Beholden: A Small-Town Standalone Romance (Carmel Cove Book 1)

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  “Because I knew your grandfather needed a reason to remember the love,” she explained, looking up at me with a sad smile. “He’d spent so many years telling me about my dad when I needed it. When your parents died and you left for school, it was time I returned that kindness. He needed to remember the good times because it was getting harder and harder.”

  My throat burned like the acid from my stomach was eating its way out of me with each dragging inhale.

  I flinched when her hand reached for mine, but I couldn’t pull away.

  “He loved you so much, Laurel. They all did.” Her assurances wrapped around me like a warm impenetrable shield. “He just… didn’t know how to make it better for you… or for himself. He thought maybe the space would help you heal. I don’t know if he was right or wrong about that, but I know he missed you very much. Every week we’d look through photos. Every week I’d bring over my laptop and we’d look and see how you were doing at school and then we’d follow the news about the company you worked for and the great things you were doing.”

  I started to shake my head. I didn’t want to hear this. I didn’t want to know.

  “I told him to call you so many times. He just…” She sighed. “Well, you know how Larry could be. Stubborn as the ocean is deep. He knew how much everything about this place hurt you… and if you were finally happy and doing something you loved, he didn’t want to bring that hurt back into your life.”

  I wanted to scream.

  What if I wasn’t happy?

  What if I liked my job but didn’t love it?

  What if I wasn’t supposed to leave?

  What if I was supposed to stay?

  Like a lead anvil, guilt crashed into my chest without warning.

  Those ‘what ifs’ were on me. I made choices and stuck to them. It was no one’s fault other than my own.

  “Oh, Laurel.” She shut the photo album and clasped my hand in both of hers on top of it. Her hands felt like soft, warm dough as they folded over mine. “You know how stubborn he was. I lost count of how many scrapes and bruises I’d see him with because he’d rather hurt himself than burden someone else by asking for help.” Her chest heaved. “Eli did what he could, bless his heart, but the break-in… I think it put him over the edge.”

  The room fell away and the air thickened until breathing felt like I was trying to inhale molasses into my lungs.

  “I should’ve—”

  “This is not your fault.” She squeezed my hand for emphasis, her warmth fighting desperately to heat the cold guilt pulsing in my fingers. “Your pap loved you and he never would have done this if he could have realized what it would do to you. But he couldn’t…” Josie paused to wipe a tear from her eye. “He couldn’t realize because he was lost. Lost in his darkness… in his depression.”

  I fought to breathe. I’d never struggled with sadness because I never let myself. I pushed it all away and focused on something else. Was that what he’d done? Was that what happened when you pretended to be okay for so long?

  “He wasn’t himself, Laurel, and you’re not to blame for that. How many times did you and I hear from him that life is about giving and receiving? Only half is about the help and the love you give, the other is about the help and love you receive. I think he forgot about that second part. He gave and gave and, for whatever reason, wouldn’t take the love so many of us were waiting… trying to give…”

  Because that was what depression did.

  It took strengths and turned them into weakness. It mutated the mind’s thoughts and turned it into a traitor.

  It made a man who stubbornly fought to help everyone around him forget how to ask for help himself. It made a man who was so loved believe he had nothing left to live for.

  Depression wasn’t a disability. It was a cancer.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t—” I gasped as her fingers tightened like a steel vise around mind.

  “Grief is the other side of love, Laurel.” Her warm perceptive eyes pierced mine. I blinked, and for a brief, insane second, I saw my pap standing in front of me, his worn, weathered face lit by the brightest, comforting smile. “Like sunrise and sunset. You can’t have one without the other.” Ishkey.

  The last I heard though it was unspoken as Josie let go of my hand to reach for a tissue, turning away as her shoulders began to shake.

  And then I felt it all—the loss, the sadness, the loneliness, the hopelessness. The love. And I bolted for the door. She was wrong.

  If I stayed, the pain would bring me to my knees. It would break me.

  And I was afraid I’d never be able to stand again.

  Laurel

  Grief was like the ocean. Unpredictable. Inescapable.

  Some days, the sea was a calm ebb and flow. Others, overwhelming with waves rising and crashing.

  But today? Today, it was a riptide. A gentle deceptive tug urging me deeper and deeper until it swept me off my feet and pulled me under.

  Today, it was dangerous.

  My feet carried me back to Roasters, but I paused in the doorway, seeing no one inside.

  Pushing the frayed strands of hair that had escaped my ponytail back from my face, I checked my watch and realized I’d been down at the bakery so long, everyone had gone for lunch. And they’d left the door unlocked.

  The front room was empty, but there was a light left on in the back.

  “Hello?” I yelled even though it was as quiet as a tomb. “Eve?”

  My hand shook as I closed the door behind me; this was the first time I’d been in here alone. Each breath felt like air being stabbed into my lungs as past and present warred in front of me. The more we took down of this place, the more memories bled from the walls. My parents. My pap. Everyone I loved had built this place and been built into it in return. And now, it was in shambles and it was all my fault.

  If I had stayed, this wouldn’t have happened.

  If I had stayed, maybe he wouldn’t have died.

