Page 34

THIRTY-FOUR

BECCA

Dating app Braxton has turned into a semi-regular thing, surprisingly. He’s a little vanilla in bed, but he curbs the ache, and he’s genuinely a good guy. He’s a lawyer, so his hours are long and his time is precious.

He fucks with precision. Straight to the point. No forcing me out of my comfort zone or making me relinquish control. He’s exactly what I need. Sometimes, the late nights turn into mornings, and I’ve found I’m okay with letting him stay. The loneliness dulls just a little when he’s around.

I’m meeting up with him after leaving here— here being Papa’s office at the church. Complete with that big oak desk. The one currently taunting me from its place in the center of the room. It’s lavish in its grandeur, much like the rest of the office. We’re a small town, but religion is easy to profit from, and when it comes to Sugarlake, Papa’s the number-one salesman.

He wasn’t always. Once upon a time, he believed in the words he preached. But real life doesn’t have happy endings. It simply ends. And until it does, we’re all floating aimlessly, trying like hell to find a purpose, hoping we outlast our demons in the game of hide and seek.

My own personal demon is currently staring at me, the memories seeping from the wood of this damn desk.

I hate it here.

The only thing worse than being stuck in here is being stuck and having to talk to my old man about Eli’s marriage to another woman.

Papa’s voice filters through the hallway, his boisterous laugh sending a shock wave of longing through my chest. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard it, and the sound makes me want to jump out of my seat, rush into the hallway, and see what has the ability to break through his persona to draw out the man underneath.

I don’t have to wonder for long because in he walks, and behind him is my true enemy of the town. Sally Sanderson, the youth leader of our church and the woman who’s been fucking my father for years like she has any right.

Bitch.

God, how dare she still work here. Thirteen years later and she’s still around, like a cockroach, infesting everything that used to matter.

I wonder if they’re still bumping uglies, or if he’s moved on to younger pastures.

Doesn’t matter. I hate them both.

A scowl lines my face, stomach churning with disgust as I lean back in the chair and wait for them to acknowledge my presence.

They don’t, too lost in each other to even notice I’m here. Typical.

I scoff, and Sally turns toward the noise, her dull brown hair swishing behind her.

“Oh! Hi, Rebecca Jean. It’s nice to see you. Your daddy didn’t tell me you would be here.” Her white cheeks dust a light pink, and I want to smack the color off her stupid face.

My teeth grind together, jaw aching from the force. Crossing my arms, I turn my head to the side. She’s not worth my attention.

Homewrecker.

Sally clears her throat, shifting on her feet and twisting back to Papa.

“Okay, Don, I’ll, um…see you later.”

He nods, already moving around his desk to sit down, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he does.

Sally closes the door behind her. Papa lets the silence linger just long enough to make it uncomfortable. It’s a power play and one that he’s perfected over the years, at least when it comes to me.

“Rebecca. There’s no need to be so rude.”

I shrug.

He steeples his fingers, resting his elbows on the desk. “What do you need?”

I twist a curl around my finger, ignoring the way my stomach revolts at what I’m about to say. “Lee’s brother’s gettin’ hitched and wants to use the church.” I rush through the words like they’re on fire. If my dry, swollen throat is any indication, they singed me anyway.

Papa’s eyebrow quirks. “He’s not out in Florida?”

I sigh. “I don’t know, Papa. I guess his fiancée wants to have it here.” My voice breaks on the word fiancée and I cough, hoping he doesn’t notice. “I’m just the messenger.”

He leans back, the desk chair creaking like it may collapse any second from his weight.

A metaphor for my fucking life.

Rubbing his chin, his eyes laser in on me. I’m not sure why, after all these years, he’s still able to make me fidgety, but he does, and I can’t help but shift under his stare.

My hands grow clammy and I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Anyway, they want to come check it all out on Tuesday, if that works.”

He nods. “Well, make sure you’re here for it, then.”

My heart stops. Actually stops in my chest, and it’s a miracle I’m still breathing through the stall.

“What?” I gasp.

“They’re your friends, so you can be the one in charge of makin’ sure it goes off without a hitch. You need somethin’ to do this summer, anyway.”

My heart jolts to life, making up for the missed beats with the way it’s thumping away in my chest. I think I may pass out. Or have a heart attack. Maybe both. I did not sign up for this.

“Papa, in case you forgot, I have a job. I work hard and I think I deserve to enjoy my summer break.”

He chuckles. A short, sarcastic laugh that heats the blood in my veins, resentment spiraling through me.

“Idle hands are a devil’s playground, Rebecca. This will keep you busy.”

The universe is laughing at me. Proving what a cruel bitch it can be because only a sadistic world would make me pay for my mistakes in such a brutal way. But no matter how bad I want to argue and rage, I don’t. I don’t remind him that I’m twenty-six and not sixteen. I don’t tell him all of the things I really want to say. I spent most of my adolescence fighting against this man, and I’ve learned it’s just wasted energy. My life has been prophesied. Written on the coattails of my mother, no matter how much I try to run from it.

I’ve accepted my fate.

For the rest of the night, all through my dinner date, I convince myself it won’t be a big deal. It’s been five years since I’ve even seen Elliot Carson, and if he can move on, then so can I. Maybe we can even be friends.

But still, when Braxton sinks inside me, it’s blue eyes and dark, honey-blond hair I see.

The next morning, when Braxton and I stop by the coffee shop for breakfast, I’m feeling lighter than I have in days, content in my acceptance of the hand life has dealt me.

I feel him before I see him, but I pretend I don’t, grasping Braxton’s arm and forcing a laugh at whatever he’s saying. I couldn’t really tell you whether it was funny.

There’s a pull, and I know that if I give in, the glued together bits of my soul will shatter into a thousand pieces and blow away with the early morning breeze.

Still, I look. I’ve always been a glutton for punishment.

My heart stammers in my chest.

I knew this moment was coming, I just thought I’d have longer to prepare—build up the bricks to cover my self-inflicted pain, shielding it from his view.

“Eli,” I breathe.

His jaw tightens as he holds me in his gaze, but his steps falter, pausing for the slightest moment. And that’s all it takes, just one moment. One measly second for hope to explode inside every nerve, my heart bursting at the seams.

But my heart’s a fool. Just like the rest of me.

Eli restarts his trek, breaking his gaze and breezing through the door, not giving me a second glance as he walks by.

I guess I can’t blame him. Some days, when I’m weak and pathetic, remembering what I left, I want to walk past myself, too.

This is my purgatory.

And helping him marry another woman will be my penance.