Until I Knew Myself

by Tammy L. Gray

  She snapped open her coke, the fizz hissing. “Anyway, now I have to figure out what to do to you.”

  Thankful for the shift, Tyler lifted his arms in mock surrender. “No way. Besides I’m on sabbatical and should be exempt from all office shenanigans.”

  She set down her can and tilted her head. “Hey, that’s a cool watch.” A second later, she had his arm in her hand, examining the watch face. “My dad is a collector. He’s been trying to get his hands on a vintage Jaeger LeCoultre for years.”

  Tyler’s stomach turned. “It was my grandfather’s. I found it in one of his boxes.”

  Her hand released his arm like it burned her. “Oh Tyler, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  “You didn’t. I’m just surprised. He left me a storage room full of stuff, but it’s all like this, old and dusty. I didn’t think it was worth anything.”

  “Actually, that watch is probably worth more than $2,000. You may want to get it appraised and then make sure you have insurance on it. The value is only going to increase.”

  Tyler considered the boxes he’d shoved aside. Watches, old books, strange knick knacks. He’d thought his grandfather left him a bunch of old junk, but maybe there was more to the gift. “I wonder if anything else is worth appraising.”

  “Judging from that watch, I’d say your grandfather had very expensive taste. Who knows, Ty, that storage room of junk may actually be filled with gold.” She lifted her drink. “Now that’s what I’d call a good April Fool’s prank.”

  He should have been more excited, but his only thought as he toasted Caroline with a fake smile was how much his grandfather bought with the fifteen thousand dollar payout the Kinders had given him.

  Chapter 18

  Caroline squinted at the four advertising squares on her desk. The color was too bold on one, too soft on the other, and blocks three and four were down right offensive to the eye. This would be the third time she sent back the sketches to the firm, and was starting to wonder if she’d been given this project as some kind of cruel initiation.

  She pushed aside the boards and rubbed her temples. At least her April Fool’s pranks were a hit. Everyone had been good sports, including Rob, though he did take an hour off to go home and shower. If they suspected her, none of them said so, and only made promises to retaliate next year.

  Beckham was the only one who didn’t respond to her ransom note yesterday. They’d sat through a staff meeting together and collaborated on the Western campaign. He’d even laughed with the rest of the team when Lynda’s slide show was replaced with her family trip to Disney instead of the newest survey results. And yet, nothing.

  Ty was wrong about the ransom. She knew it was asking too much.

  A knock on her door made her jump, but she also welcomed the distraction.

  “Come in.”

  Beckham peeked his head around the corner. “You busy?”

  “Unfortunately.” She held up the cardboard samples and he moved closer, examining each one with equal scrutiny.

  “Hideous.”

  “Thank you! I thought so too. Okay, I’m going to reject it….again.” She scribbled a note to Lynda on a nearby pink post it and attached it to the pile.

  He dropped into the leather chair across from her with a grin she wasn’t quite sure how to read. Either he had his own prank planned or he’d just won the lottery.

  “You seem happy,” she said.

  “I am. I scored the Manchester account.” His grin widened. “Even Ty couldn’t get past their iron gate.”

  “Is that usually your litmus test for success? Doing something Ty couldn’t do?”

  She’d meant to be witty, but his demeanor immediately shifted. Gone was the flirty smile, the teasing eyebrow that rose whenever she made him laugh.

  Oops.

  “Sorry, that was meant to be a joke. A bad one, I guess.”

  “No. It’s okay. You’re not too far off base.” Tugging at his tie, he leaned back and closed his eyes as if he could breathe for the first time. “Ty didn’t grow up like we did. His family didn’t have much, not even their own address, let alone the money required to fit in at our school.”

  “That must have been hard for him.”

  “It was. But God love him, that man has a lot of pride.” He said it with admiration and a hint of envy. “Dad tried, but Ty would never accept his help beyond the basic necessities. He got grants for college and then loans for the other expenses. The rest of us would spend our summers on European vacations, while Ty would work and save every penny.” He opened his eyes and the sorrow in them shook her. “Ever feel like you might drown in expectation?”

