UNKNOWN #: Beckett is broken. All you’ll ever be is his sidekick. You’re setting yourself up to get hurt even worse than when he kissed you and you mistook pity for something real. It’s like you got stuck at age twelve, hiding out in Rivers and using Beckett as cover—the same way you used to hide behind your hair.
Her words were cruel, and yet they also had that edge of concern she always dropped. Enough truth for me to wonder if she really did care and was looking out for me, or if it was just gaslighting at its best.
ME: Just because I’m not like you, trading one boyfriend for another to help advance my career, doesn’t mean I’m hiding.
UNKNOWN #: Everything I’ve done was to get myself out of that town. And now, I’m reaping the rewards with my acting career blooming and a boyfriend on his way to stardom. We wrote a screenplay together, and his company, Lost Acres Productions, is producing it. With us as the leads, we’ll sweep every award in the business. I have big plans, Cornlette. You wouldn’t know a big idea if it hit you in the ass.
I didn’t bother to respond. I’d never change Chelsea’s opinions of this town or me or the life I’d chosen.
I was surprised when she texted again, and her question made my chest ache.
UNKNOWN #: So is he dying?
She still cared. She might try to pretend she didn’t, but underneath her starlette façade, Chelsea still loved us.
ME: No. He burnt his hand and had a stroke, which caused some temporary dementia. He’s not dying.
But her response ripped away my momentary belief in her.
UNKNOWN #: I bet you nurse him for years until he takes his last breath, just like you did Mom. Make it easier on yourself and just walk away. Leave him to whatever fate has in store. It’s what he deserves.
UNKNOWN #: And look at it this way, when he croaks, your half of the life insurance and house will give you a chance to get out of Rivers.
Anger, grief, and overwhelming sadness filled me as I read her words. The force of my emotions was so strong my hands shook, and I almost dropped the phone. Even Chelsea couldn’t possibly be that heartless. She couldn’t mean just to leave Dad…to what? Die? She didn’t really want him dead, did she?
“Maisey?” I whipped my head up to see Beckett watching me, brows furrowed in concern. He dropped the drill and strode toward me. “What is it?”
I shook my head. I didn’t have words, couldn’t answer if I’d wanted to.
He pulled my phone from my hand, scanning the conversation.
“What the hell?”
My sister hadn’t always been cold and cruel. My earliest memories of her were full of laughter and love. I remembered us as little kids, heads bent, coloring together in the kitchen while Mom made cookies. When a pop song came on that we all liked, the three of us used wooden spoons as microphones and did our best karaoke rendition of it, dance moves and all.
I had dozens of good memories just like that one. Times full of love and joy.
Looking back, I could see that things with my sister had changed once my parents had started spending money on my dental work. Had it just been about the money? Or had she felt slighted? Like she had less of our parents’ time and attention and love simply because they’d been caring for me?
When Mom got sick, Chelsea had all but disappeared. She’d spent days at a time at her friends’ houses or, though our parents didn’t know it, at her much older boyfriend’s. She’d left me to care for our mom alone. It had been mere months between Mom’s diagnosis and her death, and I’d never regret the moments I’d spent with her. I’d have done just about anything to have had a few more months, a handful of more memories.
Memories I wanted now with our father too. So, I’d never walk away. I’d do whatever it took to help the dad I loved, failings and all. Knowing he felt remorse for what had happened in our childhood only proved how important this time together was. It would give us a chance to heal. To fill the cracks life had smashed into us.
I grabbed my phone from Beckett and shoved it into my pocket. “Shedoesn’t mean it.”
It was an automatic response I’d spent years offering.
But if anyone knew it wasn’t true, it was the man standing in front of me.
I turned and headed out of the yard with him on my heels. He wasn’t going to leave this alone. He was going to demand I respond. And it pissed me off, because I’d much rather respond to his plea about sex and passion than a question about my sister.
It wasn’t until we were on the steps of his porch that I realized I wasn’t going to have a chance to answer any of it.
Chapter Sixteen
Beckett
MERCY