Page 49 of Where the Little Birds Go (Little Bird Duet 1)

“It wasn’t a stunt,” I cut her off calmly.

She blinks, her arms going to her sides for a moment before they start moving. “What the hell does that mean? That’s one of the lines right from the book. It’s not delivered that way. Beck needs to know that Ryker loves her even when she doesn’t love herself. How can she understand that if he won’t even look at her?”

Laughing is not what the situation calls for, and it gets me a hasty glare. “You’re something else, Little Bird.”

“Don’t you dare call me that right now.”

I scooch forward on the couch until I’m on the edge of the cushion. “It’s your nickname, so I’m calling you it. What happened between us doesn’t change that. What kind of denial are you in? You said it yourself, that line is from the novel you wrote. Tell me what that says.”

She pauses, her lips parting and closing for a moment before she finds her words. “It doesn’t say anything. They’re just—”

“You’re lying.”

“Would you quit cutting me off!” she yells, moving further into the trailer. “You don’t get to dominate this conversation. You’re reading into the script if you think I meant anything by that scene.”

Head cocking, I set my water on the table in front of me. “What I don’t understand is why Beck still pushes Ryker away when they finally have a chance to be together.”

“You want to talk about the characters?”

I nod, sitting back again and throwing my arm over the back of the couch. “You wrote a strong, sexy, bold female who acts like she owns the world. Then you turn her into a completely different person when she’s around Ryker.”

Kinley wets her lips. “That’s the point, Corbin. We’re not ourselves around the people we care about b

ecause we’re so focused on being exactly what that other person needs. Beck and Ryker could have given it a shot when they were younger, but Beck knew it wasn’t what she needed. How many relationships last outside of high school?”

I don’t have an answer, so I remain silent.

“Look,” she says, taking a deep breath. “I don’t expect you to understand Beck’s character. Even after … you know, what you told me about you and Lena. What matters is that Olivia gets it and plays her perfectly. Beck’s guilt for seeing Ryker struggle through relationships and their own friendship over the years made her feel like she was the enemy. If her best friend couldn’t be happy, why should she? That kind of things holds onto a person.”

Eyes narrowing, I say, “You made her feel like the antagonist in her own story. Why?”

At first, I don’t think she’ll answer. Her eyes go down to the carpeted floor, to the walls that have a few landscape paintings on them, to the rack of clothes for my character in the corner. She takes in the room before she can look me in the eye again, and when she does, there’s something broken in the depths staring back.

“Sometimes we can’t help but feel like the bad guy in our lives.” Her fingers trail along the molding that separates the wood paneling and beige wallpaper covering the wall. “Like maybe if we did something different it’d change the outcome. Or like … if we were different then we’d be happier somehow.”

She blames herself for what happened?

“Fuck,” I breathe, standing up and walking over to her. She tenses when I tilt her chin up to meet my eyes. “You’re not the bad guy, Little Bird. I made a promise to you that I didn’t keep because I’m a selfish bastard. There is nothing you need to change about yourself.”

Her eyes may be locked with mine, but they’re so full of disbelief that they’re distant. “You say that now, but those were the words I needed to hear when I was seventeen and thinking there was something wrong with me. Was I not skinny enough? Pretty enough? Did I stop believing in you the way you believed in me? Was there somebody else? I kept wondering if it was because I was in school still, or focused on my writing, or just not good enough…”

It’s hard to swallow past the emotion lodged in my throat. “That was never the case, and I wish I could go back again and make you never think that was why.”

“Again?” she repeats. “What…?”

Clearly her brother never mentioned our little meetup at the store even when I told her to ask him about it. “It doesn’t matter now. You were right to call me out on being a dickhead about, well, everything. I never wanted to be in Lincoln to begin with and was so determined to get out of there that I didn’t think about anybody else. That wasn’t about you.”

She tries stepping back, but I don’t let her. My hand wraps around her arm, not holding too tightly but enough where she can’t pull away. I can feel her warmth, smell the faintest hint of sweet peach like the lotion she used to love so much, and get taken back to the last time we stood this close.

We looked at each other differently.

With love. Hope. Faith that it’d work out.

“I fucked up,” I whisper. “That’s on me.”

“Corbin…” Her voice cracks. “I refuse to put myself in this situation again. I didn’t come here to rehash what happened the other night. I came to tell you not to do what you did today. If people find out about us … everything changes.”

My other hand moves to her face, caressing her soft cheek and smiling when I realize there’s not a stitch of makeup covering her skin.

---