  Her eyes flashed to his slumped position and then to the wrinkles in his pinstriped shirt. When they’d first met, Beckham reminded her of a stage actor. He played his part, did all the right things, and basically had the personality of a windup toy. But since, he’d shed the layers of pretention, she was finally getting a glimpse of whom he might really be. She doubted very few people knew that person.

  “No. Not really,” she answered.

  “You’re lucky, then.”

  She was. She knew she was. Her parents were a gift, one she’d almost tossed aside for a man who was the worst possible choice for her.

  “I, on the other hand, will never measure up to the great Harold Kinder,” he continued.

  Caroline shuffled her notes into a stack. She’d seen Beck engage with his father when she first arrived. There always seemed to be a layer of enmity. “Do you think maybe you read too much into his words?”

  “It’s not what he says. I can feel his disappointment.” He leaned forward, clasped his hands together, his elbows resting on his knees. “Ironically, the one thing that would earn my father’s respect is the one thing I can never be.”

  “And what is that?”

  “I think the better question is…‘who is that?’” He scratched the back of his head, causing a curl to pop out on the side. The motion was equal parts resignation and regret. “How did we even get on this subject? I don’t know how you do it. Here I am baring my soul in the middle of your office and you’ve yet to tell me anything personal about yourself.”

  “My life isn’t all that interesting,” she lied.

  “I don’t believe that. What about your friends? You never talk about them.”

  Sadness spilled into her chest. “Oh, you know how it is, Beck. You grow up. Grow apart.” Or you let an overbearing boyfriend push them all away.

  “Wait…did you just call me Beck?”

  “Yes? But everyone calls you Beck.” Relief worked its way through her limbs. She was glad he changed the subject. She wasn’t ready to share their sad stories.

  “You don’t. At least you never have before.”

  “I-I figured you would prefer it if I did.”

  “No.” Again, that tone, solid and unwavering, much like his stare suddenly was.

  “Okay…sorry, Beckham.”

  “Much better.” He grinned again, pulling a folded sheet from his pocket. “Now that we have that established…maybe you can help me with this.”

  She took the offered slip of construction paper. In cut up newspaper clipping, she read her handiwork. I have your trophy. Slip 300 gold tickets from Pirate’s Landing into the coffee fund bucket or else. She’d emphasized the point by drawing a smashed figurine in the corner.

  “Sounds ominous,” she said, handing it back to him.

  “It does. I keep picturing my poor eighth grade trophy in pieces on my desk.”

  “So what will you do? Negotiate with the kidnappers or meet their demands?”

  “It seems I only have one option. But 300 tickets is a lot to earn by yourself. Whereas you seem like the type who might play a mean skeet ball.”

  She shrugged. “I’ve been known to win a ticket or two.”

  “Okay then. This place is dead anyway. Let’s go.” He tossed his jacket on her chair and rolled up his sleeves.

 
; Unreal. Ty had nailed it. She really hadn’t thought Beck would play along.

  “Beckham Kinder. You’re leaving work at noon. What would your father say?”

  He placed his palms on her desk and leaned close. Close enough that she should be afraid, not wish he would edge closer. “Who cares? He’s not here.”

  Caroline felt an odd tingling in her chest. “So you’re a rebel now, huh?”

  He stood and stretched, his shirt extending across a very muscular chest that somehow she hadn’t noticed until now. “Just until he gets back. Then I’ll fall right back in line. It’s my curse in life.”

  Glancing away, Caroline had to focus on standing and not tripping over the wheels of her chair.

  He swung his keys around his index finger. “I’m parked in the back.”

  “Oh, I’ll just follow you.” Riding together somehow felt too much like a date.

  “Great. I’ll walk you to your car.”

  She picked up her bag and stepped in front of him when he extended his hand. Warm pressure touched her lower back and the tingling came again, annoying her. The last time she reacted to a guy so physically, she’d fallen hopelessly in love with him.

