Page 30 of Bring Me Back
He laughs, and the deep timber of his voice floats through the headphones. I could listen to that sound forever and never get tired of it.
“Christian Grey, huh? Not my style, baby. I want my hands around your throat, not leather or ropes.” He smirks, and goosebumps roll across my skin. “Besides, I don’t think Ol’ Chris ever flew through enemy territory laying down heavy suppressive fire, hovering ten feet above the ground with a tail-gunner hanging out the side door pulling men out of a FUBAR situation. I like to think I’m a little more talented than he is.”
“Always trying to stay on top, huh?” I laugh, and he nods with a smile.
“You know it, pretty girl.” His hands grip the controls, his thick forearms making my mouth water. I never thought forearms could be the sexiest part of a man’s body until I met Beck. Something about the corded muscle covered in ink, flying this aircraft with such ease, makes my core clench. I squeeze my thighs together to alleviate some of the ache. I’ve never been a conventionally “pretty girl”. My thighs are thick, and myass is even thicker. But Beckett, this perfect walking thirst trap of a man, looks at me like I’m the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. And I believe him.
“Where are we going, Beck?” Curiosity builds in my chest, begging to be set free.
“It’s a surprise. I promise you’ll be happy.” He says, grinning that panty-melting grin of his.
The world below us is black, all shadowed textures and the whirring of helicopter blades. I can smell the sea air around us, so I know we must me very close to the coast. Which coast? Who knows. We’ve only been in the air for around half an hour before Beck rattles off a few more directions to air traffic control, indicating our landing somewhere. I don’t see any airports or hangars anywhere near us, but I’m not really sure what I should be looking for anyway. Putting my trust in Beck, I just enjoy the scenery.
We descend, the lights of a private helipad coming into view. There is a house about five hundred yards from the concrete pad, beautiful but unassuming. Nothing near the size of the estate but still well kept and gorgeous, almost like a coastal cabin. The helicopter touches down on the pad, the blades slowing as the deafening sound eases. After flipping a few switches, the engine dies. Beck hangs his headphones up, opening his door and climbing out of the cockpit. Grabbing his duffle bag from behind his seat, he makes his way around tomy side, opening the door for me. At this height, my seat is level with his chest, just the right height for him to reach through the doors and grip my hips, sliding me towards him and out of the seat. He catches me before my feet hit the ground, sliding my body against his. My heart pounds in my chest at the way he makes even the simplest things so fucking sexy.
“Let’s get inside the house before I say fuck this and bend you over in the back of this helicopter. Never done that before but that’s a fantasy I’m more than happy to bring to life.” He says, a shiver wracking my body as he kisses me. It’s not a desperate kiss. If anything, it’s almost sweet. Which makes it even harder to break away from. This isn’t a hurried kiss from a man trying to prove I belong to him. This is the confidence of a man who knows without a single doubt no one else will ever kiss me the way he can. Fuck, I’m in trouble.
Too soon, he breaks the kiss, lacing his fingers with mine and guiding me towards the gravel path leading from the helicopter to the house. We walk in silence, just basking in each other’s company. Something I never thought I would experience is a comfortable silence, yet here we are. Too soon we come up to the beautiful, modern coastal-style home that radiates peace and elegance. It has clean lines, large triangular windows, and tan siding. It’s small, but still has two levels. There’s a wide raised deck around the second level with several rocking chairs and a large outdoor dining area shaded byan umbrella. It’s so quaint, and part of me hopes Beckett owns this too so we can come back here over and over again. A light illuminates the front room, but I can’t see anything else inside.
Beckett opens the front door without knocking, letting us both in. A delicious smell fills the air, like garlic and onion sweating in a skillet, savory and delicious. My mouth is practically watering just walking through to the kitchen.
“Oh my god, that smells incredible! Do you have a chef or something?” I ask, Beck squeezing my hand lightly with a smile.
“Or something,” he smirks, pushing the door to the kitchen open.
