Presley couldn’t feel her fingers and her heart was ticking like an overactive clock.
“He’s here, Presley. He came for you.”
She laughed. “Why the hell is he doing it this way?”
Like he heard her, he stretched his arm out, showing where he was. “You went out of your comfort zone for someone who didn’t appreciate it. Then you did it over and over again like a fucking champ. Sorry for swearing, Ollie. Presley, you’re amazing. I’m crazy about you. I’m here, doing this live, because that’s notmycomfort zone. You make me brave. You make me laugh. You make me want to take chances. I’m staying at your hotel, Presley. If this is too much for you, then I’ll just beg to see you one more time to say a proper goodbye.” He brought the camera a little closer, making Presley’s breath hitch. One side of his kissable mouth tipped up. “You do owe me about fifty Band-Aids.” The look in his eyes turned serious, nearly soulful. “But if it’s not too much, if you can forgive me for being an ass, I’m here. I won’t leave without saying goodbye.”
He was silent for a bit except for the noise and traffic in the background. A couple of people walked past him now that he’d moved away from the building. He gaze was thoughtful and just a little sad.
“I have no idea how to stop a live video. Thanks for listening, guys. I guess you’ll want to know how things end up. If this works, if Presley meets me, forgives me, gives me a chance, I will put up my first Instagram photo. It’ll be a reflection of all the things to come. An honestpicture of a moment of true happiness. I’m hoping there’ll be more of them.”
Then he clearly figured out how to end things, because the live feed stopped. Presley’s notifications did anything but.
Rylee turned her body to look at her. “Holy shit. That guy is bananas for you. He’s an entire fruit freaking cocktail. Get dressed. Go.”
“But—” Presley said, then stopped.
“Yeah, I can’t wait to hear this,” Rylee said, standing up. “But what? But you don’t love him, too? But he isn’t everything you ever wanted?”
Her best friend was right. She hurried into her room, pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater. Rushing around, she ran her hands through her hair as she pulled on a pair of shoes. Rylee went into the bathroom, came out a minute later, and tossed something at Presley.
It knocked into Presley’s hand, falling to the ground. As she bent to pick it up, she laughed.
“Band-Aids.”
Rylee grinned. “Yes. Pay the guy back.”
Giving her friend a hug, she took the Band-Aids, grabbed her purse and her jacket, and headed for the door.
There was no plan other than get to Beckett. And that was all she needed.
Thirty-Seven
Beckett was flying by the seat of his pants. He hated that part. Gray was right—being scared and doing it anyway was hard. Facing the fact that it didn’t matter if he ran a bike shop, a sports store, or a fucking chicken coop, he wouldn’t feel complete without Presley Ayers by his side, was a hell of a thing. It didn’t mean he didn’t still want things. It just meant things were betterwithher. He could hike in the rain. Might even enjoy it. But when the sun shone, it made the entire experience better. Presley was like his sun. She made everything that much better.
He’d been a fool to let her leave without telling her that, but in all fairness, it’d taken an almost-fight with his brother to knock that thought clear. Now he stood outside La Chambre Hotel and went through the list of items he’d requested for his room. He’d received confirmation from Presley’s boss that it was all there, waiting for his arrival. Did she know? Suspect? God. He couldn’t wait to see her face and only hoped he’d get the chance. He’d called her ex names, but right now, realizing there was a chance Presley might tell Beckett to leave, that she might not even give him a chance to explain, he knew he was the asshat in this scenario.
He took a deep breath, leaned against the aged brick. He could do this. It could only go one of two ways. She’d want him back or she wouldn’t. He could deal with whichever outcome, but he couldn’t deal with not knowing. Beckett wouldn’t be able to move forward without knowing, without a doubt, that he’d put it all on the line and told Presley how much she meant to him. Even if she turnedhim away—please don’t let her turn me away—it’d be better than not trying.
His phone buzzed. He smiled when he read the message.
Ollie
You got this Uncle Beck.
He could use even a tenth of her confidence.
Beckett
Thanks, kid. Love you.
Ollie
Love you, too. Mom says don’t screw it up.
He laughed out loud, ignoring the look he got from an elderly couple walking their dog along the sidewalk.
Now or never. He texted Presley.
