Page 18 of A Much Younger Man
“You should definitely take them up on it,” Travis told him.
“It’s warm, and it’s dry,” I said. “Plus, I bet while you’re there you can find some work in town.”
“Maybe.” His brows knit. “I’ll need like, five jobs in order to pay for a place of my own.”
“What if you start by offering dog walking?” Travis asked. “Pet sitting. That sort of thing. That way you can bring Callie along while you work.”
Beck seemed to consider the idea. “I can do that. I’m pretty good with dogs.”
“I could print off some business cards for you if you want,” Travis offered. “You can leave some with Lena at the reception desk and give them to people you see on the boardwalk.”
I did consider the possible ramifications of my clinic endorsing a perfect stranger. I really did. I’d never have agreed to do it in San Diego. My lawyers were going to question my sanity at length. But the fact was the things I did—the things I felt comfortable doing—were different in St. Nacho’s. And I wanted to help Beck.
“What should I do?” Beck looked up at me through thick lashes. Some weird, visceral pleasure flooded me—almost like a hit off a blunt or a shot of whiskey.
Put a fork in me. I was so done.
“How about you accept Cooper’s help for now. Think of it like one musician reaching out to another.” I swallowed hard. “They’re good people. I think you’ll like them.”
As I turned and headed back toward my office, his voice and the entreaty in his eyes when he said, “What should I do?” kept coming back to me.
His panic when I opened the door earlier.
The absolute pain in his expression when he spoke of losing his half brother.
I was such a fool. All I could think about was how he’d come tome. How he’d known he could trustmeto help him. What it meant tomethat when Beck was in trouble, afraid, in pain, he’d come to my clinic for safety.
Beck’s problem wasn’t about me at all, but it was.
Iwantedit to be.
I sat at the desk in my office considering what that meant and how I’d ever manage to hide it from the people who knew me best.
Then another thought occurred to me. Tug had to know he’d had a good thing with Beck. If we retrieved Beck’s guitar, if Beck got work and had a place, would Tug come back? He might try if he sniffed out a steady flow of cash. Would Beck forgive him? Tug was already used to helping himself to Beck’s nightly take. Coming back for more would be consistent with his behavior thus far.
In fact, he may have even done this before. Maybe they broke things off and reunited regularly. It wasn’t unheard of for young couples to have Shakespearean levels of on-again, off-again drama.
The realization put a major damper on my enthusiasm.
Beck wasn’t an animal I could control or pass off to a rescue organization. He was human, and as such he was as capable of subterfuge and deceit as anyone.
Was it insane for me to get involved or was I right? Had I read Beck correctly and all he needed was a helping hand?
Myhand…
