Manhattan: A Small Town Friends-to-Lovers Romance (Becker Brothers Book 3)

by Kandi Steiner

  Kylie

  All summer long, I’d been flying.

  I’d lived in the clouds, in a place where my days were filled with volunteering and my nights were filled with kissing my best friend. I’d lost myself in weekends wrapped up together under blankets and surrendered all my thoughts to daydreams of Michael Becker.

  But that all came crashing down on July twelfth.

  I woke that Monday morning with my gut already sick and knotted, with my mouth dry, my eyelids heavy and swollen. I wished I could blame it on staying up too late in the treehouse with Mikey, but I knew better.

  It was July twelfth.

  And my mom had been dead for ten years.

  As soon as I sat up in my bed, leaning against the white headboard with my floral-print comforter pooling around my hips, the loss hit me just like it did every year on that day. I blinked once, twice, a third time, and by the fourth, each new blink set loose a new river of silent, hot tears.

  I wasn’t sure how long I sat there in bed, staring at the wall, crying and surrendering to the aching loss I felt in the hollow part of my chest reserved for this day. All I knew was that eventually, the tears ran dry, and my stomach growled in protest that I hadn’t eaten yet, so I climbed out of bed and padded down the hall to the kitchen to make something for breakfast.

  Dad was already at work.

  I knew he had been up all night, and that he’d probably gone into work early. If it weren’t for me telling him we had plans at the Beckers that evening, he would have worked late, too.

  I surrendered to my emotions on this day.

  My father hid from his.

  Ten years. Those two words were on repeat in my mind the entire day — as I made breakfast, as I got dressed, as I cried to Betty at the nursing home later that afternoon. It had been ten years without my mom, without having her there to lean on, to ask questions, to hold me when life got hard. Ten years without her bubbly laugh, without her homemade biscuits and one-of-a-kind sausage gravy, without her holding my dad’s hand at the kitchen table.

  An entire decade without her.

  And for the first time, I realized I’d lived more life without her than I had with her.

  That fact gutted me, and I couldn’t seem to let go of it — no matter how Betty assured me that my mom had always been with me, and always would be. It didn’t matter if I felt her presence, if, spiritually, I believed she still watched over my father and me.

  Because in reality, she was gone.

  As if it wasn’t already the worst day of the year, I’d woken up to two social media notifications that had knocked the wind out of me.

  Both from Bailey Baker.

  She’d liked two of my posts — both from weeks ago, and both containing Mikey in them. One was the video I’d posted of him singing and playing the pink guitar with My Little Pony stickers all over it. The other was a selfie I’d snapped of us on top of the water tower, and in the background — just barely — you could see our addition to the graffiti.

  She didn’t comment, didn’t message me, just simply liked each one of them — but something in my gut told me she didn’t like it at all. She’d never wanted Mikey and I to be friends, especially not after they’d started dating. She was suspicious of me, and she had a reason. Maybe she saw what Mikey never did all along.

  I warred with whether to tell Mikey about it or not. He’d unfollowed her on social media, but I was pretty certain he hadn’t blocked her. If he had, she wouldn’t have been able to see the pictures I’d tagged him in, at all.

  And if he hadn’t blocked her, that meant he’d likely woken up to the same notifications I had.

  Maybe he didn’t care. Maybe it wasn’t as big of a deal as I felt like it was. But, that gut feeling that my dad said I got from my mother was churning like a locomotive, and I didn’t know how to ignore it.

  Still, today wasn’t the day to address it — of that, I was sure.

  Today was about Mom.

  My eyes were so puffy and red by the time I started getting ready to go to Mikey’s that I almost considered putting on makeup, but I knew it was no use. The minute he wrapped me up in a hug, I’d lose it again, and the mascara I bought at the drug store and never wore would streak down my cheeks. So, I opted for dressing in my favorite pair of yoga pants and an oversized Stratford High t-shirt, and I threw my hair up in a bun.

