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13
BECK
When my mother was dying, she told me that I’d know the right girl when I met her, but I knew with Kate before we’d ever even met.
My bike hadn’t even come to a full stop outside the club when I’d noticed her: long red hair whipping in the wind, an angel’s face,don’t-fuck-with-meeyes.
I knew. I fucking knew it was her...until Caleb walked up. That’s when I realized this was the girl he’d been talking about for the past two months. I’ve spent years trying to forget how I felt that night, trying to separate myself from her, but it’s never worked.
I was the one who was with her during her pregnancy, helping with all the shit Caleb was too busy for. I was the one who fought with him after Hannah died, who insisted that he couldn’t throw himself into work when Kate needed him. I was the one who told him she was using and the only answer he ever came up with was rehab, because it was so much easier than being there with her himself.
She was suffering and the world said,“You’ll figure it out.”And now she is drowning, and the world says,“Hey, you brought it on yourself.”
It’s time she had one person willing to take her side, and for that to happen, I need to come clean to Caleb.
Come clean aboutsomeof it, anyway.
I text and discover he’s at his house, not the office—unheard of for a Wednesday morning—so I head out to his end of the lake, to the house I practically lived at during the summers growing up.
“Your timing is perfect,” he says when he opens the door. “Give me a hand with this drywall.”
“Can’t believe you’ve taken a day off to work on the house,” I say, placing my helmet on the foyer table and following him to the pile of drywall in the corner. “Didn’t know you were capable of it.”
He bought the house late last winter, planning to fix it up for his mom. We all took bets on how many decades it would be before he got around to the renovations. Looks like I’m out fifty bucks.
He grabs one end and I grab the other. “Garage,” he grunts. “I’m just taking the morning off to get it ready for Liam’s crew to come in.”
“You’re actually hiring him to finish this up?”
“My weekends and evenings are better spent with Lucie and the kids,” he says, flinging open the garage door with one hand and twisting the drywall to get it through the narrow opening. “What’s with the surprise visit, anyway?”
I wait until we’ve dumped the drywall onto the garage floor before I reply. “I have to tell you something.”
He frowns at me, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “No one ever says‘I have to tell you something’and then delivers good news.” He turns to go back inside. “We’d better sit for this.”
I follow him to the kitchen and take the seat across from his. “Kate showed up at my house a few weeks ago, needing a place to stay,” I announce. “She’s been there ever since.”
A muscle in his cheek flickers. “You’re shitting me.”
I don’t think he’s jealous—he’s too whipped over Lucie to even notice other females. But it’s not an especially good look when your best friend is shacking up with your ex, whether you’ve got feelings for her or not. I’d be pissed too. “She needed a place to stay, Caleb. It might have escaped your attention, but she’s not exactly flush.”
“Are you sleeping with her?” His voice is calm—toocalm—and entirely without intonation.
I raise a brow. “No, and why would it matter if I were, unless you’ve decided you want her back?”
His mouth falls open. “That’s not it, and you know it. It’s just fucking disloyal. And you couldn’t mention itonceinstead of sending me memes about the Seahawks?”
“Yeah, I should have told you sooner, but I never thought she’d stay as long as she has. And it was either me or her dealer. If you’re so fucking selfish you’d want me to turn her away in that situation, you don’t deserve my loyalty or anyone else’s.”
His chair scrapes along the floor as he climbs to his feet.
I stand too. “You want to hit me, asshole?” I demand. “Go ahead. I’m begging you to hit me first.”
He stares at me, his jaw open wide. “You’ve been living with my ex for over a month in secret! Why the fuck are you acting likeyou’rethe injured party?”
Because you never deserved her, and you didn’t appreciate what you had. Because this whole fucking situation could have been avoided if you’d cared a little more than you did.
“I’m not the injured party, dumbass,” I reply. “She is. She’s still so damaged by what happened that she can barely function.”
