by Sorcha Grace
“I’m fine, Rajesh. Thank you. And I’m really sorry about this.” I held up the soiled wastebasket. “Just a little upset stomach.” I wiped my mouth and my sweaty forehead with the back of my hand. This was so not my finest hour, and I was pretty certain I looked positively green. “I’m on my way out, actually.” I looked over at my pile of assorted bags lying in the middle of the lobby. “Could you call me a cab?”
Outside the entrance to William’s building, the cool air washed over me as I waited for my taxi. I took another sip from the bottle of water Rajesh insisted I take, the cold liquid doing little to soothe my raw throat. I pulled my phone out of my coat pocked, dialed, then pressed it to my ear.
“I’m in,” I said quietly.
“What was that? It sounded like you said, I’m in.” Hutch answered on the other end.
“I did. I’m going to Paris with you.”
He let out a whoop. “If I’m dreaming, don’t wake me up. I’ll have my people email you all the information. You won’t regret this, Catherine.”
I sincerely hoped I wouldn’t, because it felt like I already did.
My next call was to Beckett. I’d need a place to crash for the night.
Twenty-Seven
I managed to keep it together on the cab ride to Beckett’s apartment. Rajesh hadn’t said much as he’d loaded my bags into the taxi. He hadn’t accepted the tip I’d offered to him, either. Talk about wearing your heart on your sleeve. Besides unceremoniously puking in a garbage can in the middle of the elegant lobby, I was sure I had “Just Dumped” splayed across my face too. I wonder what gave it away—my bloodshot, swollen eyes or my tear-streaked, blotchy face?
Rajesh hadn’t mentioned calling William again, so he clearly had an idea that something was up. I’d gotten into the cab and he’d offered me a sympathetic look as he’d closed the rear door.
“Goodbye, Miss Catherine. I hope you feel better soon. And I hope I’ll see you again.” He must have known I might be leaving William for good. Then he’d given the cab two pats on the roof and the driver had pulled away. I’d watched out the window as William’s tall, stately building, the place I’d come to think of as home for a short time, faded into the distance and became just another tower in downtown Chicago’s forest of skyscrapers.
I let myself into Beckett’s apartment with the spare key he’d given me for emergencies. If being kicked to the curb by your boyfriend wasn’t an emergency, I didn’t know what was. Beckett had been at Patisserie LeClerc when I’d called and couldn’t get away. I’d told him I was fine and not to hurry home. I’d already taken him away from work yesterday for the photo shoot.
God, yesterday. How could so much change in one day? Yesterday I’d been William’s girlfriend, today I was...I didn’t know anymore. The knife in my heart twisted yet again.
Beckett’s apartment was quiet and empty. I dropped my bags in the living room, grabbed a cold bottle of water from the fridge, and slid down to the kitchen floor before allowing the great wracking sobs that I’d been holding in to escape.
I would have been mortified if anyone had been there to see me cry like that. But I was alone, so I didn’t hold back. I didn’t know what hurt more, the fact that William and I were over or that he’d let me walk out of his life without a fight. Our relationship played out like a movie in my head, a highlight reel of mind-blowing kisses, intense intimacy, and soaring love juxtaposed with feelings of isolation, the fear that I had never truly known him, and the gnawing thought that no matter how much I tried, I wasn’t enough for him, that I was somehow too damaged from losing Jace and all that had followed, that I would never be whole for him.
I don’t know how long I stayed like that, a pathetic lump on Beckett’s floor. Maybe an hour, maybe four. It had turned dark outside, but that wasn’t much to go by since it was Chicago in March. My ass was sore and cold, and I felt stiff when I heard Beckett’s key turn in the lock. I also had a killer headache—partly from dehydration and partly the result of more missed meals over the last few days than I could remember. I hoped Beckett had brought carbs, as I needed a truly grand break-up cocktail of junk food.
Beckett found me in the kitchen, sank down beside me, and hugged me. I started crying again. Crying wasn’t really the right word. More like moaning in agony and sobbing at the same time. I hurt everywhere.
