charlie. Did you text him to tell him I’m coming? He seems fine with it but maybe it’s better to close the loop.
Forest
Fuck me. I forget to text everyone. Even my own kid. **Headdesk** I’ll do it now.
