Page 18 of Bonfire with Beckett
My heart hitches. “What is it?”
He holds up his phone, the screen glowing with a notification. His jaw tightens.
“It’s an alert from the National Weather Service.” His voice is clipped. “High winds forecast tomorrow evening. Red flag warning in effect.”
The words sink in my chest. “That means…?”
His eyes meet mine, heavy and regretful. “It means the bonfire’s canceled.”
EIGHT
BECKETT
“What the hell happened to you?”
I tear my stare from the football game playing on the screen to scowl at my brother as he swaggers up to the bar. “You’re looking awfully smug.”
Hank’s lips curve up and he silently signals the bartender for his usual. “Can’t a guy be in a good mood?”
“No.” My brow furrows more deeply. “What? Did you get lucky with that woman you’ve been sniffing around?”
His shit-eating grin slips from his face. “What woman?”
“Never mind.” I frown at the beer I’ve been nursing and take a half-hearted swig. “You’re allowed your secrets. You’re allowed a lot of things.”
“Like what?”
“Like being happy.”
He frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re Hank—the nice, reliable brother who everyone kind of likes. And I’m Beckett. The buzzkill crusher of dreams.”
“Damn.” Releasing a low whistle, Hank settles on the barstool next to mine. “You are in a bad mood.”
“Aren’t I always in a bad mood?”
“But this one is worse than your usual rosy disposition.” He leans toward me, eyes narrowed. “Woman troubles?”
“You could say that.”
I swirl beer around in my glass, watching the foam cling to the glass. It has more staying power than I do.
Hank waits too patiently for me to finish my thought. He’s always been more patient than I am. He can sit in a silence without squirming, waiting for someone to fill it.
Which, with a sigh, I finally do. “I had to tell Willa the bonfire’s off.”
“Ah.” He winces sympathetically. “That’d do it.”
“She looked at me like I’d ripped her heart out.” A lump lodges in my throat. “It wasn’t just a bonfire to her, Hank. It was… It was everything she’s been setting her hopes on since her mom passed. And I… I had to break her heart.”
The bartender slides Hank his pint. He takes a slow sip, eyes never leaving me. “You rejected a fire hazard. Not her.”
I scoff. “Try telling her that.”
“You think she hates you?”
“I hate me.” My hand scrapes over my beard. “She let me in. She put her trust in me. And now… Now I’m nothing more than the guy who killed her dream of honoring her mom.”
