Page 8 of Scooter's Endgame
Hopelessness weighs on me – I’m not a stupid person, but right this minute, I can’t figure my way out of this mess. I desperately need a job; I just don’t know how to get someone to give me a chance. As my mind races through yet another cycle of “what the hell am I going to do,” I feel the tears well again.
Stop it. Pull yourself together, Kathleen. None of this is helping you.
Taking a deep, calming breath, I get to my feet and straighten my clothing. I stand in front of the door for long seconds before finally reaching out a hand to unlock it. The water I splash on my face is icy cold and refreshing, but does zero to remove the traces of my crying jag.
When I eventually feel ready to go back out into the bar, I let myself out into the hallway and walk into a wall that wasn’t there before.
“Oof.” The sound is involuntary as air is forced from my lungs at the sudden impact.
Gentle hands cup my elbows and steady me. “Shit, are you okay?”
You have got to be kidding me right now. That sinful voice belongs to none other than Beckett, and he is, for sure, the last person I would want to see me this way. Praying a hole would simply appear in the floor beneath me and swallow me whole, I’m sorely disappointed when it doesn’t.
I can feel the moment he recognizes me, despite not lifting my head, when his body stiffens. “Kathleen?” With a careful touch, he lifts my face to his, but I can’t find it in me to look at him. I couldn’t bear to see the judgment in his eyes.
“Kay, look at me.”
I shake my head. The last thing I want is for him to see me looking like this. Nor do I want to have to answer the questions that will inevitably follow. I both hear and feel him sigh and realize my hands still rest on his rock-hard chest.
Yanking my hands back as if I’ve been burned, I tuck them behind me.
“I promise I don’t bite. Well, not unless you ask me to.” His chuckle has my cheeks heating, but conversely has the knot in my stomach relaxing just the tiniest bit.
He’s standing so close I can smell a comforting blend of soap and aftershave. Breathing him in, I allow the scent to wrap around me and ease the constriction around my chest a little more. Still, I refuse to look up at him.
A cloak of silence surrounds us amidst the loud music and chatter of voices in conversation. We stand like that for what feels like a long time but probably isn’t more than a couple minutes. Finally, with nothing else for it but to look at the man, I lift my eyes to his, and our gazes lock.
The compassion and something else I can’t quite put my finger on in his deep blue eyes is almost my undoing. A girl could get lost in those glorious orbs for a lifetime and be quite content to remain there.
“Hey,” he murmurs, barely audible over the noise that surrounds us.
“Hi,” I reply; feeling stupid, it’s all I can think of in the moment.
His gaze roams my face, those sharp eyes taking it all in, missing nothing. It’s almost as if he’s cataloguing all he’s seeing. I guess it’s part of the job to be so observant.
With the softest touch, he cups my cheek. “Talk to me.” I start to deny that anything’s wrong, despite knowing how I must look. “Don’t.” Beckett shakes his head, cutting me off before I can finish my standard response of “it’s all good/I’m fine”.
“Sweet pea, don’t lie to me. I can see something’s troubling you – it has been since I last saw you at the hospital the other day. Please. I just want to help. Let me help you.”
After dealing with Jeff’s absolute disinterest in anything relating to Luke and me, his kindness destroys the tenuous hold I’ve managed to get on my emotions. Once again, scalding tears streak down my face.
Without another word, Beckett pulls me into his arms, cradling my head against his shoulder, and holds me close as I give vent to the ugly mix of feelings swirling within me. The world ebbs and flows around us as we stand in the middle of the hall outside the restroom. I feel safe shielded by his body, lulled by the soothing hand that rubs up and down my back.
When finally the tears stop and I’m left a hiccupping mess yet again, Beckett holds me at arm’s length to see my face. “Where’s Luke?”
Feeling a little punch drunk from my crying jag, it takes me a moment to process the question. “Um, he’s at a friend’s house.”
“How long before you have to collect him?”
I frown. “What’s the time now?”
“Three thirty-nine,” he replies, checking his watch.
“In a little less than an hour and a half.”
He nods, a thoughtful look on his face. “Come on then. Let’s get out of here.” Taking my hand, he guides me down the hall, out of Aces, and into the parking lot.
As we walk, he uses his other hand to take his cell phone out of his pocket, dials, and listens; not once letting go of my hand. “Hey. There’s been an unexpected change of plans. I won’t be able to make it this afternoon.” He listens some more. “Thanks, bud. Chat later.”
