Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Right alongside my old friend.
I check on him.
Beckett is agile, lithe, even as we’re encroaching an all-out pace. His stride is grace. His footfalls come much softer than mine. I’m pounding the track. As he intakes each lungful of air with precision, I see a difference in him.
He’s older.
He’ll be twenty-four this year. But it’s not really his age. It’s his demeanor—like he’s jumped more hurdles, ran more miles, traveled through bumpier terrain, and this, running at a controlled and deliberate speed, comes easier.
Twelve mph. He’s looking over.
I’m grinning. I’ve got way more in me, but my breaths are heavier.
Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen hits, and we’re only watching each other now. Beckett grins back—and we’d both be cursing if we could speak. Then we’re laughing at sixteen, at the run-for-your-fucking-life pace that’s busting both of our asses, and nearly at the same time, we pull the plug.
I laugh and gasp for air, hunching over the handlebar. “Fuck me.”
Beckett laughs, “Not too bad.” He catches his breath faster. “I thought you were going to trip at twelve.”
“Nah, no treadmill’s gonna take me out.” I hop off the machines and stretch my tight hamstrings. Then we take a water break. Sharing the seat of a weight bench, we stare out at the city skyline.
Beckett towels off the sweat dripping down his temples.
I suck on the nozzle of my water bottle. Breathing so much easier. It’s almost hard to believe I just had a serious conflict in the elevator.
Water rushes down my throat, and something about what Luna said in the car races back to me. I wanted to pretend the origin of who I am didn’t exist. There are too many twisted memories I’d rather forget, but for some reason, it felt better when she acknowledged my past with my present.
I could sit here and never bring up the past with Beckett again. Run forward. Don’t look back. Never look back. But I dunno—I’m not sure that’ll create anything lasting. I’m not sure I ever built anything that could last with him. He gave me so much of his life, and I never let him see all of mine.
I couldn’t.
I ran away from it. But it was always there. It was there when he got into cocaine. It was there when I wished I told him to stop. It was there when I never said a word.
It was there when he chose drugs over me.
Last we brought up the past, we let unsaid things hang in the air like a dead, unburied body. I want to put it to rest.
“You remember that one night on the way to Pink Noir?” I say lightly. “You had a rough performance. Your hamstring was bothering you, I think?”
“Yeah, I remember.” He gazes out the window. “Hans was driving.” He names his personal driver. “I took a line in the backseat. It was the first time I did it openly in front of you.”
“It wasn’t so you could perform better, Beck. That night, you did it just to keep moving, and I should’ve told you not to.”
Beckett blinks a few times, pain cinching his reddened eyes. “I wouldn’t have listened.” His voice shakes, but he clears his throat. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I thought you didn’t care what I did, when you’re someone who cares about people—more than I think humanly possible, sometimes. I’m sorry I didn’t care about you as much as you did me—”
“That’s not…” I trail off.
“It is true. I knew your parents were addicts, and I didn’t stop to think maybe it would’ve bothered you.”
“You’re not a mind-reader.”
Beckett smiles a little, staring out at New York. “You don’t even know how good you are.” His eyes, full of emotion, meet mine again. “I was lucky to have you as a friend. Every day. And I took it for granted. Because when I lost it, it felt like my world went dark.”
I scrape a hand through my damp hair. “I tried to forget it all. My time in New York with you. It still hurt, man.” I don’t think it every really stopped hurting.
Until maybe right now.
“It’s all I could remember,” Beckett breathes. “I tried telling myself a thousand fucking times that I got you transferred off my detail to protect you. That it was about me caring about you. But really, it was just so I could keep using and feel okay about it—but after that, I never felt okay.” He rubs at his wet eyes. “Charlie hated me—not like literal hate.”
“I was about to say.” Towards Beckett, Charlie could never.
“I frustrated him more than anything. There were some days, I think he couldn’t even bear to see what was inside of me anymore.” Beckett expels a slow, heavy breath. “I never thought I was hurting myself, but when I could feel how I was hurting him…it was the end. I couldn’t take it, then Scotland made it harder but also easier to quit. There’ve been times where I thought about it, but I haven’t used since.”