It's Complicated: A Reservations Story

The front door opened, light filtering over Beckett. He ignored it, concentrating on Julian’s response. “You still want to be in my life?”

“Yeah,” Beckett said and had to fight the giant lump threatening to take him under. “Always.”

“Can I call you Sunday?”

Beckett was going to have to go five days without talking to his love. It seemed almost impossible.

“Yeah,” he finally answered, not liking any of this. “I should probably fly there anyway. I don’t want to get in your way, but I need my truck…” The lie fell flat on his lips and probably was a terrible idea. If Beckett happened to see Julian before his date, he didn’t see himself above begging Julian to pick him. “I’ll stay out of your way…”

“You can stay here,” Julian offered. “You’re never in my way, Beckett. I’m flying to LA. There’s a foundation gala he and I always attended together. I can hear the hurt in your voice. I’m sorry.”

Beckett felt his father’s palm come down on his shoulder, ending in a reassuring squeeze. He didn’t look up and hadn’t considered the windows of the cabin being open when he’d chosen this spot to have their conversation. Of course, they’d all heard.

“I’m okay,” he said, trying for an upbeat tone for both Julian and his father. “I’m leaving in the morning. I’ll be out until Saturday morning. My flight is scheduled to arrive about five thirty Saturday afternoon, I think. Take your safety precautions and remember what I taught you. You got this.”

“Beckett…” Julian’s voice radiated an agony that did nothing to ease the pain churning in Beckett’s soul. “I shouldn’t have started this with you. I fought our connection for so long. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I do, but I’ve always wanted my old life back. I didn’t like it being taken from me against my will…”

Beckett’s father took the seat beside him. That would just never do. He rolled his eyes and let out a huffed breath as he pushed off the porch. He doubted he would actually cry, but with his father’s gentle approach, he wasn’t going to risk it.

“I’ve gotta go. I’m still at the main house and Woofer, and I need to head to my cabin. Come on, boy,” Beckett said as his mother, Randy, and Marly came out on the porch.

“All right. Call me when you get home tonight if you want to get off,” Julian said quietly, in such a way that it felt like it was being offered out of pity.

“Be safe. Call me if you need me.” Beckett was halfway to his golf cart when he ended the call. His heart had broken. The only sound that penetrated his haze was the grass and rock crunching under his boots. He motioned for Woofer to take his seat and started to drop down into his own when he looked up to see everyone staring at him. His mother started down the steps toward him.

“No, stay there. I’m fine.” Beckett lifted a hand to stop her, but of course, she didn’t. “Mom, really, I’m fine.”

“I love you,” she said, coming to the edge of the golf cart, taking him into her arms. Her warmth and sincerity helped. He loved his mother’s hugs. “Love’s hard, and you St. Clair men don’t make it any easier on yourselves.”

“I’m okay, Mom.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and held her tightly for only a few seconds. He waved at the rest of them before he took off, lost in the uncertainty of what had happened.

Chapter 36

The pitter-patter of Julian’s heart showed how much the finer things in life spoke directly to him on a soul-deep level. The splendor. The extravagance. One glance at the over-the-top amenities that came with a top floor suite at a posh hotel had Julian understanding exactly how much he had truly lost after his accident and how far he still had to go before he could own this life again.

If wealth had a scent, Julian was certain the smell continuously circulated inside this suite.

When Julian had arrived at the hotel, he’d been greeted with an apology note from Thomas, explaining his tardiness. Thomas’s private plane had a minor mechanical issue, causing him to return to the private airport, pushing back his departure several hours until the repair could be made. Thomas was going to be late, giving Julian the privacy he needed to regroup from any worry or anxiety and overcome, which he had done in a big, big way with the help of all these lavish amenities.

A custom-tailored tuxedo hung in the closet, made from what Julian’s fingers decided was the finest materials, and turned out to fit his frame like a glove—just like he had expected. The tuxedo accentuated all the right parts, as it should. He’d go ahead and call it. His ass looked great, as well as the outline of his cock. He’d been dressed to impress, and that he did.