HUDSON (The Beckett Boys, Book Six)

by Olivia Chase

I try to take the blank out of my face, but I'm probably failing. "That's a bummer."

  "Yeah. So we're having one last party this weekend."

  "Cool."

  "I'm inviting you," Becker clarifies. "Since I know how much you love that thing."

  I haven't thought about Becker's fucking houseboat in months. "You want me at your party?"

  "I just invited you, didn't I?"

  "What I mean is, why?"

  "I guess you forgot all the killer times we had on it. My bad."

  "I guess you forgot you broke up with me."

  "Does that mean we can't hang out ever again?"

  "When you get your buddy to end it for you, that usually doesn't result in being close friends afterwards."

  "Come on." Becker shifts his weight and looks past me into my living room. "Can I at least come in?"

  "That would mean you're staying awhile."

  "I don't think you're that busy." He flits his eyes around the room behind me. "It's quiet. Nobody else is here, huh?"

  This is so Becker. He doesn't get that being alone doesn't mean you're not occupied. He can't fathom not having people around him at all times. "Isabel's in class, and I'm studying."

  "Ohhh." His eyes light up. "Want to study me?"

  "Becker."

  "I'm just playing. Well, kinda."

  "For real," I say, feeling my irritation level rising. "What are you doing here?"

  "You keep asking me that wherever I see you."

  "Because you keep showing up where you're not supposed to be, and keep talking to me when you dumped me weeks ago."

  "Maybe I saw you and remembered how hot you are," he says, eyeballing me again and holding his gaze at boob-level.

  "I guess that's supposed to be a compliment," I say, putting my hand back on the door in case I feel like slamming it. "But ideally, you remember how hot you find your girlfriend even when you're not with her."

  Becker's eyes shoot upwards. "I never forgot the fact that you're hot, Keri. I just was going through some shit."

  "What kind of shit?"

  "I dunno. Career shit." He blows air out of his mouth. "Got a lot to figure out."

  "We're all going through that, dude. Doesn't mean you can just treat someone you've been with for two years like she doesn't matter."

  "I fucked up. You know how it goes."

  "That's slightly beyond a fuckup," I say, closing the door. So cool, so cavalier about it! I can't believe him.

  Becker sticks his arm in the way. "Keri! Wait."

  "What?"

  "The marigolds your mom gave me died."

  "How fitting," I say.

  "Don't be mean."

  "Becker," I say, trying not to lose it. "You dumped me, remember? Not the other way around. So you can tell me why you really came over here, or I'm shutting the door."

  "You!" He blurts it out like he's been waiting for the right instant to say it. "I came over here to see you. I--" he glances behind him. "I maybe made a big mistake."

  "You sure fucking did."

  "And maybe I realized that, okay? Now can I come in?"

  I stand there and look at my ex. He's gazing at me like he always used to. He's wearing a shirt I gave him, from South by Southwest in Austin last spring. Music festivals were one of our favorite things to do together, especially that one.

  But that's the thing. We're not together anymore.

  "I can't." I grimace as tightly as I can. I don't feel the burning need to be with Becker anymore. And he's nothing like Gage. "No. I really can't, Becker.”

  I don't see what face he makes, because I squinch my eyes shut and close the door. I stand there like that, not seeing anything even in the safety of my own home, until I hear his Mustang starting and the sound of the motor fading.

  I'm still standing in front of the door, feeling like my feet won't move, when I hear Isabel's heels clacking up the walkway. I back up so she doesn't run into me when she opens the door.

  "Did I just see Becker turning the corner?"

  "Yep," I say. "FML, to the thousandth power."

  She kicks off her shoes and chunks them into the front closet instead of sliding them into their place in the shoe tree. "He was here?"

  "Yep again." I flop onto the couch, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. "And FML again."

  "What was he doing here?"

  "Just talking to me. I kept him outside."

  "Good. But what did he want?"

  "I don't know what his deal is," I say. "He wanted to come in, but I wouldn't let him."

  Isabel frowns. "Come in and do what?"

