Page 9 of Scooter's Endgame
“No, don’t cancel your plans.”
“Already done.” His words are brief, but not unkind.
“No, Beckett –”
He stops long enough to look me in the face. “Kay, don’t sweat it. I can hang out with Gator any time. You clearly need a friend, and right now? That’s way more important to me. Okay?”
Wordlessly, I nod. His words leave me speechless. “All right then. Let’s go.”
When we reach his vehicle, he opens the door and waits for me to climb in before closing it again. He circles around to his side, hops in, and starts the car. Neither of us say a word as he pulls out of the parking space and points us in the direction of wherever he has in mind. For a moment, I wonder if I should be scared. But this is Beckett – the man has never been anything but sweet and kind to me.
Not too much later, we stop in front of a rather impressive house at the end of a cul-de-sac not too far from the beach. Looking around with interest, I ask, “Whose house is this?”
When he doesn’t reply, I turn in his direction and am intrigued to find him looking a little uncomfortable, subtle color riding high on his cheekbones. Quirking an eyebrow, I wait him out.
Eventually, he says, “It’s mine.” Definitely not what I was expecting. “I inherited it from my grandmother when she passed a few years back.”
“Oh, Beckett. I’m so sorry for your loss. Were you close with her?”
Sadness clouds the beauty of his blue eyes for a moment. “Yeah, I was.”
I reach out and squeeze his hand but don’t say anything else. Instead, I take the house and property in. Apart from the house, there’s a small guest cottage off to the side of the rather large grounds. A three-car garage is attached to the house on the opposite side to the cottage. And flower beds rioting with bright blooms line the neatly maintained lawn the color of emeralds.
What a beautiful place this would be to bring up children, with the freedom to ride bicycles in the street, play catch or ball on the lawn, or shoot some hoops in the driveway. A little lost in the fantasy I can see so clearly in my mind, I start a bit when Beckett opens my door.
His house is a revelation as I step into the foyer and he closes the door behind us. It’s big and homey, inviting you to come in and stay a while. Despite being a little untidy, it’s clean and smells fresh – a scent I can’t quite place perfuming the air.
He guides me into the living room, in the corner of the open-plan area. “Have a seat. What can I get you to drink?”
“A little juice maybe? Or water is fine if you don’t have juice.”
“Juice I can do. I have pineapple or grape juice – which would you prefer?”
“Pineapple would be great, thanks.” I study the room around me as he heads off to get our drinks. It’s only when he returns with the beverages and takes a seat beside me that I realize I’m wringing my hands as he lays his warm one over mine.
5
SCOOTER
The feel of Kathleen’s satiny skin beneath my hand sends tingles up my arm. Awareness rears its untimely head. I brought her home because she clearly needs a friend right now, not someone to perv over her.
“No need to be nervous. I just want to help if I can. It’s obvious that something’s wrong and, if I’m able to, I’d just like to be there for you.” I see her side-eye me, but she neither lifts her head, nor replies. “Will you let me?”
“Will I let you what?”
“Help you.”
She takes a deep breath. “You can’t help me. No one can. This is something I have to do.”
I contemplate her words, and how sad they sound, before changing tactic. “Will you at least tell me what’s going on? Please?” The rest can wait for now, but we need a starting point, and that’s as good a one as any.
For a long time, she doesn’t say a word. She simply sits there, worrying her thumb nail. There’s a hollow feeling around my heart thinking she’s not going to answer me. But then she surprises me.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you want to help me? No one – not one single person – has ever offered before. What makesyouwant to?”