  Caroline mashed the buttons as fast as she could while Beck continued to push her out of the way.

  “Stop. You’re cheating.” She retaliated, shoving back, edging Beck from his perch in front of the controller.

  “Only because you are.” He needled his way back in front of the screen, their digital runners locked step for step in the race. “That elbow is lethal.”

  Her right fingers began to ache, but she punched continuously. She was going to win this one, darnnit, even if it meant carpal tunnel in her wrist.

  “Yes!” she screamed, jumping up and down. Her stick figure on the screen did the same, her arms high in the air as Beck’s poor figure collapsed to the ground. “I own you. Ha!” Okay, yeah, she was a sore winner, but he’d beaten her on every other game they’d played today.

  “Fine. I concede. You are the race master. You and that bony contraption on your arm.”

  “We all play to our skills, baby.” She laughed while Beck pulled the five golden tickets from the console.

  “That’s 302. I guess we did it.”

  “Yeah. We did.” Weird. She suddenly felt really disappointed by that fact. For two hours, she’d had fun. F-U-N. No drama, no pretending. No carefully choosing her words. Just a really good time. She watched Beckham as he folded the last of the tickets into a tight square and shoved them into a plastic bag.

  His eyes seemed brighter, his face flushed with color. It was the most content and relaxed she’d ever seen him and she had a sneaking suspicion that Ty knew exactly how his friend would respond. That Beckham needed a day to be free. Ty’s care for his friend made her respect him, even more than she already did.

  They walked toward the exit. “Thank you for bringing me to do this.”

  “Seems fair since you were the brain child behind my trophy torture.” She gasped, but he wasn’t buying it. “Come on, you really think I didn’t know it was you? I’ve been going to my dad’s office since I could walk. We sell insurance and process claims. There is not a soul in that office who has a sense of humor good enough to pull off what you did in one day.”

  She bit her lip, not sure if it was an admonishment or a compliment.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I loved it. And I have a feeling you started a new tradition in our very drab office.”

  She started to smile but quickly pulled it back. “I admit to nothing.”

  He winked. “Of course you don’t. Come on, I need to get my trophy back or I won’t sleep tonight. It has value far greater than its plastic.” He eyed her through his peripheral as he held the door for her. “Somehow I think you know that, though I can’t figure out how.”

  Refusing to incriminate herself, she kept walking, her face the best mask of innocence she could muster. “The mysteries of life. There are so many.”

  They stopped at her car and a wave of unease hit. A feeling she hadn’t felt once while acting like teenagers. Now she wanted to flee, but before she could open the driver side door, he placed his hand near the roof of her car and leaned in trapping her against him. Close enough to be intimate, but far enough that she couldn’t decide if he was trying to be.

  “You’re one of those mysteries, Caroline.” He met her gaze, this time with a look that had her swallowing. There was no arrogance, no cocky smile or faked vulnerability. In that moment, Beckham was raw and real, and she felt totally at his mercy. “I think about you. Too much. And I haven’t felt this way since…” He shifted closer, their knees touching. “Well, not in a very long time.”

  “Beckham…”

  His hand was on her cheek before she could pull away, his fingers gliding across her skin in a touch that wasn’t anything close to platonic. “Every time I get close to seeing another side of you, you stop me.” He continued to stare, those velvet brown eyes locked on hers, bringing an electricity between them that most would find glorious, but to her, it was as terrifying as the turn in their conversation.

  “Please stop.” She shifted, forcing his hand to fall while she attempted to get her heart rate back to normal. She wasn’t ready to date. And certainly not someone who invoked such a physical reaction from her. She didn’t want the butterflies and the roller coaster. Not again.

  “This isn’t only me, Caroline. I know when there’s mutual attraction.”

  She slid away from him, having no rebuttal. She was attracted to him. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Because we work together?”

  “No. Not because of that.” Though it did complicate matters.