  "See how far he could get?" I shrug. "He made it sound like he just wanted to talk, but he always has a way of turning things sexual."

  Isabel shudders. "Eww."

  "Sorry," I say. "But nothing happened.”

  "That's weird," Isabel says. "That's like, really weird."

  "He's a weird guy."

  "He breaks up with you. And you're saying he came over here, trying to initiate something?"

  "Guys have been known to pull that." Isabel rolls her eyes and I can't help joining her. "But he didn't get anywhere."

  "So you think he still wants you?"

  "He didn't try anything physical. But he hinted at it."

  "Hmm." Isabel's expression is somewhere between disgust and morbid curiousity. "How did he hint at it?"

  "I told him I was studying, and he was like, 'Want to study me?'"

  "Are you kidding me?"

  "Nope. And he kept ogling me. He was shameless about it, really."

  Isabel examines her manicure, brow furrowed. "God, he's a dick."

  "I know. I know more than anybody."

  "Unacceptable." She scowls again. "K, that's just unacceptable. He's a fucking idiot."

  "I know! You don't have to tell me." I check my phone's clock. "Ugh. I have to get ready for class."

  Isabel follows me into my bedroom, fiddling with my perfume bottles. "So what are you going to do about it?"

  "Nothing," I say, fishing a clean shirt out of my drawer. "I'm with Gage now."

  Isabel picks up my hairbrush and runs it through her blonde locks even though it doesn't need it. "So between Becker and Gage..."

  "Gage!" I cry. "No contest."

  "Do you think he'll come over here again?" My best friend sounds seriously worried about this. "Did he say he wanted you back?"

  "For God's sake, Bel," I say, tossing the shirt I just removed into the open wicker hamper.

  Isabel's eyes widen. "Wow, your stomach's looking toned."

  "Lots of sexercise," I say, feeling my broad smile. I pat my middle. "You really think so?"

  "Yeah. So, did Becker apologize or what?"

  "Not exactly. Don't worry about me."

  "I can't help it," Isabel says, scowl returning to her face. "What if he wants you back?"

  "He doesn't get that option," I insist. "Really, Bel, I'm okay. I'm not going to do anything stupid."

  She sniffs one perfume bottle and sets it down. "I saw how he broke your heart."

  "I remember," I say. "I remember better than anyone. It wasn't even that long ago. But I got Gage out of it, so I'd say I lived."

  Isabel apparently accepts that and heads towards the door. Her blonde head pops back up after she's out in the hallway. "Just don't take one step forward and ten steps back, okay?"

  "We come together," I sing. "'Cause opposites attract."

  "That's an oldie. And those aren't even the right words."

  "Two steps forward?"

  "Nerd," Isabel cackles, and then she disappears.

  Chapter 15

  KERI

  You'd think, with an innovative mind so fascinating it's been probed by journalists in every first-world country, that Gage Ramsey would be able to come up with a better alias than Stan Vard.

  "Just so you know," I greet him when I answer his call in the quad the next day, "I laugh every time I get anything from this particular contact."

  "As long
as you're smiling."

  "I guess it's slightly more believable than Har Ford."

  "Slightly." Gage's wonderful laugh floods over the phone, and I grin like a fool. "I don't have much time to talk. I just wanted to hear your voice and see how your day's going."

  Sometimes I can't connect this sweet guy to the sarcastic, arrogant ass I met at Vulcan's. I hang up with Gage after a few minutes of catching up. Not that we have a whole lot to catch up on. We've been seeing each other every few days, not counting in class, and we're thinking about driving down to San Antonio a couple of weekends from now. Gage wants to see the Alamo, and if we both wear sunglasses and baseball caps, maybe nobody will look twice.

  I drop my phone into my purse and take a moment to look around. It was overcast this morning, but patches of blue have broken through, and some of the sunlight hits my shoulders. It's still hot, but not as blazing as when school first started. I'm looking forward to some cooler fall days. Maybe Gage will want to come hiking with me. Texas Hill Country is definitely not what you'd call mountainous, but the trails are fun.

