Page 34 of Home Brewed (The Perfect Cup #1)

Hazel

W aking up is as bad as the nightmares that plagued my sleep.

I slept fitfully, and I can feel it now in my stiff muscles.

I can hear Beck doing something downstairs and take the extra time to pull the blanket over my head and squeeze my eyes shut, hoping that none of what happened at my apartment was real.

Seeing everything I own completely decimated broke me.

Justin took away the only stable relationship I had—him, even if he sucks.

He took away my friend groups—multiple times if you count when we moved here and I cut off everyone from school—and now he’s taken away the safety of my home.

How am I supposed to live somewhere that feels so unsafe now?

And now I have to deal with my landlord and insurance company to try to replace everything he ruined.

Luckily, the building has video surveillance in the entryways, so we can at least prove that he had been in the building, but the paperwork and waiting to get my money, that’s what I’m dreading.

The entire process just needs to be over already, and it hasn’t even started.

I give myself permission to have a short pity party before I burrito myself in the duvet and trudge downstairs to the kitchen.

Beck has the radio on quietly and is humming along to some top forty pop hit with his back to me, making coffee.

A small sliver of my soul mends as I watch him carefully craft my usual coffee order.

It means so much to me, the way he pays attention to small details.

The bar is on the floor and Beck is still treating it like a high jump.

I clear my throat softly to let him know I’m here, and his eyes flick over me, assessing me, before a warm grin swipes across his face. I do my best to return it and shuffle over to him, pressing my face into his chest, breathing in his warm, steadying scent.

“Well, good morning, sugar.” He rubs my back as I stand there quietly.

“Good morning,” I mumble, the sound muffled by his shirt.

“I thought coffee might make everything a little more bearable today,” he says softly.

“That was definitely a good thought.” I rest my chin on his chest so I can look up at him. Detaching myself, I reach for the offered coffee and plop into my usual spot at the kitchen island, staring at it like it might just handle all my problems for me if I look long enough.

“You know, if you keep being this nice to me, I’m going to get used to this,” I warn him.

“Oh no. How terrible.” His tone is flat and teasing.

“I have the number of the police report, and I found a copy of your insurance policy while I was grabbing some stuff for you, so I hope it’s okay…

.” Beck drags his laptop across the counter to show me.

He has the insurance website pulled up, most information is already filled in, and there is an email sent to my landlord requesting the security footage of Justin entering the building as proof of the break in. I stare, mouth agape.

He just… did it. I didn’t ask, he didn’t even offer, he just knew it had to be done and did it. I can’t remember the last time someone had just looked out for me because they could. Or wanted to.

I keep staring at him, not sure what to even say .

“Is that not okay? I really didn’t mean to pry, I can still delete it all and you can do it yourself if you want to, I just thought…” He looks distraught as he runs his hand through his hair, which hangs loose, almost to his shoulders now.

“Shut up,” I say. Beck looks shocked. “Sorry, I mean, thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I throw my arms around him, nearly toppling him. He manages to catch me, a startled noise escaping him.

“Okay, so this is a good thing I did? I hope?” Beck peers down at me, trying to make sense of the emotions I barely have a grasp on.

“This is more than okay, Beck. I don’t–” I can’t keep the emotion out of my voice, my eyes flipping between Beck in my arms, and the computer screen. Why should such a small act mean so much to me? Why does it make things feel just a little bit lighter?

Why does this feel like love?

“Thank you,” I whisper again, squeezing him one last time.

“Anything for you, Hazel.” Beck holds me to him just as tightly for a moment, then allows me to sit back down and finish the last few parts of the claim, the value of items broken, was anything stolen, etc.

All in all, I’m finished by the time Beck is placing a plate of sunny side up eggs, hash browns, and bacon in front of me.

Everything that I was worried about for today, the obstacles, the stress, just melted away with one small act.

After breakfast, Beck and I agree that I should take one more day off from work.

He still has to go in and do owner type things, but I’m a little too frazzled to really focus on anything.

