ZACK (The Beckett Boys, Book Five)

by Olivia Chase

  “Sorry,” she finally whispers. “It’s just that…you don’t date.”

  “I do so,” I retort.

  Her raised eyebrow is answer enough.

  “Okay, so not a lot,” I admit. To her stony face, I finally add in a huff, “Okay, fine, I never date. Whatever. Anyway, this guy is totally…unlike me.”

  “That’s not a bad thing,” she says, rubbing her chin. “Have you two banged yet?”

  I know my face has to be burnt red all over. “No,” I say quietly, “but…we have done some things.”

  “You sexy slut, you,” she says in an admiring tone. “I’m so proud of you.” Only Harper could say I’m a slut and make it sound like it’s an admiration.

  “He’s wild,” I admit. “I don’t know what to make of it. We’re totally different.”

  Her eyes narrow. “How different are we talking? He’s not in prison, is he?” she jokes, then sees my expression. “Autumn, please tell me you didn’t fall in love with a man in prison.”

  “No, no,” I protest. I know that his father is in there too, just like mine. But I’m hesitant to tell Harper that. I don’t want her to misjudge. “We met just outside the prison.”

  She still gives me a skeptical look but nods. “Okay, ‘cuz I was gonna call for an intervention or something. Just be careful. I want you to be happy, but don’t go off the deep end, girl.”

  “I won’t,” I tell her. But I’m not sure that it’s the truth. I think about dumping that soda on the head of the guy fighting with Zack. I think about the things I did with Zack on the first date. Maybe I already have gone off the deep end.

  Maybe I’m in way over my head already.

  The lunch bell rings, and the kids exit to go to gym for recess.

  I gather my stuff. “I gotta finish doing some grading. We still on for wine on Sunday?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of missing it. And you owe me more details. Don’t think I’m going to forget,” she says with a pointed look.

  “Feel free to bring your date. He sounds interesting.” I smirk.

  She throws the rest of her dinner roll at me. Thankfully, the cafeteria has mostly cleared out, so no one sees it. The last thing we need is to incite a food riot.

  I head to my classroom. It was kind of an excuse to get away—I could do those grades later. But I need some time to mull over what she said. Zack has gotten under my skin. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since I met him.

  What would it be like to lose my virginity to him? Will we go that far? Do I really want to?

  The way he makes me feel is nothing short of exhilarating. I know he’s wild. I know I’m not like him at all…or at least, I never thought I was. But God help me, I want to see how far I can let go to find pleasure.

  “I’m here!” I say Friday evening after pushing open the front door to my parents’ house. “And I brought wine and bread.” I head right toward the kitchen, where I know Mom will be finishing up dinner.

  When she sees me, she turns, wiping her hands on her apron and reaching over to give me a hug and kiss on my cheek. “Autumn! You’re looking pretty today.” She leans back and cups my shoulders, looking me up and down with a scrutinizing gaze. “What’s different about you?”

  Crap. My cheeks burn. What could be different about me? Can she somehow sense that I’ve been seeing Zack? I give a casual shrug. “Oh, nothing much. Just trying some new shampoo on my hair.”

  She eyes my hair and then gives an approving nod. “Well, whatever it is, it looks good. Come in, and crack open that wine. You know I get thirsty when I cook.” She winks then turns back to the lasagna on the stove, peeling off the foil. “Fifteen more minutes until this bad boy is done.”

  Anyone who has seen me and my parents can tell we’re not biologically related. My mom is a tall, thin redhead with bold blue eyes. Even in her forties, she has no gray and few laugh lines on her face. As a kid, I waited for my hair to lighten up and turn her color…well, until I learned I was adopted, that is. Then I realized it was never going to change.

  Dad comes walking into the room. He’s tall and thick and barrel-chested, and he squeezes me in a hug so tight that I can’t breathe. “Hey, sugar,” he says, kissing the top of my head. “Good to see ya.”

  I wrap my arms around him and give him an extra-hard hug. “You too, Dad.”