  I halted as the single bulb gleamed across the crafted metal of the espresso machine, shining like new.

  An unexpected laugh bubbled up in my throat.

  It looked ridiculous. This perfect, glowing machine in the middle of complete destruction.

  How could it still be okay?

  My throat thickened as I stepped in front of it, even though I knew I wouldn’t cry. That only seemed to happen when Eli was around. And I wondered if grieving for someone who wanted to die was worse than for someone who didn’t?

  Would it be worse to miss someone who wanted to be gone?

  “Why?” I asked hollowly, my fingers shaking as they splayed across the metal La Pavoni emblem in the center of the machine. “Why did you have to go?”

  I asked as though it could reply for him.

  But the answer I heard was my own reason for leaving Carmel all those years ago… Because I couldn’t bear the thought of being here any longer, no matter the people who loved me and needed me to stay.

  My eyes squeezed shut, and when they reopened, I noticed the espresso cup sitting on the ledge of the machine.

  My head tipped unsteadily. Had that been there before?

  I reached for it. Was that coffee in it?

  Just another inch closer confirmed the contents by their strong scent, the warmth of the cup indicating it was just made.

  I looked around again. “Is anyone here?” Still no answer.

  I shouldn’t. I knew I shouldn’t. Not today. Not after Josie.

  Not when love and grief were two sides of the same coin.

  But I asked a question into the silence, and this… this was its answer.

  It was a stupid thing, really, to think a cup of coffee could change anything. Could change my life. But it was never just a cup of coffee in this place. It was a connection.

  Taste, like smell, was one of the strongest sensory connections the brain had to past memories. And like Alice, I’d fallen down this rabbit hole I was desperate to escape, only I didn’t need a Drink Me
sign to encourage me to take one taste.

  The rich, potent brew drowned me, engulfed my senses, and took me back.

  I jolted as that first swallow spanned years of my life, years in this building with people who I would never see again. Love and loss tangled in a web of new connections, reprogramming the space between my brain and heart that had been wiped clean.

  “Laurel?”

  My eyes popped open, and a strangled noise escaped. “Eli?”

  I set the mug down with a loud crash, black filtering into my periphery as I reached for something—anything—to hold on to.

  And of course, just like every other time I reached out for something steady and sturdy, I always found him.

  “Jesus.” He moved into my space, ready to catch me or hold me or kiss me—ready to do whatever I needed… whatever I asked.

  His arms locked around me, flattening me against his warm strength as one hand cupped my cheek. His twin dark flames assessed every inch of my face and he demanded, “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  My mouth dried up and even though I was staring at him, I wasn’t seeing him. My mind was elsewhere, though my body was grounded to him.

  “My pap had let me make espresso that night,” I told him hollowly, clinging to him as the memories pulled me deeper like the strongest riptide. “He’d helped me roast the beans that morning because I told him I wanted to make my parents coffee before they went out.” I tried to swallow but couldn’t. My throat was a one-way valve: only words were allowed out.

  “They stopped in to say goodnight, all dressed for a charity event. My mom looked so beautiful,” I continued with a voice that was hardly recognizable. “They were running late, so they couldn’t stay for coffee… for me to tell them.” My knees weakened but the arms holding me made sure I didn’t sink. “I remember I wasn’t even upset. I remember drinking my little cup of coffee, so proud of it… and so sure I would tell them in the morning.”

  I blinked and Eli’s tortured face came into focus.

  “But morning never came.”

  “Laurel…”

  My gaze trembled. The aftertaste of the coffee burned my palate and throat. I wanted water or soda or acid… anything to make it go away.

  “It tastes like the last time I saw them.” Strong. Bittersweet. Unpalatable.

  “God, I’m sorry, Laurel,” he rasped, his fingers wiping over my cheeks as though there were tears to clean. “It’s my fault. I just ran next door for a sandwich.”

  My breath stumbled into my chest. “You made this?”

  The hammering in my chest seized.

  He nodded hesitantly. “Eve cleaned it up this morning. Figured I should see if it still worked.”

  No. No. No.

  My hands that had curled into his shirt unraveled, flattening against his chest as I tried to push him away.

  He’d made this. He’d brought me back.

  He was responsible.

  “It’s okay to remember them… to remember him.” His arms tightened in an effort to keep me close.

  “No, it’s not.” I shook my head, pulling away.

  “Why do you fight it?” He huffed. “I just want to help you. Just like I wanted to help him. And both of you are too damn stubborn to just lean a little. Dammit, Laurel, it’s okay to not be okay.”

  “Because!” I yelled, shoving myself out of his reach, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Because to remember them, to remember their loss, I’d have to remember the parts of me they took with them when they left—the parts only they knew.” I let out a bitter laugh. “And to tell you the truth, Mr. Know-It-All, without those parts, I don’t know if there’s anything left of me.”

  The words were sharp, sudden, unfair.

  Just like loss.

  “You’re wrong.” His protest was instantaneous, highlighted by the fierce insistence in his eyes. “I don’t know it all, but I do know there is more left of you. More strength. More dreams. More fight.”

  Each assertion was a punch to my stomach.

