The rear passenger door swings open, and two long legs fall out, followed by a wad of dark hair and two huge eyes. This must be Goldie. Beck’s best friend. I don’t even look at her face long enough to remember her if I saw her a moment later. My eyes magnetize to the cab where two feet kick beneath a thin blanket. Beck’s eyes are on me and nowhere else as Goldie leans into the backseat to retrieve Jett.
I don’t say a goddamn word.
I’m angry. I’m relieved. I’m realizing a lot of shit all at once.
“He was driving me fucking nuts,” Atticus says, and Beck’s eyes go to him for a moment before coming straight back to me.
“Two days,” I grit through clenched teeth, the hinges of my jaw burning from the control I’m exercising. I want to yell. I want to make my goddamn point. But Goldie’s arm is looped through the handle of the car seat. And I will never do anything to scare Jett.
“Jett got sick,” Goldie offers, twisting the car seat so that Atticus and I get an eyeful of my little buddy.
“He got what I had, only a lot worse. His fever was high. I was frightened. The ambulance took him to the ER.” Beck’s words are merely the soundtrack to my heart fluttering at finally laying eyes on Jett after two long, stressful days.
“We were admitted for two days,” Goldie adds as if I can’t do goddamn mental math, as if I haven’t been calling a powered-off cell phone for the last forty-eight hours, as if I’d be here looking like shit warmed over if I hadn’t been out of the loop fortwodays.
“Two days, Beck. For two days, I had no clue what was going on.”
“Her phone went dead,” Goldie defends, and I don’t even look at her.
“She has a voice,” Atticus retorts, and I watch as he and Goldie glare at each other with so much passion that it borders on hate. Goldie’s eyes train on Atticus something fierce.
“Is Jett okay?” I peer into the car seat where Jett is kicking his legs, holding tight to his giraffe. Crouching in front of him, I rock his seat once Goldie lowers it to the ground.
“Bo! Bo, bo, bo, bo!” he chants. Reactively I pinch the bridge of my nose, exhaling heavily.
“Hi buddy,” I smile, my voice rough from talking around the knot in my throat. I grab his foot and give it a wiggle. “Glad you’re okay. I missed your little face; you know that?” I don’t try to make my words private; I don’t shield how I feel for this little boy just because Atticus and Goldie are here. I’m not afraid of vulnerability when it comes to this kid.
Beck, either.
But obviously, she feels different. Even though I thought we’d gotten on the same page. Clearly, I was wrong.
Hating to leave his smiling face, my heart kicks in my chest, and I get that familiar tingle in my nose and eyes, but I bite it back. I get to my feet, giving them my back. Facing Atticus, I nod. “I’m ready.”
He nods, and we head toward his truck, where it’s parked on the curb, in front of what I presume to be Goldie’s BMW. Beck’s harsh tone wraps around me, spinning me back to face her.
“Wait,” she says, holding a hand out like that’s gonna stop me. Truth is, I wanted her to ask me to wait or stay, to show that ghosting me for two days was worth something other than the slap in the face it was to me.
I lift my brows. “What’s up?”
Her face gets all irritated, but even with her trying to be angry with me, I can see the toll of the last two days beneath her eyes in dark pools. Her hair is extra shiny, and her clothes are rumpled. Hell, her voice is still a little hoarse, too. Sick and exhausted, angry, or whatever the fuck she is–she still looks hot as fuck. She turns to her best friend.
“Take Jett in, give me a minute?” she asks quietly. Goldie lifts the car seat onto her arm before giving me a small, good-luck nod. Her eyes dart over to Atticus, whose hip is leaning against the grill of his pickup, arms folded over his chest. She glares at him, and when I look at him, I find him practically fucking snarling back at her.
“You know her?” I ask him in a whisper. But I know Goldie isn’t from here. Beck told me as much. And Atticus was born and raised in Oakcreek. The chance they’ve met is slim to none. Yet the way they glare at one another, protective over their respective friends, both make me proud and give me goosebumps.
He spits into the street, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. The March breeze picks up some of his long, greasy hair, tossing it across his face. With the shove of his hand, his hair is out of the way, and his eyes are still on her. “Know enough of ‘em like her.”
Oof.
“Fork off,” Goldie says, carrying Jett up the porch steps inside.
“Ishegonna go, too, so we can talk in private?” Beck asks.
“Heis Atticus, and no, he’s not.” I shove my hands into my pockets. “What do you want, Beck?”
Irritatedly, she glares at Atticus for a minute before bracing her hands on her hips, bringing that glare back to me. “Jett needed to go to the ER. My phone died. I don’t know your number by heart, Beau. I’m not going to apologize to you. I’ve been through hell for two days, okay?”
“I’m not asking you to apologize, Beck!” My voice raises unexpectedly, and I can’t help it. I honestly fucking can’t. With my hands gripping the back of my neck, I take a breath. “I don’t want you to apologize for anything. What I want is for you to realize you didn’t have to go through all thatwithoutsomeone.”