  Dad was silent as I drove us to dinner, but he reached over and held my hand, squeezing it as supportively as he could for someone falling apart themselves. When we pulled in, he put on his best happy face, joking with Lorelei as soon as we were out of the truck and offering to help her finish up in the kitchen.

  Mikey just stood on the front porch, waiting for me.

  When our parents were inside, I walked slowly up the three wooden stairs, and then I stopped a few feet away from him. His sad eyes searched mine, and I shrugged, as if we both already knew there was nothing to say in that moment.

  Then, he pulled me into his arms, and I broke again.

  “I know,” he said, rubbing the back of my neck as he held me. His arms were firm and warm, the embrace I’d found comfort in on this day ever since I was eight. “I know.”

  Maybe what made that hug so comforting was that he really did know. Just one month before, it had been him grieving a decade without his father, and I knew that Mikey understood like no one else in my entire life ever would. He wasn’t just saying something to say something, he wasn’t pretending to understand when he didn’t.

  We were tied together in that way, in a way we never would be with anyone else.

  I sniffed, pulling back from his embrace and swiping the tears off my cheeks. “I’m sorry I look like such a mess.”

  He chuckled, kissing my forehead before he grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the front door. “You look beautiful. Like a model. A queen. A goddess.”

  I pinched his arm, but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at my lips. “Shut up.”

  Dinner passed in a numb blur.

  Lorelei made a southern buffet of my dad’s favorites — barbecue ribs, corn on the cob, potato salad, and cornbread. We had fried pickles for an appetizer and hot apple pie with vanilla bean ice cream on top for dessert. All the Becker boys were there, along with Mallory and Betty, too. It was a feast, and the entire evening was filled with laughter and stories and we talked about everything but the fact that it had been ten years since my mom had passed away.

  It was perfect.

  Dad was actually laughing, and he loved Betty and her crazy stories just as much as the rest of us. Mallory gifted Lorelei a beautiful painting of the view from her backyard at the end of dinner, and we all clamored around to ohhhh and ahhh at it. She really was the most talented artist I’d ever known in real life, and by the way tears welled up in Lorelei’s eyes, I knew it was a special gift to her.

  By the time dinner was done and the dishes were cleared, I was ready to climb into bed and say goodbye to the day, but Mikey had other plans.

  “I have a little surprise for you and your dad,” he said, quiet enough for only me to hear. His brothers and Mallory were already out on the front porch, drinking and catching up while Lorelei and my dad washed the dishes in the kitchen.

  I lifted one brow. “A surprise, huh?” I nudged him. “I knew there was more to tonight than dinner.”

  He smiled. “Give me ten minutes, and then bring your dad into the backyard. Okay?”

  I frowned more. “Okay…?”

  He didn’t offer anything else to ease my curiosity, just squeezed my hand under the table and excused himself out the back door. I glanced at the front porch, wondering if they were talking to Jordan about what he’d found in his dad’s journal. Curiosity about that had been eating away at me since we handed the hard drive over to him.

  But I didn’t have time to eavesdrop before Dad and Lorelei were back at the table with me, and just as instructed, I waited about ten minutes and then told Dad our presence was requested out back.

&
nbsp; Lorelei smiled a knowing smile when we stood, and she grabbed me in a hug before I could leave.

  “I love you, baby girl,” she whispered, holding me tight. “I hope you know how special you are to our entire family.”

  If I hadn’t already cried so much that day, I knew I’d be sobbing again. Instead, I squeezed her tight, nodding against her chest before we both pulled away.

  “I love you, too,” I said. “Thank you for dinner tonight, and for taking our minds off everything.” I looked back at my dad then, who was watching us with a sad look on his face. “I know we both really appreciated it.”

  “Yes,” he agreed with a nod, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Thank you, Lorelei. Truly.”

  “Oh, don’t thank me,” she said, waving us both off. “Thank that passionate boy in the backyard. It was all his idea.” She smiled, looking out the back door before she found my eyes again. “Speaking of which, I think he’s ready for y’all.”

  Dad and I made our way out the door and down the back porch steps, but it wasn’t the same backyard I’d hung out with Mikey in all summer long.

