The Beckett Boys- The Complete Series Box Set

by Olivia Chase

  Now that moment has passed.

  We get into the car. I turn it on and drive her back home. Claire sits in stony silence the whole right there. My throat’s too tight to speak. Tight with shame, with the realization that I’ve lost her.

  My body aches but I’m so numb that I hardly even feel the pain. Pain would be a welcome distraction right now, but instead I just feel vaguely sick, like I want to puke.

  I had her in my arms an hour ago, was deep inside her, and now it’s all gone.

  She’s right to walk away from me.

  Smart.

  I don’t deserve her. She’s always been out of my league; she’s just now realized it.

  I pull into her driveway. Claire opens the door and exits the car without a word. And as she walks into her apartment building and out of my life, she doesn’t look back.

  I get home and see the twins parked on the couch. When they spot me coming into the living room, they jump up, anger in their eyes. I must look like a total hot mess. A peek in the rearview mirror earlier showed my face bruised and battered.

  “Who did this to you?” Hale growls.

  My brothers might fuck up sometimes, and we might even have fights, but we’re super protective of each other. I can tell Hale’s ready to pound the shit out of someone for the ass kicking I got.

  Hudson walks into the kitchen, gets a bag of peas, and hands it to me. I press it against the wound on my head, flinching at the cold. “Looks like your stitches ripped,” he murmurs as he eyes my shoulder.

  “Not going back to the hospital,” I mumble. “We’ll fix it here.”

  I slide out of my shirt, groaning with the effort, and Hudson cleans the blood off my shoulder. “It’s not that bad, actually. Only a couple of stitches popped open. I have some butterfly bandages we can use to close it until the skin finishes healing,” he says, grabbing the old first aid box sitting on the counter. He pops it open and takes out several bandages, putting them on me.

  “Thanks,” I say quietly.

  “Here.” Hale thrusts a beer at me. “You look like you need a drink or twelve.”

  “You’re absolutely right.” I finish the beer in several deep swigs.

  Hale presses another beer can into my hand, then cracks one open for himself. I drink and drink until the aches in my body start to fade. Until the memory of Claire’s disgust in her eyes gets a little blurry around the edges.

  I drink until I almost can’t remember feeling her beautiful body wrapped around mine.

  Almost.

  I sigh and eyeball the row of empty beer bottles. My brothers sit in supportive silence with me. They clearly sense that I need time before I’m ready to talk.

  Finally, after finishing one more beer, I exhale in a loud whoosh. “I fucked up,” I tell them. My words are slightly slurred. My tongue feels thick. I don’t care. I don’t want to think about how shitty I’ll feel tomorrow. I just want to escape the pain…emotional and physical.

  “Is this about that girl you’ve been seeing?” Hudson asks.

  I nod.

  “She didn’t do this to you, did she?” Hale asks with a laugh. “Cuz if she can fight that well, I want to marry her.”

  I glare at him. “Not funny, you dick.”

  He pats me on the shoulder. “Relax. Just trying to get you to laugh.”

  “So, what happened?” Hudson asks.

  Slowly, I share the details. I tell about how we went on a date, and the guy from Outlaws must have been out with his friends and saw me driving. How Claire freaked out after the fight and dumped me.

  “But…you protected her,” Hale says, his brows furrowed. “The fuck? She just broke up with you like that?”

  “Look at it from her point of view,” Hudson says. He scratches the back of his neck. “She’s an attorney. Clearly she believes in upholding the law, not in street justice like we do. She’s probably never even seen a real fight before.”

  Hale grunts. “Still shitty.”

  “I don’t blame her at all for walking away,” I say, my voice low. I crack open another beer. My stomach is full now but I keep drinking.

  “So we’re going to retaliate against those assholes, right?” Hale asks.

  I swallow my mouthful. It’s tempting to take all this anger I have at myself and aim it at the cocksuckers who beat me up. But then what? They bring twenty of their rich-dick friends and send me to the hospital with broken bones? Where does it end?

  I shake my head. “No retaliation.”