“Oh, Cat.” He stroked my hair and pulled me close. “I’m so sorry.” When my bawling had faded to whimpering with hiccups, he notched my chin up. “Is it really over?”
I nodded.
“What happened?”
“He told me to leave. He pushed me away, just like he always does.” I told Beckett then about everything since I’d left him at the photo shoot, ending with how William decided to let his past destroy our future, how he had chosen his grief over me. “He thinks his father’s mistakes have ruined his life and that he’ll ruin mine, that it would be better if I stayed away from him.”
“Oh, Cat, that doesn’t make any sense at all. He loves you, I know he does.”
“I know,” I sniveled in response as I looked at Beckett with my watery eyes.
“It’s so fucked up, Cat. I’m so sorry.”
“It is. I always thought my shit would ruin us, you know? Everything with Jace and the accident and then with Jeremy.” I swallowed hard and wiped my eyes again. “Then I thought maybe we’d be okay. Remember our fight? You were right. Once I finally accepted I could be happy again, I really believed I’d found true love. I found him. We found each other. God, I love him, Beckett. What am I going to do?” More great, wracking sobs erupted from me.
“I know, baby, I know,” Beckett soothed me as he stroked my back.
“He told me once that he knew everything he needed to know about me the moment we bumped into each other outside of Willowgrass. All the stuff I tortured myself about for so long really didn’t fucking matter to him, even after that stupid video at The Webster.” I paused to catch my breath amidst more sobs.
“He said he loved me anyway. He told me he knew what it was like to feel guilty for surviving too. But now,” my tears were flowing steadily. “Now, it’s like this twisted resignation that he can’t be happy and he’ll ruin anything he touches. How could he send me away, Beckett? I don’t even know if he ever really loved me. Maybe he didn’t.”
Just saying that aloud was like stabbing myself in the heart. It was too painful to think that everything William and I had shared since we met wasn’t what I thought it had been.
“I told him I would stay,” I finished lamely. “I don’t really care about Paris and I would have stayed here in a heartbeat if he had asked me to, but instead he told me to go. For good.”
There were more tears as I recalled how cold William had been toward me earlier. When I looked up, though, I saw that I wasn’t the only one crying.
I was so lost in my rambling, I hadn’t realized that Beckett was shaking beside me. I drew back and stared at his hunched shoulders, his face in his hands.
“Oh my God. Beckett!” I grabbed his wrists. “Shit. What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “This isn’t about me.”
And then it hit me. I was unloading everything about my break-up with William, and my best friend was sobbing along with me, but definitely not because my heart was broken. Because his was. I’d known for weeks that there was something else going on with Beckett, and I’d run right over his break-up with my own. I had never heard the truth about what had happened between him and Alec, but now I needed to know.
I drew his hands away from his face and met his gaze. “Beckett, please tell me what’s wrong. Please tell me. It’s about what happened with Alec, isn’t it? Just tell me.
He shook his head. “No. This is about you.”
“You’ve been pretending you’re fine since Valentine’s Day. You’re not fine. I know you’re not. Please talk to me.”
Now Beckett was the one trying to speak between sobs. “I tri
ed to be fine. I tried to work so much so I wouldn’t think about him and wouldn’t miss him.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you had William, and I wanted to believe that there was a relationship in this world that could work out. I wanted you to be happy.”
“And I want you to be happy. I thought you were with Alec. I saw the way you looked at him at the launch party.”
He gave me a sad look and blew out a breath in defeat. “Remember I told you Alec said he had something special planned for Valentine’s Day?”
“Yes.”
“I got to his place, and he had everything set up. Flowers, chocolate, champagne, a gorgeous meal. It was amazing, Cat. No one has ever done anything like that for me. We ate, we talked, and over dessert he proposed a toast. And that’s when he said it.” His voice broke and he buried his face again.
I waited for Beckett to elaborate.
“Said what?” I finally prompted.
“‘I love you.’” He glared at me with red-rimmed eyes. “He fucking told me he loved me, and I couldn’t say it back.”