  It had been transformed.

  Strings of different-sized, white lights stretched from one end to the other, criss-crossing to illuminate the yard as if someone had reached up and pulled the stars down to hover just above us. There was a giant blow-up screen just in front of where I knew the fire pit was, and two giant bean bags set up in front of it, each of them covered in blankets and pillows. Two speakers sat on either side of the screen, and a bottle of champagne sat in a bucket on ice between the bean bags.

  “What is all this?” I asked, shaking my head and looking around in awe.

  Dad leaned down to whisper where only I could hear him. “I think that boy might love you, my dear.” He stood then, frowning. “And I don’t know if that makes me want to hug him or threaten him with a shot gun.”

  I laughed, looping my arm through Dad’s as we made our way toward Mikey and trying to ignore what my dad had said.

  Love.

  My stomach tilted like a carnival ride at the thought, but I placed my other hand over it, as if to physically tell it not to get ahead of itself.

  Mikey stood in front of the screen, hands in his pockets and a grin on his face, watching me and Dad as we made our way across the yard. When we were in front of the screen, he gestured to the two chairs.

  “One for you, Mr. Nelson,” he said. “And one for us, Ky. Go ahead, sit down.”

  “What’s all this about?” I asked when we were both seated.

  Mikey cleared his throat, popping the top on the champagne bottle before he poured three glasses. “Mr. Nelson, I hope you don’t mind. I know we’re underage, but I figured a glass or two of champagne wouldn’t be too bad — especially in the safety of our own home. And, well, tonight… we’re celebrating.”

  “Celebrating?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow at Mikey first, and then my dad as Mikey handed him a glass, too. Dad was suspiciously quiet, smiling, and not objecting to any of it, which made me narrow my eyes farther. “What do you know that I don’t, huh, Pops?”

  He just smiled wider, holding his glass of champagne toward Mikey. “Shhh. Michael’s talking.”

  I glared at him.

  “I know, maybe more than most people, how hard today is for both of you,” Mikey said, calling my attention back to him. He seemed a little nervous now, his fingertips drumming on the side of his glass. “And I know that we all handle days like this in different ways. Some of us get sad,” he said, looking at me. “Some of us hide from it all,” he added, looking at my dad. Then, he raised his hand. “Some of us get angry. But, no matter how we handle it, we all have something in common.” He paused. “We miss the one we lost too soon. And we wish they were here with us.”

  I sniffed against the sting those words brought to my eyes, and Dad reached over to squeeze my hand.

  “Today marks ten years since you both lost someone very important to you. And I know it’s a hard day, and that there will be more hard days to come. But, I thought, at least for tonight, we could shift gears a little. Instead of hiding from how we feel, or giving in and being sad, I thought we could celebrate — toast to the life you both had with Jocelyn — and look back on some memories.”

  Tears welled in my eyes again at the mention of her name — a name we barely said anymore, and that I suddenly was very ashamed of.

  “So, if you’ll lift your glasses,” he said, holding up his champagne flute. Dad and I joined him, and he smiled. “To Jocelyn Nelson… an amazing mother, a devoted wife, one hell of a dancer, and a woman we will all hold close to our hearts forever. Cheers.”

  “Cheers,” Dad and I echoed, and then we all took a sip, and Mikey sat down in the bean bag chair with me, putting one arm around my shoulders and holding me close.

  He kissed my cheek, hit play on a small remote he had in his hand, and then, my mother’s face filled the screen.

  I gasped, hand flying up to cover my mouth as she looked up at the camera with a wide, tired smile. She held a small baby wrapped in a pink blanket in her arms, and she was rocking in her favorite chair — one we still had in the corner of our small apartment living room.

  “Oh, my God,” I whispered.

  Mikey hugged me a little tighter but didn’t say a word.

  “Say hello, Momma,” my dad’s voice said behind the camera. Mom laughed and shoved the camera away, but then her eyes were on me, and the camera zoomed in.

