Yes, it had felt insulting. That he thought he could buy her time. That he could just write a check and she’d be there anytime he wanted to try some new sex position. Or let him lick tequila off her body. Or…or let him help her with her aunt and uncle.
Shit.
She also felt betrayed. Because he hadn’t told her. Not that it mattered. She didn’t care who his family was or how much money they had. But it was part of him…part of who he was…and he hadn’t told her.
She didn’t know why that hurt. They’d both been clear that they were just having fun. She’d shared some stuff with him she didn’t tell a lot of people—like her parents’ cancer diagnoses, her own fears that she would get cancer too, her aunt and uncle’s situation, the way she’d been made fun of as a geeky kid. He’d told her about losing his brother and how his parents had shut him out and how much that had hurt him. Maybe knowing those things about each other had made her believe that there was actually more to their relationship than just fun.
But there wasn’t. And now it was done.
She flipped over on the couch and stared up at the ceiling.
It was what she wanted. She needed to focus on work. She had to seriously regroup and figure out a new strategy for funding, and that was going take a lot of time and energy. Aunt Gina was getting better, although it was more and more obvious she’d never be as mobile and functional as she had been before she’d fallen. But Hayden would be there to help them like they’d helped her. And she’d make some time for Carrie, who was feeling a little neglected with all the time she’d been spending with Beck.
It would all be okay.
—
Beck’s phone ringing in the middle of the night took a while to register in his sleep- and alcohol-muddled brain. He fumbled around in bed, managed to swing his legs over the side, and stumbled over to the dresser, where the phone was charging. He peered at the screen through gritty eyes. He’d drank a shit ton of tequila last night. His mouth was dry and his head pounded.
It was his mom. He frowned and answered the call. “Mother? What’s going on? Why are you calling in the middle of the night?”
“Beck. It’s your father.” She hesitated. “He’s in the hospital. He’s had a heart attack.”
Beck’s head jerked back and he gripped the edge of the desk. “What? Is he okay?”
“He’s alive. He’s not exactly okay. It happened last night. I called an ambulance and they took him to the hospital. They’re giving him medications and they’re going to do some tests, maybe do angioplasty.”
“Christ.” His stomach swooped. He wasn’t close to his father, but still…it was his father.
“Would you come home?” his mother asked, her voice unusually hesitant. “We think he’s going to make it, but…”
He closed his eyes. “Yeah. I’ll come home. I’ll see when I can get a flight. I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you, Beck.”
He ended the call and let his chin fall to his chest. Jesus. His father wasn’t even that old, only sixty-one. His own heart raced, thinking about the possibility that his father could die.
Nah. The old bastard was tough.
He sucked in a deep breath and left the bedroom to go sit at his computer in the den. He stared blankly at the screen for a few minutes, thoughts and worries running through his mind. Then he gave his head a shake and started searching for flights to Boston. He found one leaving at eight-thirty in the morning. What time was it? He glanced at the bottom corner of the monitor. Three forty-five. He blew out a breath and booked the flight. It wasn’t even a direct flight; with one stop he wouldn’t arrive in Boston until six-thirty in the evening. Shit. But after more searching, he couldn’t find a seat on a direct flight at all. This was the best he could do.
He’d need to let Cade and Marco know. They’d have to give some of the bartenders extra shifts, but otherwise they should be able to manage a few days without him. He’d call them from the airport—no need to interrupt their sleep right now.
He returned to his bedroom. He set the alarm on his phone for six o’clock and crawled back into bed in the hopes of getting a couple more hours sleep.
Yeah, that didn’t happen. Instead he lay in the dark, thinking about his dad, about his mother—how was she handling this? She was a tough cookie too, never letting emotion show, making sure she always maintained a perfect, elegant façade, but she’d sounded uncharacteristically shaken. He thought about Whitcomb Industries and what would happen if his dad was out for a while. They had a big executive management team; they’d all step up and cover for him. And he thought about Hayden. Guess there was no point in letting her know he was going away.