  “We can’t let this go unanswered,” Hale says. He crosses his arms and glares at me. “We’ll take care of it. You don’t even have to do anything. But no one messes with our family and gets away with it.”

  “You will not,” I tell him sternly. “It’s fucking done. We’re not doing anything. We’re letting it go.”

  Hudson sighs and nods. I can tell he has mixed feelings on the topic. He’s not as punch-happy as Hale is, but he doesn’t like seeing anyone in our family get hurt.

  I grab my beer and stumble upstairs to my bedroom. The world is spinning around me. I lie on the bed.

  Claire’s heated words come flying back at me as I stare at the ceiling. The hurt and anger in her eyes are burned into my skin. She’ll never speak to me again. I’ll never taste that mouth again. See the glow in her eyes as she comes for me. Hear her husky laugh.

  Fuck. I’m so drunk and depressed right now that I want to push a pillow over my own face. She’s just a girl. Not a big deal. Stop mooning over her.

  Even as I think that, I know it’s bullshit. She’s not even close to just being some random girl.

  Claire set me on fire the first time I saw her. My body aches for her. And now I’m alone in my bed instead of curled up against her.

  My fucking fault.

  I close my eyes and let drunken sleep claim me.

  Claire

  I lie in my bed, my eyes swollen and my face streaked with tears. It’s after midnight, but I can’t shut my brain off. I can’t stop replaying what happened. Seeing Jamison get ganged up on, hit with a baseball bat, it haunts me. The sight of his blood dripping down the side of his face, of the bruises from being punched…it was scary.

  I’ve never been so afraid, never felt so much visceral fear and shock and adrenaline all at once. The way those men looked at me, the way they hit and beat him, while Jamison raged like a wounded animal and fought them with every ounce of energy he had left…

  How can he live like that, going through life fighting all the time? Doesn’t he want more? Want something better?

  I feel broken inside. I said some mean things to him, lashed out at him in my anger and confusion, and guilt stings my chest. But they were true.

  He’s not the good guy. Not the rogue with a golden heart I thought he was. He was beaten up because he and his brothers ganged up on someone one night, and that guy fought back.

  The world Jamison lives in is violent. Dangerous. And I can’t be in that place with him, even if I do have feelings for him.

  My sheets are still messy from when we were in here earlier today. I can almost smell him on my pillow.

  I squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to block out the mental images. The Jamison I thought I knew never really existed. I let myself see in him what I wanted to see. But that’s not the person he actually is. And I almost got hurt because of his lifestyle. I saw the way those men were looking at me—and what if he hadn’t been able to fight them off?

  I don’t even want to go there.

  My throat swells again, and I start to cry. Despite knowing better, I let Jamison get under my skin. I felt physical pleasure with him that I’ve never experienced before. I bite my lower lip to fight back the sob that threatens to erupt. Turn onto my side and bury my face in my pillow.

  My heart hurts. I’m a fool.

  I’ve never been so scared in my life. Scared and mad and disgusted.

  The tears won’t stop streaking from my eyes. I sniffle, and I let the sadness come. I dropped
my walls and made myself vulnerable to Jamison. Now I have to find a way to get over him. To stop caring about him. I need to move forward, and my life doesn’t include him anymore.

  I lie in bed and will sleep to come, but it takes hours for me to finally fall asleep.

  Light hits me square in the face; I see it glowing from behind my eyelids, which feel sealed shut and crusty from my tears last night. My head is splitting open, throbbing in agony—crying headaches are the worst.

  With a groan, I press my hand to my forehead and pry my eyes open. Glance at the clock on my bedside table.

  Eleven-thirteen a.m.

  Shit. Shit! Panic sweeps through me, and I sit up and gasp. Oh God, I overslept. I consider jumping up out of bed and driving down to the examination site to see if I can convince them to let me still take the test, but I already know they won’t.

  At this point, I’m over two hours late. I’m screwed. Totally screwed.

  My heart squeezes tight in my chest, and I start to cry again. Big, fat, ugly tears streak down my face as I sob. The next exam isn’t for another six months.

