Page 123 of Perfect Composition

“Yes. And let me assure you, Beckett can’t wear a sock the wrong color without the bloggers catching it.”

I begin to feel awful for him. “What must it be like to live under that constant pressure?”

Angie shudders. “It’s awful. When Ward and I were first dating, I was terrified I would end up in the feeds.”

Carys reaches over and pats her arm. “My brother did a fine job of keeping you out of it.”

A luminous smile lights her face. “That’s true.”

“Is that because of what you do?” I ask curiously.

“Ahh, not exactly.” Carys downshifts.

Angie blurts out, “It’s because together the Burkes are almost as wealthy as Beckett.”

“Angie!” Carys shouts.

“Well, it’s not like she can’t look up Ward and find he’s edging out Beckett on some of the Most Eligible Bachelor lists.”

Austyn raises her hand. “Umm, excuse me. May I ask a question?”

“Austyn, honey. You don’t need to raise your hand,” Angie explains.

“Though I love the idea and might instigate it at the office,” Carys mutters.

“If you’re so wealthy, why work?”

“An excellent question. Let me ask you a question. If you had all of your father’s money, would you stop playing music?” Carys returns.

“No. Hell no. Music is a part of my soul.”

“Well, I won’t say defending your father against him being…” Carys searches for a word.

“Stupid? Moronic? Idiotic?” Angie supplies.

The four of us break up laughing, easing some of my tension as we get closer to Collyer. “Choose any of the above. I can’t say that was part of my soul, but the life lessons our parents taught me and Ward were. The money’s there. That’s nice to know, but if I wasn’t working, I wouldn’t have met David. If I hadn’t met David, I would have missed out on the most important thing.”

“Love,” I reply for her.

“Exactly. So, while it’s different for everyone, I’d like to think money is the last reason we do the things we do. Love, passion, drive, need. You do the things you do because they feed your soul, not because you have to but because you want to,” Carys finishes.

“And that’s why Dad still plays,” Austyn surmises.

“I think the world would be deprived of one of its greatest musicians if he didn’t.”

“I think it’s sad,” Austyn concludes. “The more he becomes successful, the less of himself he’s able to just…be.”

And Austyn’s words strike me hard. They remind me of one of the texts Beckett sent to me that I tuned out because I was so wrapped in my own pain.Some days being part of the paparazzi feeding frenzy is worse than living back in Texas. Their stories can cut me to the core, but instead of it just being my parents, it’s the world. And right now, it’s you because you won’t let me explain.

And I realize with simple clarity, if we’re going to try to make it, we need to construct a place where the only thing that can penetrate the atmosphere is love. Where if we inhale deeply, we are enough, and when we breathe out, we expunge the stressors of his job, mine. Outside influences. We had that when we were young. It existed in a field on a foundation of love between two beds of lies. We just didn’t know it.

Now we do.

And now we know how precious it truly was.

BECKETT

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE