Page 97 of Beneath the Stands (Sugarlake 2)

Becca’s voice cuts through the air and slams into my chest, pushing the breath from my lungs in a whoosh. My head snaps in her direction so fast my neck pulls.

“I’m sorry?” Sarah asks.

Becca shakes her head, glancing at the desk. When she looks back up, her eyes collide with mine and lock on. That fire I was searching for roars to life, blistering me from the inside out.

She swallows, her throat bobbing with the motion. “You said he’s won one-hundred-thirty-five games. It’s one-hundred-thirty-seven.”

“Oh?” Sarah looks to me.

I’m sure she wants me to defend her, and maybe if I was a better fiancé, I would.

But I can’t.

Because Becca’s right.

My ribs bruise from the pounding of my heart. I can hardly catch my breath, let alone voice a thought. My mind whirls at the insinuation of her knowing my record.

Of what that means.

“Well,” Mr. Mazey shifts in place, clearly uncomfortable. “Alright then. It was nice to see you, Elliot.” He looks to Becca. “Will you let your daddy know I stopped by?”

Becca nods, the red of her hair falling over her shoulders and highlighting the flush of her cheeks.

It’s silent after he leaves. Sarah’s hand claws into my thigh, her eyes narrowed on Becca.

“You know,” Sarah says. “Since you won’t be here to help with the wedding, I don’t think there’s any reason for us to stick around.” She turns to me. “Ready to go, honey?”

No.

I want to stay. I want to lock Becca in this room and keep her hostage until I purge her from my fucking soul and finally gain some closure. I need it more now than I ever have before. But I don’t think I’ll get the answers I deserve, even if I ask. So I shake off my need, and let Sarah lead me out the door.

Driving home, I’m a nervous wreck, my hands tapping out an unsteady rhythm on the wheel.

“What’s wrong?” Sarah peeks at me from the passenger seat.

I

sigh, running my fingers through my hair. “Can we talk when we get to the house?”

She stiffens, her fingers twisting in her lap. “We can talk now.”

I cringe. “I don’t wanna do this in the car.”

“Well, I don’t think I want to stay in this car and wonder what has you so twisted up.”

I glance at her before staring back at the road, clenching my jaw. My stomach tosses, but I breathe through the upheaval.

“Sarah, I really don’t—”

“Just say it.” She squeezes her eyes tight, her head angling toward the window.

My heart falters, and suddenly I’m not sure I can. Checking my rearview mirror, I pull to the side of the road, turning on the hazards and facing her.

“Why do you love me?”

Her nose scrunches. “What?”

“Why do you love me?” I repeat. “Because I’ll tell you…” I pause, swallowing around the regret that’s pouring from my heart and scratching up my throat. “I haven’t been good to you. Not really.”

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