  I screwed it all up. Everything I’ve been working for the last several years, everything I’ve achieved despite the odds, has fallen apart in a manner of hours.

  I go into my kitchen and make a big, steaming mug of coffee. Tomorrow, I have to face my boss and tell him I lost my chance to interview with the firm in New York City. Because of my irresponsibility, he won’t offer me another chance. Why would he? I’ve proven myself unworthy and irresponsible.

  I’m tempted to come up with a lie, to pretend I was sick so he might try to talk them into letting me interview after the next exam. But I’m a terrible liar. George is quirky and eccentric, yeah, but he’s brilliant at reading people. He’d see right through me…and then chastise me for the lie. It would just make things worse.

  I sip my coffee, staring blankly at my kitchen table.

  This all happened because I let myself trust Jamison. When I saw his true nature but was convinced by his sweet talk to give him a shot, despite our vast differences. I knew from day one that the man was wrong for me. Yet I was weak. I caved. I dated him. And now I’m paying the price.

  I watched my parents as I grew up, their differences eventually tearing them apart until they ended in a spectacularly disastrous divorce. But idiot me, I believed somehow things would be different for me in my dating life.

  No, I’m better off alone. Focusing on work and biding my time until I can take the next exam. I can’t let this happen to me ever again.

  I slip into my comfiest pajamas and curl up on the couch, putting on mindless daytime TV to distract me. Despite it being a little before noon, I crack open a bottle of wine and sip on a glass, willing myself to not think about anything right now.

  Like Jamison.

  The bar exam.

  My missed interview opportunity.

  If I let my mind wander to them, I start to feel that stabbing pain in my chest that makes me want to cry and cry and never stop.

  Mid-afternoon, my cell phone vibrates. My heart gives a startled skip when I wonder if it’s Jamison texting me. But I glance at the screen. It’s my mom. Probably wanting to know how the exam went. Of course, she has a detailed schedule of what I’m supposed to be doing for the test.

  Shit. I sink into the couch deeper, wrapping a blanket around me. I can’t talk to my family right now. The shit-storm I’m going to get from them will make me want to hide in a hole and never emerge.

  My phone vibrates again, this time with an incoming phone call. Mom still. She’s relentless.

  With a surge of frustration, I shut the ringer off, flip my phone so the screen faces the coffee table, and lie down on the couch on my side. My eyes sag closed, and I drift into a restless sleep.

  I look marginally less shitty when I step into the office the next morning. George isn’t here yet. My stomach is a tangled knot as I brew up the coffee and pour myself a small mug. I’m already shaky and nervous as it is; don’t need to add caffeine jitters to it, too.

  He’s going to be so upset with me.

  I still haven’t talked to my parents. They’ve both blown up my phone last night and even this morning, pressing me for answers about how yesterday went. Hah. I can’t wait to hear what they have to say to me when they find out their oldest daughter failed them yet again. The yelling I’ll have to deal with about how I took a good opportunity and flushed it down the toilet. At least I never told them about the now-useless New York City interview.

  Let’s just deal with one disappointed person at a time.

  George strolls in and blinks in surprise at me. I had taken two days off work for the exam, but since I missed day one, I didn’t need to go today.

  I decided to come into work, instead. Turns out sitting at home alone with only your thoughts for company starts to make you a little depressed and insane.

  “Hello, Claire,” he says slowly, sipping coffee from his ever-present Thermos. I don’t know where he found pants in that shade of neon orange, but he’s wearing them today, matched with a mustard-yellow shirt and a faded black tie. The man dresses way contrary to the money he makes with the firm. “What are you doing here?” he asks me. “Was your test cancelled?”

  I give him a weak smile. “Morning, George. No, it wasn’t cancelled. I…I didn’t go.” I keep my chin up and say evenly, “I missed the first day of the exam yesterday, so I’m here to get some work done. No sense taking off another day if I don’t need to anymore.”

  “I see.” He’s quiet, just eyeing me. Sips from his Thermos.