  The quad is fairly quiet, with a few students coming and going in various directions. As I continue my walk across campus, some movement in an alcove by the sunflower garden between two buildings catches my eye.

  Becker. Hands clenched into fists at his sides, looking with intensity at the girl who's angrily waving her arms around in front of him.

  The girl is blond. The girl is blond and coiffed to perfection.

  The girl is my best friend.

  I almost call out to them. I almost run over and pull Isabel away, hoping to spare Becker from whatever what-for she's putting him through, even though he wouldn't deserve that courtesy. I've seen Isabel lose her shit on guys in bars who piss her off. It's not pretty.

  But then he reaches out to her, and not in the friendly way. He takes her arm and pulls her to him, then uses his other arm to take her other hand.

  They're holding hands. My ex-boyfriend and my roommate. He's got both her hands in his.

  And then he drops them, wraps his arms around her, and kisses her.

  You always hear about these horrible moments. You watch movies where there are elaborate double, even triple, takes, and gasps you could hear across town. Or fainting.

  Not for me. I stand planted into the walkway, utterly transfixed by the spectacle before me just twenty or so feet away. I don't hide. I don't run. I don't even think my mouth opens. I just gape, somehow now held hostage by my eyes, which refuse to look away from this.

  My dreamer's mind says, “Hang on, maybe that's not even Isabel. It just looks like her from here."

  My logical mind says, "Go. Leave. Run. This is only going to get worse."

  My body doesn't listen, because my legs aren't going anywhere. I'd think I was completelty immobilized if my knees weren't shaking.

  I feel like I'm out of breath. Like the time another gymnast crashed into me on the floor because she didn't see I was still tumbling. I lay on the velvety blue floor then, thinking my lungs were going to explode. That's how I feel right now.

  And then, that sick feeling. That nasty saliva overproduction thing, that queasy unsettling in my stomach. Oh, my God. I am going to throw up. Like right here.

  I will bend over and scrape my feet from this walkway if I have to. It's like every neuron and nerve ending in my body's just blown. Move, I think. Now.

  I take one unsteady step. And then I run.

  It's weird, the flowing myriad of thoughts you can have while you're running home. I'm a good ways away from them now, but I keep running.

  Becker and Isabel. Holy shit.

  I've been thinking Keri and Gage nonstop. At first, admittedly, because there was a two-year period of Keri and Becker. It never occurred to me for a second that there'd be an Isabel and Becker.

  How?! I want to scream. How did this even enter into either of their minds?! Whose idea was this?

  Where? Our house?! Surely not. Then again, I've been gone a lot lately. Have my Gage nights been Becker nights for my best friend?!

  When? My feet keep smacking the sidewalk, and I grit my teeth. This is the most perplexing of all. When did this start?!

  I reach our house and bang into the living room, breathless. I stare at the beige walls, and the framed shot of Isabel and me on a shelf, dressed as Lucy and Ethel for Halloween. We'd both worn Vitameatavegimin shirts in case nobody could tell who we were supposed to be.

  I hurry into my bedroom and slam the door, even though Isabel's not here to get the message that sends. What in the name of God and everything holy did I just see? What in the actual fuck?

  I throw myself face-first onto my bed and put my pillow over my head, like that's going to shield me from anything.

  When?

  I roll over onto my back, staring at the ceiling, and try to catch my breath.

  When?

  I don't know. I don't fucking know.

  Would she even tell me, if I asked her?

  Did this start before we were even broken up?

  I rocket up to a sitting position. Becker barely contacted me all summer. Isabel did, of course, since she owns this house and I'm her roommate. And we're friends.

  Or were.

  I think about Isabel's reactions when I told her anything about Becker. So this is why she was so agitated when I told her he came by, trying to come inside. She wasn't worried about me getting hurt again. She was jealous. Worried that Becker was still interested in me because that would be bad for her.