  When he pulls back, I see him and Mom giving each other glances. Then their faces smooth and they both offer me a smile.

  I know they’re dying to ask questions about my prison visit. About what my biological father is like now. The adoption was open, meaning that whenever I wanted, I could know about who my birth parents were. But until a few months ago, I wasn’t ready to.

  My adoptive parents only met my biological mom and dad once, apparently during a clean spell when they both realized they were too messed up to keep me—my mom had barely stayed clean while pregnant, and they’d decided giving me away for adoption was the best for everyone.

  Turned out to be true.

  I reach over and squeeze my dad’s upper arm. “You want some wine? I brought your favorite.” I nod toward the bottle of red on the counter.

  “Ooh,” he says with a smile. “You know I love their pinot noir. Thanks, sugar.”

  I open the bottle and pour three glasses, trying to ease the tension in my stomach. I don’t know why I’m nervous.

  No, I do. It’s because I’m afraid of the questions they’re going to ask me about my father. I’m afraid of hurting their feelings if I decide to visit him again. And I’m afraid that I may slip up and say something about Zack.

  I already know they would disapprove of him. He’s nothing like us. They would tell me I need to think straight and keep my goals in mind. And I know they love me, but they don’t understand what I’m feeling.

  We sip the wine and make small talk until the lasagna is done, with me telling stories about my students’ antics, which always makes them laugh.

  I pull the garlic bread from the toaster oven, Dad grabs the salad from the fridge that Mom made earlier, and we take our stuff to the table.

  “How’s your graduate work going?” Mom asks as she cuts a piece of lasagna and fills my plate, then Dad’s and hers.

  I distribute the bread while Dad scoops salad into bowls. “Going well. I’m still not sure what I’m going to do my thesis on, but I’m hoping it’ll come to me.” I’m done with classes, and my job at the school is going toward my credits. The thesis is the last piece I need to do. “I met with my chair, and he gave me a few ideas to start brainstorming, but none of them are really resonating with me,” I admit.

  “You’ll get there,” Dad says, taking a bite of lasagna. “Oh God, Priscilla, you outdid yourself,” he says with a smile. He reaches over and squeezes her hand.

  Mom beams and gets a small blush of pink on her cheeks. “Thanks, honey.”

  When I was younger, I used to be grossed out by their affection. Not that they were inappropriate with the PDA. Just that they always seemed to be touching each other. But now that I’m older, I get it.

  Now that I’ve met Zack, that is.

  Because all I want to do is touch him all the time.

  Mom and Dad couldn’t have kids, so they adopted me. Growing up, I knew I was a blessing, and when I was in elementary school, they explained about the adoption, not wanting to keep it a secret. I was lucky to have a good household I grew up in. They love me.

  But sometimes, they don’t get me. And I’m afraid to let them see the part of me that isn’t so clean-cut.

  “So,” Mom says casually. “How was the visit?”

  And there it is.

  “You made it a whole half hour before asking,” I say with a chuckle, raising my wine glass and clinking against hers. “Good job.”

  She sputters with a laugh, “I was trying to not pry.”

  “I know.” I take a big gulp and will the wine to kick in fast and ease my nerves. “It was…different.”

  “I can imagin
e,” Dad says. “I was watching that show Locked Up…whatever it’s called,” he says, fluttering his hand. “And it just looks awful.” He shakes his head.

  I can’t help but think how different my dad must be from Zack’s dad—his father is actually in prison and mine has watched a TV show about it and can hardly stomach that much.

  “How are you emotionally?” Mom asks, reaching over to touch my hand.

  I squeeze hers, then drop my hands to my lap, playing with my napkin. “I guess I’m okay. He’s cleaning up, which is good. He asked me to come visit him again. Said he’s grateful to you guys for taking care of me.”

  Dad’s nod of acknowledgment is small. “Well, he wasn’t in any place to care for an infant. Of course we were going to.”

  Mom’s lips thin. “Are you going to see him again, though? Even if he’s off drugs, he’s still…” She finishes delicately, “He’s still on the wrong side of the tracks. I worry about you getting entangled in his life, or him trying to take advantage of you. You’re such a sweet girl.”