  “Yeah.” I swallow and continue, “I apologize. I know you set up that amazing opportunity to interview in New York, and I failed you.” It’s hard to keep the wobble out of my voice. Shame seeps through me again, and my stomach gets tight.

  “You didn’t fail me,” he murmurs, setting his mug down on my desk corner. “I’m sure you’re beating yourself up over this. Don’t sweat it. You can take the exam again in November. It’s not going anywhere—and you’ll be extra ready for it by then.”

  I give a stiff nod. “Yeah, I know.”

  He scratches the corner of his bushy mustache. “Well, try to shake it off. We all fuck up. That’s what makes us human. You still have a job here.”

  “Thanks, boss.” The fact that he isn’t making me feel shittier about it helps alleviate some of the pressure from my chest. At least one person in my life isn’t going to give me grief over my mess-up.

  To be fair, my sisters won’t, either. They know the pressure Mom and Dad put on all of us. They live with it, too. They’ll both hug me and try to cheer me up. I should call them later tonight and fill them in. No doubt once our folks find out, they’ll hear all the shit talk from Mom and Dad that they can bear.

  George takes his Thermos and chugs a mouthful of coffee. Some of it drips onto his chin. In true George fashion, he leaves it there. “In the meantime, since you’re here, I’m putting you to work. I have invoices that need to go out, and there’s a client at the hospital I was going to interview in an hour, but I’ll have you do it instead.”

  Maybe that’s for the best, given what a mess he looks like today. I find my lips quirking with the first touch of a smile I’ve had since everything went down. “You got it, George.”

  The day passes in a flurry of work. For once, I’m grateful for my job—it’s distracting enough to help divert my attention. I linger at the office late, nervous about going home. Alone, where I’ll be left with my thoughts again.

  Not to mention having to talk to my folks. I’m supposed to meet my dad for dinner tomorrow night to celebrate finishing the bar exam. I doubt he’ll want to meet me after he learns the truth.

  George leaves for the day, and I wrap up my work. Then I steel myself and dial Dad’s number.

  He picks up on the second ring. “Look who finally emerged from her cave and contacted me. You were supposed to check in yesterday, Claire.”

  I bite my lower li
p as a fresh wound rips in my chest. No question about how I’m doing. No concern over any stress I might be undergoing. “Well, I’m calling now.”

  “It’s late,” he says. “You can tell me all about the exam over dinner tomorrow. We’re going to LaRoux—they have the best Cajun-spiced catfish you’ll find in Michigan. Flown in fresh daily.”

  After divorcing my mom, my dad became a food critic. He started a blog and wrote about various places around the area. For some reason, he’s gained a lot of popularity and respect in the field. Now his ego is bigger than ever. He met his current girlfriend, a chef, while dining at her restaurant last year.

  “Dad. I need to tell you something.”

  “You failed it, didn’t you.” His voice is so sure of himself. “Shit, Claire.”

  I close my eyes and will myself to relax. “No, I didn’t fail it. Because I didn’t go. I didn’t take the exam.”

  There’s silence on the other end. “What? Why in the hell would you go through all of this and not take the bar?”

  “It wasn’t on purpose. I accidentally missed it.”

  He doesn’t speak for several long moments. I hear a heavy exhale. “Claire. How could you? This is bad, even for you.”

  My throat closes up. I swallow hard a couple of times and force myself to say, “So I guess you don’t want to have dinner with me tomorrow, huh?”

  “Are you kidding me? I fronted you money for the test, and you didn’t take it? No. No, I’m not taking you to dinner. Your irresponsibility does not deserve a reward.” He gives a sarcastic laugh. “Unbelievable that you’d even ask me that. And you’re going to pay me back, too.”

  The tears that I managed to hold back all day come back out. “You know what? I don’t want to go to dinner with you. In fact, I don’t want to talk to you anymore. I’m tired of the way you treat me. I’m not perfect, and I screw up, but I deserve better than this. I’ll mail you a check for the exam fee as soon as I can get the money together.”