A woman who looks to be in her late fifties stands at the stove with her back to us as Beck creeps up on her. He brings a finger to his lips in a shushing motion, stirring up trouble.
“What are you doin?!” he shouts, and the woman nearly jumps out of her skin, spinning with a spatula in one hand and the other clenched in a tight fist.
“Beckett Hayes, damn it! You scared the daylights out of me!” She says, swatting him away as he throws his head back laughing. “You know better than to sneak up on an old woman like that, boy!”
“I couldn’t help myself!” He laughs, his face almost boyish like this.
“Oh, shut up. Come hug my neck,I missed ya.” She opens her arms to him, squeezing him tightly. I know that smile she wears, I feel the love that causes it every single day. Every time I wrap my arms around my boy.
“Hey, mama” he says, squeezing her back.
And my stomach drops to the floor.
nineteen
Three hoursand two glasses of whiskey later, we’re all sitting around the fire pit dug into the sand in the backyard. Beck’s dad came home about half an hour after we landed, and I’ve learned dropping in on his parents is something he does frequently. When he has the time for that, I have no idea. Claire, Beckett’s mom, asked me dozens of questions about my life, about Jaxon, about anything and everything she could as she prepped a seafood stock she said would be for dinner tomorrow. If I had known I’d be meeting Beckett’s parents tonight, I probably would’ve panicked about it all day, so I’m almost glad this was a surprise.
His parents have been married for nearly 34 years, and they seem just as in love today as they were in their wedding photos. His mom told me no one else knew it yet, but Beckett was already on the way in those photos.A huge part of me is so grateful to know they don’t have a problem with an unconventional family. My heart aches to have that kind of love, to build a life and a future with someone who only ever looks at me the way his dad looks at his mom.
“Tell me about this boy of yours, Willow. Seventeen? That’s a great age.” Beckett’s dad, John, asks. He looks like every other guy working at Grovewood Ink, tan and tatted, just older. He’s relaxed in an Adirondack chair, one hand gripping his crystal whiskey glass and the other hand holding his wife’s. Beckett’s dad is a tattoo artist, and I’ve learned he was the driving force in the guys opening the shop in the first place.
Claire is the most naturally beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Her brown hair is peppered with gray, falling in soft curls around her shoulders. She has it half pulled back in a small clip, just looking over at her husband like he’s the only man on earth. And for her, I supposed he is. I know that feeling. I feel it every time I see her son. As if he knew I was thinking about him, his hand grips the back of my neck, massaging gently. I can’t keep my smile from breaking through, knowing his touch melts me every single time.
“Oh, what can I even say about Jaxon. He is…everything,” I say, an adoring smile gracing my face. My son truly iseverything. He is all the good and kind things I ever want to see in this world. He isstrong and smart, wild and unruly. Every single perfect piece of him is exactly what I always hoped he would be. Just himself.
“He’s an incredible artist. Really, really talented, Dad. And, surprisingly, a great mechanic for a kid. He’s so fuckin smart. Honestly, I think he could give Break a run for his money when it comes to coding and math. I’ve done my best to influence his taste in music as much as I can, though. I think you’d be proud,” Beck smirks, and tears pool in the corners of my eyes. I can feel the pride and love he carries for my boy, as if he were talking about his own flesh and blood. And maybe to him, it feels the same. I try my best to blink them away, but Claire catches me, a soft smile on her face.
“Willow, do you think you can help me grab some fresh drinks? I think I could probably rustle up some apple turnovers, too, if you boys are interested.” Clair says, eliciting excited head nods from both of them.
Once the back door shuts and it’s just her and I alone in the kitchen, she pulls me into a warm hug. At first, my body goes rigid, but I relax into her within moments. I can’t remember how long it’s been since I had a motherly hug that warmed my heart so completely. The feeling of missing my parents comes and goes so regularly for me after so many years, I’ve learned not to sit in the sadness. If I do, I might never get back up again.
“Just felt like you needed that,” she says, pulling away. I give her a watery smile, wiping the tears from my eyes before they fall.