“Oh, no.” My heart sank. Poor Beckett. Alec had been ready for the next step, and Beckett hadn’t. I knew my best friend. He was generous and affectionate and open, but he did not give his love easily.
“Oh, yes.”
“And that was a deal-breaker for him?” I asked gently.
“I told him I cared about him. I told him I wasn’t sure if I loved him, but he said if I didn’t know then, that was all the answer he needed.”
“Oh fuck, Beckett.” I hugged him, squeezing him tight. “I’m so sorry.”
“He wasn’t even angry, Cat.” He buried his face against my shoulder. “It was like he knew I wouldn’t be able to say it. He said he wanted to stay friends. But how the fuck do you stay friends with someone you care about like that? Am I just supposed to forget my feelings for him when I bump into him on the street?”
I pulled back. “So you do love him?”
“Of course I do. I did then too, I just didn’t know it.”
I held Beckett and he held me and we cried together. For our broken hearts, for our lost loves, for all the heartache and pain and suffering that we were both feeling with the men we loved gone from our lives.
We stayed on the floor for a long time. Long enough that I felt like I didn’t have any more tears left. Then we ordered Chinese food and ate the cupcakes Beckett had brought home from the bakery. And when that was done, we raided his freezer for ice cream.
We’d moved from the less-than-comfortable kitchen floor to the sofa, we’d changed into lounge-appropriate clothes, and Beckett had turned on a cooking show. Cooking shows always made him feel better. He liked to add his own soundtrack, commenting on whatever was happening on screen, rolling his eyes when he thought the chefs were skimping or making some kind of wrong food choice. The show he had on now was, ironically, dessert-themed, and Beckett was dissing the host’s choice of crystallized ginger for his cookie recipe when my phone buzzed.
I looked at the screen, hoping it was William, but it was Emmy Schmidt, Hutch’s assistant. I answered and she gave me the details about the flight tomorrow. Apparently Fiona Joy was sending a private plane for Hutch and me. For a moment, as Emmy briefed me on departure and flight times, I tried to focus on the positives. I was going to Paris. Tomorrow. Sure, it was the most romantic city in the world, but it also had crepes, and I could drown my sorrow in crepes.
As I hung up, I had a great idea. I grabbed the remote and powered off the TV.
“What the fuck, Cat?” Beckett tossed me an annoyed glare. “He was just getting ready to pull those out of the oven.”
“I know what you need to do.”
Beckett groaned. “If you say call Alec, I swear to God I’ll throw this candle at you.” He gestured to one of the decorative candles on the table beside the couch.
“Come to Paris with me.”
He frowned, and his fingers paused above the candle. “What?”
“You heard me. Come to Paris with me. You love Paris.” I grabbed Beckett’s shoulders and pulled him up. “Beckett, you need Paris. You’ve been working like a maniac. You need a break. You need distance. We both need distance. Paris is distance. And it has crepes.”
“Um, hello, Cat? Restaurant opening? There’s a reason I’m working so hard.” He removed my hands from his shoulders slowly, as though he were dealing with a lunatic.
“That’s the beauty of a trip to Paris. It’s work. And there’s crepes!”
He started to protest but then closed his mouth and tried not to smile.
I pointed my finger at him. “Got you.”
Beckett started to grin, then shook his head. “No. I can’t leave now.”
“Why not? You have good people working for you, and LeClerc’s flagship restaurant is in Paris. He’ll understand a quick trip for inspiration. It’s only for a few days. I’m surprised he hasn’t suggested it. I mean, think about all the baked goods you can sample in Paris. You can...” I stumbled, but recovered quickly. “You can see what the locals are eating, what’s trending, and make your bakery even more cutting edge.”
Beckett rolled his eyes and smiled. “Oh, you’re good, Cat. Very good.”
I grabbed his hands in mine. “Beckett, in all seriousness, you need a couple of days away. The break-up with Alec, the opening—everything has been crazy. This trip will be so good for you. You can get your head on straight. We need each other right now. And we can eat crepes.”
“Enough with the crepes, seriously. Gaining crepe weight is not the way I want to get over Alec.”