  I press my lips together and fight the urge to reply, but I’m not really a sweet girl. I’m not like you guys. Because I know they won’t get it.

  And this is why I can’t tell them about Zack. They could never comprehend how I could be attracted to him. They would fear him, not see how funny and interesting he is. How he charms me, attracts me. Intrigues me.

  All they would see is how rough he is around the edges compared to them, compared to everyone in my social circle and in theirs. He’s nothing like us, and while I find that refreshing, they wouldn’t.

  They’d be concerned for me. Deeply so.

  But they don’t have a parent in prison. I do.

  Zack does, too.

  “I’m not sure if I’ll see him again,” I tell them, knowing it’s wishy-washy but not wanting to cause more stress on them. As hard as this situation has been for me, I know it’s been difficult for them too. They think of me as their only daughter, and now they have to contend with someone new in my life. That can’t be easy.

  I don’t want to hurt them.

  But I’m torn. Since I met my biological father…and Zack…I feel like I’m leading a dual life. I’m two different people to two different groups. How long can I keep this going without it falling apart like a house of cards?

  Zack

  I walk downstairs and open up the fridge, peering inside. “Fucking thirsty,” I mutter, before straightening. I’m already showered and cleaned up for when I see Autumn later.

  Hudson, who’s sitting at the table, eyes me. “Got a hot date?” he asks. “You’ve been out a lot recently.”

  “Been here or there,” I say carefully. “Nothing big. Going out with this girl I met recently.” I make myself add, “She’s a hot piece, but not really that important.”

  Okay, I’m a shit for lying, and I actually hate myself a little for it. It’s been a couple of weeks since Autumn and I started seeing each other, and it’s been going well. Very well, actually. More so than I want any of my brothers to know.

  I don’t want them to think I’m pulling a Jamison, so to speak. So I’ve been playing it off as casual. Acting like I’m just hooking up. My usual MO.

  Except it’s more than just hooking up and I know it. My mind is absorbed with Autumn.

  Hudson continues to look at me and gives a slow nod. “Okay, man. Just asking. You haven’t quite seemed like yourself.”

  “Probably this shit with Outlaws,” I tell him. I’m still waiting to hear any results from us infesting the bar with rats. It’s not like I can call the board of health and ask if they’ve gone out to visit it yet. “Making me antsy.”

  He frowns. “Uh-huh.”

  My brother is no dunce. He’s by far the smartest of us all. I knew he’d be the one hardest to get shit by. I give a casual shrug. “We should plan a poker night,” I say, hoping that’ll divert him. Hudson loves poker—even though for a while he was winning so much money from the locals that nobody would invite him to their poker games anymore.

  That makes him perk up. “Been a while since we’ve played,” he says, and then he glances away, purposely shifting eye contact from me. I know he’s thinking about He Who Shall Not Be Named, who always headed up poker nights at our house.

  Cigars, good beer, a night spent with friends.

  Whatever. We don’t need him.

  “I’ll call around,” I say in a forcefully bright tone. “See who we can get going for next weekend.”

  “Sounds good.” He’s quiet now and gives a small nod.

  I head out the door, trying to pretend my stomach isn’t in knots—over my stupid fucking oldest brother, over lying to my other brothers about Autumn and pretending it’s just a booty call, over this crap with Outlaws still not being resolved. It’s just one thing after another lately.

  I’m getting tired.

  But I have to keep this up. I slip into my car and head to Autumn’s apartment. Anyways, it’s not like she’s exactly introducing me to her friends and family either. Maybe we really are just casual and it’s nothing more than two people who are crazy attracted to each other enjoying a good time together.

  What the fuck would be so wrong with that, anyway? That’s basically my dream goal. All the benefits with no commitment.

  I keep reminding myself of that as I pull into her parking lot. I remind myself of that when I kiss her in greeting, trying not to think about how she’s wearing the perfume I told her smells amazing.

  I remind myself of that when her small fingers slide into mine as we drive.

