Page 98 of Perfect Composition

Beckett Miller performing at the Grammys? Well, that’s one way to shake a guy out of the blues and put him right back where his head belongs: rock ’n’ roll.

— @PRyanPOfficial

I linger in the shower after my interlude with Beckett on the lanai, thinking about everything that’s occurred since I came back to Kensington. As the suds sluice down my body, I’m left feeling more confused than ever. And at the center of it all is the swirl of so many questions of what’s next?

I haven’t felt a pain so acute since I was six months pregnant with Austyn and my father sat me down in his office chair before delivering the news that there was no news to give me about Beckett’s location—that I was truly all alone. He’d left me, us. He’d broken his promise to love me when I’d given him all of me.

Sinking to a squat, I wrap my arms around my legs and begin rocking back and forth. I wonder if this time the emotions of what it feels like to be the woman left behind are going to be more devastating than those of the girl who was. My wet hair flies out in all directions as I shake my head. What am I thinking? I don’t have to give it much thought.

It’s going to be so much worse.

That’s because the man Beckett grew into is so much more devastating to who I am. He already owned the largest piece of my soul I had to give, but his blunt honesty, uncomplicated generosity, and earnest affection for those he lets close snatched up the remainder.

In a few weeks, I’ve been so caught up in the crazy happening around me, I forgot to keep up my shields, and I did something so stupid I’m never going to recover.

I’m never going to stop loving him.

The first sob escapes. I duck my head so I can muffle the sound against my legs. The last thing I need is for either my daughter or her father to rush in here to ask me what’s the matter because I can’t answer that question without lying—or doing my damnedest to. Because love isn’t just a word. It’s a sound your mouth should make when your heart can back it up with real feelings.

And that means consciously keeping my feelings about Beckett to myself so he won’t feel obligated when it’s time to go. “This hurts worse than the first time,” I whisper aloud. My chest is tight at the thought of losing him a second time, but then something stirs inside of me.

He was never mine to have. Either time.

At that realization, I fall back until my butt hits the shower floor. A man like Beckett Miller graces the planet because he was given a gift to share with the world. A small laugh bubbles out of me when I internally try to imagine how this would work out. “And here’s my girlfriend. Paige who?”

“Try Paige everything,” a dark voice growls above me.

My head snaps up to find a naked Beckett looming over me. I shove my wet hair out of my face and blink him into focus, squinting a bit. “What are you doing in here?”

“You’ve been in here an hour.” Beckett steps directly under the spray before joining me on the floor.

I shake my head. “It couldn’t have been that long.”

He doesn’t answer me, merely lifts my hand and looks at my fingers, which have shrunk down into prunes. “Oh,” I respond inanely.

“Oh, is right. I was coming to tell you…never mind. What’s going through your mind, bird?” And before I can open my mouth to say “nothing,” he repeats, “‘And here’s my girlfriend. Paige who?’ Why don’t we start there?”

“I was thinking,” I begin.

His head immediately clunks back against the shower wall. “No conversation between us has ever gone well when you started it like that.”

Indignantly, I poke him in his ribs. “That’s not true.”

He pins me with a look. “‘I was thinking, we should skip school. Just one day.’ Wouldn’t you know that would be the day Mr. Roberts landed us with a pop quiz.”

“I forgot all about that,” I admit.

“‘I was thinking, let’s try sneaking into Rodeo Ralph’s.’” But it’s Beckett who laughs first. “Did you ever tell our daughter about that?”

“No! And you’d better not either. She’s still underage.”

He scoops me up so my legs straddle his. “‘I was thinking, let’s run away. Let’s leave this all behind.’”

“Yeah. That plan didn’t work out so well for one of us either, did it?”

He pushes my hair off my face where the weight of the water has shoved it forward again. “Not really. But that one’s on me. You wanted to fly away long before I did, my little songbird.”

I don’t say anything because what is there to say. I did. I just wanted one thing out of this life: him. I swallow hard. “Not meant to be—at least not for me.”