Page 10 of O Goalie Night
“Of course. Password is Patrickroy33. All one word.”
Grinning, I enter it into my phone and take it off airplane mode. As soon as it connects, my phone starts to ping with voicemail and text alerts from my parents and sisters.
Alright. Let’s get this over with.
I take a final glance at Foster. He’s watching me from the counter as he’s drying off his hands, a serious look on his face.
“Goodnight, Foster.”
“Goodnight, Beth.”
CHAPTER 5
BETH
Inever want to leave this bed.
Up until now, I’ve always thought my bed back home was comfortable, but after sleeping in Foster James’ guest room, I may as well have been sleeping on an inflatable raft filled with dead leaves and branches.
As I stretch my arms above my head, I feel like every part of my body is being supported, cradled even. This bed is my holy grail. I want to live here. I want to make and raise a family here and, eventually, die here. And not just because I don’t want to face the fact that I got swindled out of three thousand dollars I really couldn’t afford to lose.
If I stay in this bed, I’ll never have to.
Last night feels more like a fever dream than a memory. After taking my time making the bed with military precision, I texted my mom and sisters identical messages.
Beth: Hi! Arrived safely and all settled in. Sorry it took me so long to message– I just got the wifi password! Exhausted and turning in for the night. Love you! xoxoxoxoxoxooxoxo
Where’s the lie?
I realise I’m going to have to tell them the entire story, and soon, but I just couldn’t make myself rehash it all again. I would have cried and that would have upset everyone.
Instead, I turned my phone to silent and fell into a sound and dreamless sleep. It was bliss. I think I need to seriously consider never leaving this bed.
“Where the fuck is she?”
Perhaps not.
I throw the 500 thread count sheets off and hop down from the bed, missing them both immediately. After rummaging in my suitcase for my bathrobe, I throw it over the t-shirt I’m wearing and march down the hallway towards the smell of cooking bacon and the sound of my brother’s hissy fit.
“You weren’t supposed to take her home,” he accuses as I round the corner to where he and Foster are standing squared off against one another.
“No,hewasn’t,” I say so loudly that both men jump and turn towards me. “Youwere.” I may have been mildly irritated at Ben before, but hearing him chastise his friend who has done nothing but look out for me makes me positively livid. “You were supposed to pick me up at the airport and make sure I got to the apartment safely.”
Ben takes a step in my direction, towering over me like he always has. His hair, the same shade of muddy brownas mine, is shorter than it was when I saw him in August. He crosses his arms across his barrel chest, clearly not ready to be held accountable for his actions or lack thereof. “What apartment would that be, Beth? Fozzie says it doesn’t even exist.”
Oh, you have got to be kidding me.
Foster gives him a hard glare. “This is your warning to tread carefully,” he utters quietly.
“What apartment, Ben?” My voice is practically vibrating with anger. “You mean the apartment listing I sent you weeks ago, asking you to check out for me? The one you responded with a thumbs up emoji to?”
My brother's face goes slack and I think Foster's eyes might roll so far that they’ll never come back.
“Seriously, man?” Shaking his head, Foster steps around my brother and hands me a green ceramic mug filled with coffee. “There’s cream and sugar, if you want it. Or if you’d prefer, you could throw it at him. It might even give him second degree burns, if we’re lucky.”
“Thank you and noted,” I say as we exchange conspiratorial smiles. I’m not used to having someone side with me, especially against my brother, and it’s a refreshing change.
“What?” Ben uncrosses his arms and rests his hands on his hips. He’s looking much less sure of himself now that the tables have turned. “The place looked fine.”