  We’re not serious.

  We can’t be. Because to be serious with her would throw everything in my life into question. And I can’t deal with that upheaval.

  Autumn suggested we go winter ice skating, but when I explained what happened last time I was in hockey skates—how my brothers and I got banned from the outdoor rink for getting in a fight as teens with the rich-boy thugs who were harassing us when we tried out for the local team—she laughed and said maybe it was best for me to stay away from sharp objects.

  I navigate my way to Ralph’s Pizza, one of my favorite local joints. The owner, Mike—it’s an inside joke about there being no “Ralph” there—and I went to high school together. We’d cut classes to smoke and flirt with the cheerleaders during their practice. Mike’s pretty smooth with the ladies.

  “Zack!” Mike says when we enter the building. He comes over and gives me a bro hug. “Long time, no see. How’s kicks?”

  “Kickin’,” I say, smacking him on the back. “Do you know Autumn?”

  He smiles at her and ramps up the charm, and despite him being my friend, I kinda wanna punch him in the mouth for it. Not cool. “Well, hi. I don’t think we’ve formally met.” He extends a hand to her. “Any friend of Zack’s…” With a wink, he leaves the rest unfinished.

  She grins, and the fact that she’s looking at him so warmly makes me grow a little hot under the collar.

  Cool it, I tell myself. We’re just dating, or whatever. Nothing serious.

  Guess I need to remind myself of that more often.

  He ushers us over to a corner table, where I usually sit. “Your usual?” he asks me as we slide into the seats.

  “Large pepperoni, two beers, and cheesy bread.”

  “You’re a man who knows what he likes,” Autumn says with a laugh.

  “That I am.”

  “Sounds good to me,” she says to Mike.

  He leaves, and Autumn and I look at each other in silence for a long minute. Granted, we’ve been dating for a couple of weeks now, seeing each other two or three times a week…but it doesn’t feel like enough. When I’m not with her, I’m thinking about her. Imagining what she’s doing. Wondering if she’s thinking about me.

  Fuck.

  I make myself stop this line of thought, and when Mike brings our beers over, I clink her glass. “To another glorious Friday night,” I say, and we drink. “So how’s Leo doing?”


  Autumn filled me in last week about her difficult student. I told her he sounded a lot like me as a kid, which made her give a knowing chuckle. We talk about Leo, about what teaching is like, about where she wants to be and why she’s getting her graduate degree. I detect some of it is to please her parents—which I understand, because I want to please my father too.

  But that makes me think of what Butch would say about me and Autumn—he’d say that women are only good for one thing. Draining pipes and nothing more.

  Autumn clears her throat. “So, uh, we still going to see our dads tomorrow?”

  I nod. “Yup, all lined up.” We decided to ride to the prison together—partly because it’s convenient, but also because I can protect her, make sure no one tries to fuck with her. Stupid guys have short memories.

  “Thanks. Appreciate it.” She looks down into her beer.

  The pizza arrives. We chew on a few slices. I can’t stop watching her, can’t stop being riveted by everything she does, even the simple way she smiles and thanks Mike when he comes by to refill our beers. She’s all kindness, all generosity. Unlike anything I’ve ever experienced in my life.

  I’m used to roughness, to struggles. But she makes things feel…easy.

  After we have pizza, she gives me a wide grin that steals my breath. My God, I’d do anything in this world to keep her smiling at me like this. To keep her happy and unworried.

  “So, what now?” she asks.

  The question fires my imagination. All I want is to taste her again. Sitting across from her means I haven’t been able to touch her…not to mention how we’re both trying to play it cool.

  But I see the heat in her eyes, the response in how her lips part and her breathing becomes more rapid.

  She knows what I’m thinking.

  “Mike, we need the check,” I say without looking away.

  We pay. We exit. There’s a strange tension between us as I drive toward her apartment. There’s no question what’s going to happen. There’s no question how hungry we both are for each other. I’ve wanted more since that first night I tasted her, but I’ve been patient, trying to not push. Waiting until she seemed ready.