  “Okay?” He waited.

  Oh, how she wished he hadn’t put her in this position. Glancing down to her fingers, she couldn’t help the tremble in her voice. “You’re just… not what I need right now.”

  He reared back, putting an additional foot of space between them. She could barely stomach looking at his crestfallen expression. Not after his earlier admission of constantly feeling inadequate. “I mean, no one is who I need right now.” Good night, she sucked at this.

  But he didn’t want her explanation, that much was obvious. He clamped his jaw, but somehow found a way to smile at her though the act was as courteous as it was fake. “I have a date with the coffee fund I better not miss.”

  “I’m sure your kidnapper will appreciate the timely drop.”

  He held up his bag, playing along, though his eyes bore into hers with a thousand questions and even more demands. “I wouldn’t begin to know what my kidnapper is thinking… about anything at this point.”

  Instead of responding, she took the coward’s way out and disappeared into the safety of her car.

  Chapter 19

  When Tyler walked into Beck’s house Wednesday evening, he was moody, exhausted, and filthy. His beautiful plot of land was a mess—a necessity, he knew—but it was still hard to see four trees being sacrificed to make room for the foundation. Worse, the rent by the month studio he’d found wouldn’t be ready for weeks. Not that he was all that thrilled to be laying down a deposit.

  Not only was it robbery, what they were charging for a matchbox six hundred square foot apartment, but walking in, Tyler had been sucked back to his childhood. To the time before they’d moved to Bentwood. A time when he had very few positive memories.

  Beck looked up the minute he shut the front door. Decked out in sweats and a t-shirt, his friend lay sprawled, barefoot, on his leather sofa. A half-eaten bag of popcorn was turned over on the coffee table along with a forty-four ounce soda from the QuickTrip down the street. Two candy bar wrappers littered the floor. Not exactly Beck’s normal high protein, low sodium dinner.

  “I recorded the Spurs if you want to watch,” he offered.

  Tyler’s first thought was the guy looked haggard. His next thought was a memory search of when he’d seen Beck so unkempt. The break up with Journey their sophomore y
ear was the last time he could recall.

  Beck sat up, scratched his mop of day old gelled hair. “How’s the house coming?”

  “Fine. The trailer’s gone. Now they’re clearing the space for the foundation.” He fiddled with his keys, not moving from the edge of the room.

  “I can go out there with you this weekend. I learned a lot when they built mine. Mostly what not to do.”

  It would be easy to agree. To grab a beer, watch the game, talk about nothing and find a way to recover. But if forgiving were that simple, he’d be with Journey right now.

  “I’m not going out there tomorrow. I’ve got some business to take care of regarding my grandfather’s things.”

  “Yeah. I know how important your new family is to you.” Beck plopped back to his horizontal slothfulness, heavy enough to make the couch groan. He clicked the volume on the TV, raising it until it burned Tyler’s ear.

  A small chime rang as he pushed through the door. Tyler had been dreading this visit to Westside Antiques since Caroline had pointed out the watch. He hated the idea of putting a monetary value on his grandfather’s belongings; his life had been summed up by dollar signs. But if she was right about his inheritance, he needed to protect what little his grandfather had given him.

  The store was run out of an old farmhouse tucked off the highway north of town, and had multiple high ratings online. Inside, each room was filled with shelving and decorations taking him back to a time with horse drawn carriages, long dresses, and men shipped off to war. He wove his way through the home, following the arrows on the ground. Each room showcased a period in history, down to the mannequin he’d just passed wearing a short flapper’s dress like the one Journey wore to the school’s decades dance their senior year. She’d been a vision that night, all sparkles and charm. They’d gone as a group in a Hummer limo that Anne Marie made Harold rent for them.

  He reached up and fingered the fine material, silky against his calloused skin. A fitting picture of their relationship back then—she’d soften his edges, he’d fortify her insecurities. The hem slipped through his fingers and he let the memory go, too. They’d somehow forgotten how to be the person each other needed.