  “Hello, my sweet girl,” she whispered.

  The clip cut out, and then it was me and her in the backyard of our old house. I was in the swing, chanting, “Higher! Higher!”, my hair tied up in a pink bow as she pushed me.

  Next, it was me holding the camera, making a face before I turned it around and zoomed in on Mom and Dad sitting on our back porch holding hands. “They’re gonna get cooties!” Six-year-old me said, and then my mom leaned over as if cued and kissed my dad on the cheek.

  I looked over at my dad just in time to see his smile, and two tears slipped free — one from each eye — falling over the apple of his cheeks and into the laugh lines on his face.

  Over and over, clip after clip, memories of my mother played out on that big screen. There were birthdays and Christmases, camping days at the lake and lazy nights at home. There were videos and pictures, smiles and laughs, all put together over the sound of some of her favorite songs.

  Now I knew why dad had been so quiet. There was no way Mikey could have gotten all those videos and pictures without his help.

  He’d been in on it, too.

  I couldn’t stop the tears that flowed from my eyes, but I also couldn’t stop smiling, either. My heart swelled with an overwhelming amount of emotions as we watched the video, and Mikey held me close the entire time.

  When the last clip played and the screen went dark, Mikey popped up to refill our glasses.

  He held his up to me. “You once told me that your mom’s favorite band was The Rolling Stones,” he said. “Well, I found a recording of one of their concerts they played the year you were born. I figured Jocelyn probably wasn’t going to any concerts while she was pregnant, so, if she’s here with us tonight — and I believe she is — then it will be a treat for her to watch, too.”

  I laughed, and then there were chairs being set up all around us. Lorelei, Betty, Mallory, and all Mikey’s brothers took their seats behind where Dad and I sat, each with a drink in their hand, too.

  “I brought popcorn!” Lorelei announced, dropping a giant bowl of it on the same table that held the champagne.

  “I’m only here to see Mick Jagger shirtless,” Betty announced as she took her seat. “So, you better have picked the right concert, Mikey.”

  “Did he ever wear a shirt on stage?” Mallory asked.

  Betty harrumphed. “It was a crime when he did.”

  We all laughed at that, and with everyone still talking and grabbing popcorn and calling out their favorite Rolling Stones songs,
Mikey hit play and fell back into his spot next to me on the bean bag chair. The crowd at the stadium where the concert was filmed went wild, and the first notes of “Street Fighting Man” began to play, but all I could do was stare at the boy next to me.

  “I can’t believe you did all this for us,” I said.

  Mikey put his arm around me, pulling me into him with a smile. “You’re my girl,” he said — effortlessly, like I always had been, like it was so obvious I should have already known. “I’d do anything for you.”

  My chest squeezed with something so unfamiliar I had to bury my head in Mikey’s chest to hide from it. I wrapped my arms around him and cuddled closer, covering us with one of the blankets, and for the next hour and a half, we had our own private Rolling Stones concert in that back yard.

  I felt my mom there with us, like she was sitting in the bean bag with my dad and singing along.

  I felt the anxiety over Bailey wash away as if it’d never existed at all.

  And I also felt something strange tugging at my heart.

  Something that felt a lot like what I always thought love would.

  Something I hoped I’d never have to lose.

  Something, I realized in that moment, that I had to tell Mikey.

  And I knew just how I wanted to do it.

  Michael

  That Friday, Kylie showed up at the distillery gift shop thirty minutes before we closed.

  “Hey,” I said, catching her when she jumped into my arms behind the counter. She planted a kiss on me before I could say another word, and I chuckled, still holding her when she pulled back. “Well, hello to you, too. What are you doing here?”

  “Can’t a girl visit her…” Her voice faded, but her smile never slipped as she shrugged it off. “I have a surprise for you.”

  “You can say it.”

  “Say what?”

  I smirked, tapping her nose before I released her. “Boyfriend. You can say it.”

  Her smile was timid, cheeks flushing as she looked down at her shoes. “Okay. Boyfriend.”

  “Okay. Girlfriend.”