“It doesn’t matter how she knows it because she’s not registered and she can’t participate with answers,” Nessa supplies from the other end of the table. She gives me a shrug and a regretful grin. “Sorry. You can give moral support though.”
“We should have registered her on the team,” Nova says.
“Next time,” Nessa agrees.
A warm glow settles in my chest. I didn’t realize how much I was hoping they’d like me until just now. Nessa snaps her fingers in front of Beckett’s face. He hasn’t looked away from me. “Head in the game.”
My designation as team moral support is needed because two rounds later, Beckett is miserable, so tense next to me that I’m pretty sure I could break a bottle over his head and he wouldn’t notice. He participates only when he’s asked, offering one word answers and clenching his hands into fists during the breaks. He guzzles down his beer like it’ll disappear if he doesn’t down each glass in three gulps. At one point, Nova leans forward with a concerned look and quietly asks him if he needs his earmuffs.
“No,” he says, barely audible over the sounds of the bar. His cheeks pink as he glances at me quickly before blinking away. “M’fine.”
I try to engage him when I can, but he’s stiff and unyielding next to me, retreating further and further into himself. He doesn’t speak unless spoken to and flat out ignores me more than once. I sigh and glance over my shoulder to the far end of the room where the bathrooms are. I cuff Beckett’s wrist loosely with my hand and attempt to get his attention from where he’s staring blankly at the tabletop. He tilts his head slightly, flower crown tipping to the side. A white daisy brushes against his forehead.
“I’ll be right back.”
For a second it looks like he might try to stop me. He opens his mouth and his eyes trip over the planes of my face, considering. But whatever it is, he bottles it right back up. His jaw snaps shut. A quick, sharp nod.
I squeeze his wrist again.
I make my way through the raucous crowd, a group of people dressed as birds having a heated argument with ladies in long, pastel dresses and sun hats. Layla wasn’t joking when she said trivia night is serious business in Inglewild. Both Caleb and Dane are in attendance, sitting at the far end of the bar with a basket of jalapeño poppers between them. Dane has a long suffering look on his serious face. Caleb looks like he’s holding himself back from participating.
I get sidetracked by Jeremy and his friends as I travel through the tables, their heads bent over their cellphones and a pitcher of soda in the middle of the table. They ask for selfies and tips on lighting and then I’m shown 17 video drafts that they’re thinking about posting. It’s like a social media version of American Idol, and I slip away with promises of more tomorrow, if they come by the bakery in the morning.
Gus and Monty corner me next, proudly showing me the numbers on their dance video. When I ask them how they plan to follow up such a stunning debut, Gus gets a twinkle in his eye and stands from his stool, scooping me in his big arms and spinning me around the small square of floor space. I laugh loudly and hold myself steady on his shoulders, my heart so light it feels like I could float away.
This is what I was missing. Foundation. Belonging. People and stories and my name tossed out in greeting over half-eaten baskets of greasy french fries. All of my trips—I haven’t stayed in a place long enough for anyone to know me. I haven’t had Caleb waving at me from across the bar with a jalapeño popper held between thumb and forefinger. Ms. Beatrice screaming in someone’s face about the official name of New York’s Sixth Avenue while wearing a sun hat and holding a croquet mallet, a wink tossed over her shoulder. A chorus of whistles when I wave to the ladies from the salon.
Stella’s words drift back to me. People change. Maybe this is what I need now.
I’m still smiling, breathless, when I finally make it to the bathroom. I stop and stare at myself in the mirror—my flushed cheeks and a grin that makes my face almost unrecognizable. It’s been so long since I’ve felt like this. I touch my fingers to my cheeks and try to memorize it.
“You’re doing okay,” I tell myself quietly. My smile softens into something lasting and I let myself feel good about everything that’s brought me to exactly this moment. No guilt. No hesitation. Just a bubbling warmth right in the center of me. “You’re doing the best you can.”
That’s enough.
I wash my hands in the sink and edge my way out of the door, a wall of sound slamming into me. Music has somehow joined the mix, shrieks and laughter and someone yelling overtop of it all about a quesadilla. It’s chaotic, but lovely. A soundtrack of community and love.
I barely manage two steps down the dark hallway before I see him. His big body tipped up against the wall, one shoulder and his head pressed to it. His arms are crossed and his face is shadowed, but I’d recognize the angles of his body anywhere—in the dark, especially.
“Beckett?”
He looks like he’s in pain. Shoulders hunched. A deep frown on his handsome face as I get closer. I reach out to him and my hand hovers over the slope of his shoulder, not sure if he wants to be touched right now or not.
He makes the decision for me, lifting his head and blinking at me blearily. He curls his hand around my wrist and tugs, a quiet oof slipping from my lips as I stumble into him.
His usual smell is tucked under layers of alcohol and fried food, but his skin is warm where my nose finds his neck. He wraps his arms around my back and holds on tight, clinging to me in the narrow hallway at the back of the bar. My hands slip over his shoulders and I hold on just as tight, confused and concerned.
“You okay?”
I feel a shudder work its way up his spine, a thin tremor in his hands. He rocks his forehead against my shoulder and grunts, mumbling something under his breath. He sways slightly and I tighten my grip.
“S’loud,” he finally mumbles, low and rough in my ear. “Needed a break.”
I drag my hands up and down his back in a soothing rhythm. He makes a grateful sigh against me.
“That’s alright. What can I do?”
“This is good,” he says with another squeeze. “Just wanna listen to you breathe for a second.”
I make sure to take a noisy, obnoxious breath on my next inhale and he softens further, the grip of his arms relaxing slightly but his body becoming heavier against mine. I shuffle back until I’m leaning against the wall, Beckett pressed right up against me.
It is loud in here. I hear Gus clamber back on the bar top with his megaphone, a short siren wail that has Beckett flinching against me. I smooth my fingers through his hair and he lets out a deep, rattling breath. Gus announces last call and last round, and the crowd gives a belligerent groan in response.
“Why did you come?” I ask him quietly, nails scratching lightly. He leans harder against me. “You could have said no.”
“Nova asked,” Beckett supplies quietly. “Didn’t want to disappoint anyone.”
I asked, too. I wonder how much pressure Beckett puts on himself to be what everyone needs, all of the time.
“Not right back,” Beckett grumbles into my shirt.