Mia
We haven’t said anything. The ride on the boat and in the car was silent. I spent the hours in Beckett’s arms, or holding his hand, but not speaking.
Is it really over?
My brain is grasping at thoughts and revelations and trying to make sense of the day’s events.
When we get inside the house, Beckett locks the door, and I take his hand, and lead him to the bathroom. We showered on the boat, but the stench of death and the grime of it hasn’t left me. And I need to rid myself of it.
That, and the realization I’m much more like my mother than I ever thought possible. But I don’t know if I can, or even should, forget that. Does forgetting make you a more susceptible target?
And I don’t know if I should be more upset that I’m not as affected by death as I am regarding the knowledge I was so close to taking heroin.
I wanted to know what my mother felt when she took it and why she couldn’t let it go. To see if it would mask pain in a way that made life seem bearable when everything appeared impossibly bleak.
Looking at Beckett, shame fills me. I have him, and he would die for me. I knew it when he shoved me down and threw himself on top of me ten years ago, and I know it now. And I love him. Life without him wouldn’t be living.
We strip out of our clothes, not saying a word. Once we’re in the shower, we scrub each other with soap, and Beckett washes my hair. He rinses it and bends down and kisses me. I start to sob. Hard.
“Shh.” He wraps his strong arms around me. After a few minutes, he turns off the water, dries me off then himself, and leads me to the bedroom. He opens the drawer and removes a pair of pajama shorts and a shirt for me and throws on a pair of his boxers.
Beckett goes into the bathroom and comes out with the clothes we wore home. “I’m going outside to the bonfire to burn these.”
“Okay.” I follow him outside.
He throws the clothes in the bonfire container and lights it. Choosing a lounge chair, he scoots it over, sits down then positions me so I’m sandwiched between his legs and lying on his chest. He wraps his arms around me then murmurs in my ear, “Tell me what happened.”
Shame is a horrible feeling, and it consumes me. I bury my head into Beckett’s neck. “Skates said I was like my mother. They locked me in a room with heroin.”
He says nothing, but air fills his lungs, and he holds it in, waiting for me to continue.
I bite my lip and slowly look up at him.
He turns his head, and his lips are inches from mine, but I see him swallow hard. He gently asks, “Did you think about doing it?”
Closing my eyes, I breathe a few times. When I open my eyes, Beckett is cupping my cheek, patiently waiting for me to speak.
I slowly nod, staring into his eyes that are flickering along with the glow of the fire.
He kisses the top of my head. “Did you think it would take away your pain?”
I jerk my head at him. “Yes. How did you know?”
Beckett scans my eyes. “Prison makes you want to do a lot of things you never thought you would do.”
I tilt my head. “Did you try it?”
“No. But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t tempted a lot.”
“Really?”
His fingers brush my cheek. “Yes.”
“I’ve never wanted to do anything like that before. When I was locked in the room, and there was nothing to do or even look at except it, I...I...”
Beckett kisses me briefly. “You thought it might be easier?”
“Yeah.”
He caresses my cheek with his finger.
I bite my lip, staring at him.
“What else?”
“Am I like her?”
“Yes and no. Not the bad parts. Only the good parts.”
“How do you know?”
“I remember your mom.”
I gape at him. “You do?”
“Yeah. And she was kind and sweet. She was a good person.”
A tear drips down my cheek, and he swipes it with his thumb.
“Do you think something is wrong with me when I’m more affected about being a possible addict than what happened today?”
“You’re not an addict. Any of us, at any time, can become an addict. Being tempted and doing it are two different things.”
“But I don’t care they died. I mean, I do care in the sense that I’m glad they died—all of them. I have no remorse over their deaths. Doesn’t that make me a bad person?”
Beckett sighs. “I feel the same as you. The only remorse I have is that Ryland shot someone, and I didn’t. Now he has to deal with that guilt.”
“He looked shocked. I’m worried about him.”
Beckett’s eyes turn darker. “I imagine that is how I looked the night of Clay’s murder...maybe even days after.”
I stroke the side of his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember much.”
His jaw clenches. “I’m not. I don’t want you to remember it.”
“What was it like?”
He raises his eyebrows.
“Having your life ripped away.”
He blinks a few times. “I think you know what that’s like.”
“But it isn’t the same.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No. Not the same.”
He holds me tighter. “When your grandparents dropped you off, were you scared?”
“Yeah.”
“Sad?”
“I felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest, and I couldn’t breathe.”
He kisses my forehead. “Did you feel depressed, lonely, and like your life was over?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know exactly how I felt.”
Silence ensues and lasts for a few moments, except for the crackling of the fire and the croaking of the bullfrogs.
“Are they really dead? Is it really over?” I quietly ask him.
Beckett looks at me. “Yes.”
“Do you think we can ever forget about the past?”
“Probably not forget. But we can move forward without fear.”
I take a deep breath. “Do you think I should talk to Casey?”
His body freezes. He thinks for a moment then says, “I don’t know. I think that’s something you have to decide, and whatever you decide is the right answer.”
“You’re lucky you have the family you do.”
Beckett nods. “I am.”
“Do you think we can have our second chance now?”
A smile forms on Beckett’s face. “I got my second chance the minute I turned around in that courtroom and saw you.”
I lean in and kiss him, and he wraps his arms tighter around me, making me feel safe and loved. It’s a world I never knew before Beckett.
“I want you forever, Mia,” he murmurs.
“I want you forever.”
“Then marry me.”
My heart pounds harder, and I pull back and stare into his beautiful brown eyes.
His eyes scan mine. “I don’t have a ring, or money, or status. I only have me. But I promise I’ll give you all of me—every day. And I’ll put you first and love you and protect you the best I can.”
My eyes well with tears. “Really? You want to marry me?”
His face is solemn. He cups my cheeks. “Yes. I want us forever.”
I crush my lips against his, putting every ounce of love I have for him in it, knowing he is all I’ve ever wanted. And he kisses me back, showing me I am his everything, that we are meant for each other and no one else.
“Mia, will you marry me?” he asks between kisses.
“Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”
He kisses me more then says, “I think our second chance for happiness has already started.”