  “I don’t know what pictures you’ve seen or what stories you were told,” I began hollowly, straightening so tall it felt as though there must be a string pulling me upright from the ceiling. “But I can tell you that you don’t know me at all.”

  It wasn’t a gauntlet that was thrown, only the truth. But it fell with just as much force.

  The way his eyes sparked and flared, the finest heat congealing inside them, felt like he could see right through me. Like he could see right into the closed off parts of my heart. Like he’d stop at nothing to get to them.

  My arm dropped to my side with a thud and I turned and bolted for the back door.

  The photos, the coffee, the memory… it was all winning.

  And as I fled, I felt the subtle pop of all the lines I’d already attached to him. So many invisible threads of support he’d given when I hadn’t even realized it. All working together to form another dangerous link between me and this place —between my heart and this man.

  I wasn’t even fully seated in the truck before I cranked the key in the ignition. Banging on the steering wheel with my palm a few times, the last accompanied by a strangled cry, I tried to release some of the anger and tension and everything threatening to burst inside me.

  “Laurel!”

  My head jerked up, hearing my name tear angrily from those beautiful lips. I hated how I wanted to kiss him even when I was mad at him. Harsh frustration outlined every line of his face as he stalked toward the truck.

  My head thudded just as erratically as the old engine trying to run smooth.

  Damn man wouldn’t give up.

  He growled over the roar of my pap’s old truck, “Dammit, Laurel, don’t do this.”

  Whatever tree stubbornness came from, we’d both been fed the poisonous fruit.

  Pursing my lips, I threw the truck in reverse, slung one arm over the passenger headrest, and shot Eli one last wild ‘I’m leaving, and you can’t stop me’ stare before I backed out of the drive to the tune of his steely stare.

  Grief was unreasonable. Or maybe it was just me.

  Because I was unreasonably upset by the damaged walls being torn down, unreasonably upset by photos of a past I swore I didn’t want. Unreasonably upset by a stupid cup of coffee.

  But, most of all, unreasonably upset by the gorgeous man who got so easily under my skin and made it seem like it would be the safest thing in the world to trust him… to lean on him and let him in.

  But it wasn’t safe.

  That type of thing was like the Titanic—marketed as indestructible and unsinkable. Until it ran across something it never expected. And when you encountered the unexpected, there was no time to safely evacuate all the pieces of your heart before disaster took your whole life down.

  Eli

  Goddamn stubborn woman.

  She was worse than Larry, it was official, I thought to myself as I watched the old truck disappear down the street. Christ.

  “I always knew you had a way with the ladies,” Miles drawled from somewhere behind me.

  Turning with a glare, I saw both brothers peering out the back door of the building.

  “At least she wasn’t holding that mallet when you pissed her off.”

  Mick smacked the back of his brother’s head before maneuvering outside over to me.

  “She okay?” he asked slowly.

  My heavy sigh carried on the wind as my shoulders dropped. “No.”

  “You okay?”

  I paused. “Are any of us?”

  His head dipped slightly. “We will be,” he replied and, with a small smile added, “Larry’d have our heads if we weren’t.”

  A harsh exhale escaped. Well, that was true.

  “You should go.” He nodded in the direction the truck had gone.

  I wanted to.

  God, my feet shifted, needing to.

  Running a hand through my hair, I swore under my breath. “I have to wait for George to come back.”


  “If you think we’re incapable of handling the plumber, maybe we need to rethink our working arrangement,” Miles chimed in.

  I stepped to the side, looking past Mick to his smartass brother who eyed me with dark, devious eyes. He was right. He was just a dick about it.

  All I wanted was to hold her until she knew I wouldn’t let go—until she knew it was safe to lean on me even just for a little while.

  “You know we’ll be fine here,” Mick added. “Go get some flowers or chocolate or somethin’ and apologize.”

  “What’s he apologizin’ for?” Miles scoffed.

  Mick grunted and turned on his brother. “Speaking. Hell, breathing. It doesn’t matter. When a woman’s upset, the first thing you do is apologize. Period.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “Ignore him,” Mick instructed.

  I chuckled and shook my head.

  “Even with an apology, I don’t think she wants to see me right now,” I confessed. “I made a cup of coffee and she stormed out. Tried to talk to her and she drove off. Not sure what she’ll do if I go over there and apologize, but I’m worried it won’t be good for me.”

  “Well, if Larry has a mallet at the house, it won’t be.” Dick.

  “You know what I think,” Mick began, sending his brother a pointed stare. “I think the people who need love the most are the ones who push it away the hardest.”

  Miles’ mouth disappeared into a tight line.

  Love?

  My teeth clenched. I knew what he meant, but my desire for Laurel clouded everything. More than Larry’s death. More than Roasters repair. More than anything, she’d consumed my thoughts from the moment I met her.

  “And sometimes, the simplest things can make the greatest impact,” he finished.

  His words hit home. “We all know Larry would agree with that,” I mumbled.

  We stood quietly for a moment, a low breeze swirling around us from the ocean a few blocks down.

  “Start where you are,” Mick finally said quietly, and the silence grew heavy.

  A few seconds later, Miles continued roughly, “Use what you have.”