He kisses me as he leaves and hands me a spare key in case I need to go anywhere, even though I know I’m going to be binging Bridgerton and screaming at Anthony for being a dingus for most of the day anyway.

I love the rhythm we’ve set. It’s becoming easier to drop my guard around him, to trust him more, and it makes me feel at home here in his house, knowing that he trusts me, too.

When I make myself another coffee and am getting ready to set up in the living room, I see Beck’s laptop on the counter.

TV in bed? Why not? Changing course, I grab it and sneak upstairs back to Beck’s bedroom.

I leave the door cracked for Fish, who gave me the best snuggles the night before, and crawl back under the freshly made blankets.

I know his password already, so I plunk it in, ready to pull up a marathon, when I see a small email notification in the bottom corner.

It’s from the bank, marked urgent.

I know I shouldn’t look. Just because important people in my life are always untrustworthy doesn't mean Beck’s the same.

He’s probably almost back in the office and is going to look at it himself soon.

I have a sinking feeling in my gut. Beck’s the owner of Booze & Brews , he probably gets emails from the bank all the time. He probably has bank loans.

This job is one of the few stable things I have right now. Beck is the other. And this email might have the power to tear all of that down. I’ve ignored a lot of red flags in my life, what if this is another one?

I pull out my phone to my “Find My Friends” app. After last night, Beck and I decided to share our locations in case anything should happen. I can see he was still a few minutes away from work.

It’s wrong. It’s so wrong.

But I have to look.

I leave my phone open on the app next to me, tracking to see when he gets to Booze & Brews . I steel myself, then open the email and quickly skim it, that sinking feeling growing until I can feel my heart in my heels.

The business is not doing well. Either Beck has run it into the ground, which doesn’t seem likely, or it was like this when he bought it from Sheila.

I remember our first conversation about the coffee subscription, his weird comment about needing more revenue.

Which would be why he needs the coffee subscription to go well.

Because it will increase revenue. It could save the business at the rate we’re going.

And it all hinges on me, I’m a tool for him. He needs my skills to get this done .

Holy fuck. My mind spirals, doing mental gymnastics that I wasn’t aware it knew how to do. I quickly mark the email as unread and close the browser. If the success, or at least continuation of his business depends on this new service, it means he needs to keep me happy.

He would need me to be calm and focused.

He would need me close to him. I was teaching him how to do everything as we went, eventually he wouldn’t need me.

Based on this, he for sure can’t afford to pay me, but if I set it all up for him, if he learned how to maintain it all…

there would be no space left for me. I would be superfluous, unnecessary.

Not only would this make him money, but he could cut me from his payroll after, too.

I’m going to be sick.

I try not to let my thoughts run away from me, I try to remind myself that Beck is good, and he takes care of me.

Taking care of you leaves you available to further his goals, a small voice rings in the back of my head. He says he’s never really had a girlfriend before. He was always focused on work, on building his success. It’s the most important thing to him.

Am I really this stupid?

Oh my god, I really am this stupid.

I can feel myself hyperventilating, losing control, vision blurring.

Air catches in my throat as I try to suck it down, hunched over myself like I’ve been shot.

How could I let myself be used again? I gave everything to take care of Justin and be what he needed.

I moved in with him, made friends with all of his friends, made sure to always be available to him, let him use me how he needed me.

Beck’s doing the same thing, just nicer.

It’s happening all over again. My coffee sloshes in my gut, and I spring out of the bed, sprinting into the ensuite and heaving into the toilet.

I don’t have much in my system and I taste bile.

I can’t stop the shaking. I clutch the toilet bowl hard enough to make my fingers ache, holding my breath, forcing myself to stop puking, to stay in control.

I’m not going to let this destroy me. I’m not going to cry over another man .

What am I going to do?

I can’t move back home, not until the insurance company comes through. I could move into one of the spare rooms, maybe? I’m not sure what I would tell him to explain the change. I’ll have to think of something.

I can’t quit either, I have nothing to fall back on, barely any savings. I’m going to have to do a damned good enough job that he’ll have to keep me.