I held my phone aloft. “Say the word, and I text Hutch to tell him you’ll be joining us.”
“A trip to Paris with Hutch Morrison?” Beckett clutched his heart. “You’re killing me.”
“So the answer is yes?”
He closed his eyes tightly. “Paris. In springtime. Hutch Morrison. Crepes. And Fiona fucking Joy. Yes,” he squeaked.
I fired off a text to Hutch.
“How much do I owe the man for the ticket?” Beckett asked.
“Nothing.” I replied.
“Cat, I know Morrison Hotel has taken off, but I’m not letting Hutch pay my way to Paris.”
“He’s not paying your way. He’s not paying anyone’s way. Fiona Joy is picking us up in her private jet.”
“What?” Beckett’s expression of surprise was priceless. “A private plane?”
I nodded.
“I love your job. I can’t believe I’m going to be on a private plane with Hutch Morrison for eight hours. Do you think I’ll be able to get him to spill all his culinary secrets?”
“I don’t know. Depends how liquored up he is on the flight.”
“We should celebrate with more cupcakes,” Beckett said as he reached for another one of his creations.
“Ugh. I can’t. I’m stuffed. Too much stress eating.”
“Hey, you have every right. Your life has been a shit show lately, Cat.”
I gave him a look.
“What? It has. I’d be reaching for the carbs too.”
“It’s not just the carbs. I feel like I’ve had PMS for weeks.”
I settled back on the couch, looked around for the remote, and found it under a throw pillow. But before I could turn the TV back on, Beckett grabbed the remote out of my hand.
“What?” I asked.
“Did you just say what I think you said?”
“I don’t know. What do you think I said?”
“You’ve had PMS for weeks.”
“Oh.” I waved a hand dismissively. “I’m a little off, that’s all. You said it yourself, I’ve been living in a shit show.”
Beckett’s eyes went wide. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“About what?”
“Oh my God, Cat. Now it all makes sense.”
“What makes sense?”
“The extra pounds—”
“Hey!”
&nbs
p; “Your boobs are bigger too.”
“Next you’re going to say I’m glowing. I’m not pregnant, Beckett.”
“So you admit it’s crossed your mind?” He looked at me expectantly.
Seriously, this was getting out of hand. “I have an IUD. There’s like a one percent chance I can get pregnant.”
“You looked it up? Come on, Cat. That means you think it’s possible.”
Now that Beckett was really hung up on this, I didn’t know what to think. It would be the cruelest of cruel jokes if I was in that one percent. For a split second I wondered how it would go over with William. A family with me clearly hadn’t ever been part of his plan. I remembered how he had reacted to Lauren’s pregnancy—his aversion to children had been plain as day. We’d never even had a chance to talk about a future together or what we both wanted, thanks to the extortion attempts, Elin’s crazy threats, and William’s commitment to being cryptic and keeping secrets. And just like that, I was hit with another wave of sadness and was on verge of tears again. I had to stop thinking about him.
“It’s not possible. Stop it, alright? This isn’t funny anymore.”
“Cat, have you taken a pregnancy test?” Beckett asked earnestly.
“No. I’ve just been eating too much.” I gestured to the cupcake wrappers on the coffee table. “See? Oh, and thanks for calling me fat.” I plopped back on the couch, arms crossed over my evidently expanding middle.
He moved closer to me. “You’re not fat. I told you before, it looks good on you. But tomorrow, before we leave for Paris, we’re getting you a pregnancy test. I’m serious, Cat. You need to know.”
“Um, yeah, whatever, Beckett.” I hoped my response sounded convincing, especially since Beckett’s arguments managed to plant a huge seed of doubt in my mind. “I’m not pregnant.”
“Fine. If you’re so sure, then take the test.”
“Fine!”
But I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure of anything.
Twenty-Eight
I didn’t take the test the next morning. Beckett and I slept in and then spent a few hours packing and getting ready. Rushing around was a relief, actually, since it didn’t give me much time to dwell on William and our break-up. We had to scramble to make it to the airport on time. Not that the plane would leave without us, but I didn’t want to keep Hutch waiting.