  And all of her concern over my seeing Gage? Who was she to talk about improper relationships? I get it, Becker's not employed by the school or in a position of authority, but what's more inappropriate and wrong than getting with your best friend's ex without telling her? Her lecture flashes through my brain. I'll be honest, I think it's a bad idea, or something? What the hell is she talking about, being honest?

  I realize with dread that yes, this could very well have been going on for a long while. Maybe even this summer. If that's the case, then that means Isabel was sitting with me at Vulcan and totally bullshitting me? She'd have to be. She was calling him names, and referring to him like he was a subspecies of asshole.

  Which he is. I just never knew she was, too.

  Was she with him, then? Was she doing the BFF thing with me, showing me empathy, while inwardly-- and outwardly-- taking possession of the guy who dumped me? Helping herself to my boyfriend while he was still my boyfriend?

  I think now I'm going to cry. I feel like screaming, and I jump up and rush into the bathroom, grabbing a bunch of Kleenex and mashing them into my eyes, like I can sop up this horrible feeling.

  It doesn't work.

  And I lean over the toilet and vomit instead.

  I look like absolute dog shit by the time Isabel finally comes home. My mascara got cried off hours ago, and my face is splotchy and sallow. I sit on the couch, a spot once considered a safe haven for painting our nails and binging on TV shows, and watch my former best friend arrive.

  "Yo," she says, pulling her red flats off and tucking them onto the shoe tree. When I don't return her greeting, she gives me a long look. "You okay?"

  No.

  I don't move my head. "I'm... interesting."

  "I know that," she says. "We all know that."

  "Mmm-hmm."

  Isabel fluffs her blonde hair and resumes looking at me. Does she ever stop fussing with that hair of hers? "K."

  "What?"

  "What's going on?"

  "You tell me."

  Isabel knows. She's got to know. When you're doing something illicit, and someone even looks your direction in a possibly questioning way, your mind goes right to it. I know, because my relationship with Gage has had that effect on me. I notice her eyebrows arch, but she doesn't reveal anything. I know her well enough to see the gears turning behind her brown eyes, though. She's coming up with a way to handle this. I can practically hear her inner voice yelling "Deflect! Deflect!"
r />   I sit motionless, waiting for her to talk. She stands there by the closet as if she's debating grabbing her shoes right back from out of there and making a beeline for the door. "I don't know what you mean," she eventually says.

  "You don't?"

  "No."

  Oh, Isabel. My heart, despite having been through so much lately, gets one more painful blow. Lying to my face. Again. I hate her, I think. Even if I still have love for her.

  I wasn't going to cry. I was going to get through this with class. Maybe with a face that looks like a Vespa ran over it, but with my head held high. But my breath catches, and I have to screw up my courage just to get one sentence out. "You're better than this, Bel."

  An expression of horror seeps onto her face. I know she's confirming the panic she was trying to assuage within herself. "What?" she asks, like some part of her isn't going to give up and confess until the words are spoken and I specifically call her on it. "What, Keri?"

  "Fine," I say. "I'll just make it easier for you, I guess. I saw you."

  Isabel's eyes close. Her face turns bright red, and when she opens her eyes, I can see they're slick with tears. "Saw me where?"

  "In the quad."

  Her shoulders slump. "Today?"

  "Yeah."

  "Oh." That oh is the meekest, saddest oh I've ever heard in my life.

  "I have questions," I tell her. "So many questions. But at the same time, I'm not sure how much I really want to know."

  "It's not what you think." Isabel puts her palms down and sweeps them outwards, as if to say no more. "It's really not."

  "It looked to me like it was. And is."

  Isabel doesn't know what to do with her hands. They keep flailing from her hair, which she's twisting around nervously, to her sides, to her pockets, to clasped in front of her chest. "Keri," she says. "Please listen to me. I didn't mean for this to happen."

  Who doesn't say that? Hell, Gage and I both said that, albeit to each other. There was no third party getting hurt, unless you count his stalker.

  "Neither one of us did," Isabel goes on when I don't say anything. "It just, I don't know."

  "Just sort of happened?"

  "It sounds lame, I know it does! But it just kind of grew. I just sort of got caught up with him."