Page 2 of Perfect Composition
Concerned about what I just witnessed, I press my hands against my eyes tightly. I have no doubt about my love for Paige. None. For me, this is forever.It’s going to be a huge change for you, bird.My Paige. My little inspiration. I love calling her my songbird. The first time I did, she just laughed before claiming, “It’s not me who carries the tune, Beckett. It’s you.”
“Then you’re the inspiration even if I’m the composer,” I pressed.
“What do I inspire?”
“My heart.”
Jolted, I take stock of our assets. We’re smart. We’re hardworking. We’re in love.
What else do we need?
I quickly type back,Start thinking about what to pack. Just one bag. Hide it. And when we meet tomorrow, we’ll make plans. Serious ones,and then slip my phone into my pocket before heading inside yelling, “Is there any food?”
My mother slurs, “Where the fuck have you been, Beau Beckett Miller?”
I ignore her, but I bump right into my old man. While I’m the same height he is now, I don’t have the same bulk he does as he works with horses all day on Tyson Kensington’s farm. “Answer your ma, you little shit,” he barks.
I shrug before ducking under his arm into the tiny kitchen. “Out walkin’.”
“Until nine thirty?” he bellows.
“It’s a nice night.”
“If you like sweaty balls. Is that what you like, Beau? Sweaty balls?” my father jeers.
I ignore him before I decide if I want to try my luck eating anything in the bug-infested kitchen.I swear to God, if I ever get out of this shithole, I’m never going to eat like this again,I vow.
Suddenly, I’m slammed up against the counter. I shudder, not because of the chickenshit move my father’s done countless times when he’s tried to intimidate me, but because I’m fairly certain I felt a mouse scurry off behind me. Still, his eyes—the same light blue as my own—gleam almost eerily. “Got ya that time.”
I decide to play along, hoping it will placate him long enough for me to get behind the locked door of my room. “Sure did. Now, how about letting me go so I can—”
“Right after you tell me what you’re doin’ with my boss’s daughter.” He leans in.
And that’s when I smell it—the alcohol on his breath too.
Shit. One of them drunk I can deal with. Both of them takes much more finesse. I hold up my hands to ward him off. “Geez, Pa. Didn’t know it was a crime to study with someone.” I tell him part of the truth. Back in the beginning, Paige did help me study French when I admitted I almost failed the class the year before.
But that was then, and this is now, and studying is the furthest thing from our minds.
He jerks back. “Study?”
“Yeah. Remember that shit grade I got in French last year? Remember how you told me never to let it happen again.”
His face relaxes. He even grins. When he does, I want to hurl as I’m hit with a full-frontal explosion of decaying teeth and bad alcohol. “Right. So Miss Paige knows French? Shouldn’t be surprised and all.”
“Nope. Not a bit. So, I got a test. Can I go study?” I ask hopefully.
“Sure. Go.”
I try to keep my steps measured as I make my way through the small space to my haven when he calls out, “Hey, Beau?”
I subdue my expression before turning to face him. My mother’s moved by his side. “Yeah, Pa?”
“I find out you’re lyin’, you won’t like the results. You get me?”
I nod slowly. Oh, I get him. Which is exactly why I need to get Paige and get the hell out of Kensington.
Yesterday.
