Page 20 of Bonfire with Beckett
And if I can give it to her—even for one night—that matters more to me than anything.
NINE
WILLA
I sit curled up on the old couch in the living room at my parents’—my dad’s—house.
A mug of tea cooling is in my hands as I tare at the television without really seeing it. The news anchor’s lips move, the blotter crawls along the bottom, but nothing sinks in. My thoughts are too loud.
There will be no bonfire tonight. Canceled on account of the wind and drought.
The dream I’d been clinging to—gone, just like that.
I understand. I do. Safety has to come first. But… But…
But Beckett hasn’t called. Hasn’t texted. Not even a short message to say he’s sorry again.
I keep replaying what happened yesterday. Did I scare him off? Did I push too hard, too fast?
I press the heel of my hand to my chest, trying to rub away the ache.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Dad says from his recliner. He sets aside his paper and studies me, his gaze sharp in the way only a father’s can be. “Everything okay?”
I force a shrug. “Fine.”
“Fine,” he repeats, like the word is a personal insult. “That’s the answer of someone who’s not fine.”
Tears sting my eyes. “It’s just… everything. The bonfire. Mom. Beckett…” I shake my head. “It feels like I’m losing all of it. Again.”
Dad leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You know how your mom and I met.”
I sniff, half-laughing. “At the bonfire.”
“That’s the short version. The fairytale.” His eyes soften. “You don’t know the rest.”
I glance over. “What do you mean?”
“It wasn’t easy at first,” he says. “We were broke. Your granddad didn’t think I was good enough. Your mom had dreams that didn’t always line up with mine. Struggling to get pregnant. Struggling to stay pregnant. There were fights, tears, nights when one of us slept on the couch. But you know what we learned?”
“What?”
“That it wasn’t ever just about the bonfire or the spark,” he says gently. “It was about building something that could survive the hard times and the good. It took work. It took patience and grace. And it took both of us giving in sometimes, opening up when it was easier to shut down.”
I blink at him, throat tight.
“You’ve got a chance at something like that, Willa.” He pats his knee.” Don’t waste it pouting on the couch.”
“I don’t even know if Beckett wants?—”
Dad pushes himself up, cutting me off. “Come on.”
I frown. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
I follow him reluctantly, tugging on my coat as we head out to his truck. My mind spins the whole way, Dad’s words circling with my own doubts.
Patience.
