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My chest constricted, because I wasn’t sure what to do, what to say.
“I’m sorry,” she was the one to whisper.
I’m honestly not sure what hurt more: that I couldn’t say those words myself, or that she did.
“It’s fine,” I answered, petting the door gently as if it were her, and I was comforting her, letting her know I couldn’t hate her, no matter how much she didn’t want me. Then I turned the handle and slipped out into the hall.
I’m not exactly sure what I’d hoped to accomplish when I’d snuck into her room—I’d just known I needed to tie loose ends and make sure things were still okay between us—but now I was certain that things were worse between us than they’d ever been.
I’d just fucked up royally. I’d just ostracized the only person who believed in me.
Chapter 29
BECKETT
The first Thanksgiving for me to spend away from my family was different, and yet achingly familiar.
After I returned to my borrowed room, I didn’t sleep well—if at all. I tossed and turned, reliving the kiss with Bailey in my head, knowing she was still just down the hall, even though she now felt hundreds of miles of away, and she’d only move farther away by the end of the day. If worrying about how I’d just ruined our friendship hadn’t kept me up all night, then her absence would have, because it really was true: I couldn’t sleep without her next to me. Everything just felt wrong.
My body was stiff and sore as I changed into the clothes I was going to wear for the day. And lately, I knew sore. With the amount of bruised flesh, torn muscle, and battered bones I was carrying around, I knew sore on an intimate level. But the kind of sore I shouldered this morning was different, it went deeper and punched harder as if it had pierced my very soul.
Bailey was the reason. Not that I blamed her for my misery; it was more like an awareness that she’d kept this kind of ache at bay before, but now that she wouldn’t be around any longer, it crept in boldly, attacking me at my most vulnerable points. It was as if the essence of me was tender and aching.
Which sounded like crazy bullshit. So I was never going to repeat that thought again.
Honestly, I didn’t know how I’d make it through without her anywhere on the farm. And worse, I wasn’t sure what to expect when I saw her today. Did she blame me for the kiss? Had it ruined our relationship? Would she even be able to look me in the eye now? Where did things stand between us?
Hell, maybe I should’ve apologized last night. Anything would be better than losing her completely.
My heart raced with anxiety as I opened my door and peered into the hall. The corridor was empty. A shaft of early morning sunlight flared through a window at the end of the hall and spread across the floor, pointing a diagonal path to the start of the staircase. I blew out a breath and left the room, glancing pitifully at Bailey’s closed door as I passed, following the light to the stairs.
On the first floor, the smell of bacon drew me to the kitchen where Ben and Booth were up and active, Bailey’s dad at the stove and her brother pulling a jug of milk from the refrigerator. I paused in the entrance, not sure what to do.
When Ben glanced over and noticed me hovering, he greeted me with a smile I’m pretty sure I didn’t deserve, especially if he knew where my hands had been on his daughter a mere six hours be
fore. “Hey, look who’s up. Are you hungry, Beckett?”
“I could eat,” he said, stepping forward, pressing my hands together and ready to get them busy. “What do you need me to do?”
With a grin, Bailey’s dad turned to face me fully, pointing his specula at me, bacon grease dripping from it and everything. “Now, that’s what I like to hear, someone willing to wade in and help out.” Two pieces of toast popped up from the toaster, so he pointed his drippy spatula that way. “Get to buttering.”
“Yes, sir.”
I did eagerly, and Ben asked me about my potato-peeling abilities as I opened the butter tub.
“Any experience?” he wondered.
With a nod, I said, “Actually, yes. My mom put me to work peeling potatoes almost every holiday.”
The first wave of nostalgia and homesickness hit then. I couldn’t help but wonder who Mom had assigned to potato-peeling duty for today. From the sound of it, Britt wasn’t likely in any condition to chip in. Maybe Dad had helped her. Or maybe they hadn’t even felt the need to prepare a big, full Thanksgiving meal at all. Maybe with money so bad, their spirits down, and a fourth of the family—me—gone, they hadn’t bothered. They could be sitting around the living room with TV dinners on trays as they watched the Macy’s Parade for all I knew.
I hoped that wasn’t the case. I hope they’d carried on tradition without me, that money was better, that Britt was better. I hoped they were okay.
The urge to call them rose. I wanted to check in, make sure things hadn’t gotten worse. But I shook my head and finished buttering toast for Bailey’s family. If my relatives wanted me bothering them, they’d call me. I’d stay out of their business.
“That’ll be your first duty as my new employee then,” Ben said, jerking my attention back to the present. “You can start peeling potatoes for dinner after we’re done with breakfast.”
I nodded, ready to earn my keep. “No problem. I’d be happy to.”
