Lockwood Creek Book Three - Can be read as stand-alone.
Dr Chris Chambers had no intention of settling down, he loved the chase too damn much. Or so he told himself. And love 'em and leave 'em were words he swore by. And so what if names like play...
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~ ~ Beth ~~
The smell of someone cooking woke me up. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I eagerly swiped my phone from the bedside table.
My stomach tanked.
No messages. No texts.
As time ticked by, the silence of my phone became deafening. It had been two days and not a word from Chris, and each passing hour brought a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, a mixture of upset and disappointment. The uncertainty gnawed at me, twisting my thoughts into knots.
Was Chris avoiding me?
Was he reconsidering our relationship?
The fear of him ending it now lingered like a dark cloud overhead, casting a shadow over everything I did.
I typed out another message, it simply said. Please call me.
It was pathetic to admit, but I just wanted some sign that everything would be okay.
Forcing myself to get up, I plodded into the bathroom and quickly washed up and dressed and headed downstairs making a beeline for the kitchen.
I smiled when I found Beck, who, when I'd left home to go work at the Blah's couldn't even boil water and now he was at the stove, frying up sausages.
"Morning, Beck," I greeted with a small smile, suppressing a yawn.
He glanced over his shoulder, offering me a quick nod. "Morning, You hungry?" he asked, gesturing to the skillet.
At least this morning he seemed more like himself. Yesterday he'd avoided me like a vegan at a barbecue.
Chuckling softly. "Impressive. Didn't know you had it in you to cook," I teased, pouring myself a cup of coffee and propping my ass up against the kitchen counter to watch him. "But no thank you. I'm not hungry."
The idea of food just wasn't exciting this morning. "No one around?"
"Just you and me. Cal left for work at seven and April left 'bout half an hour back with Hazel. Shopping they said."
Ah. This was most likely the best time to talk.
"This is done." He plated it up and I joined him at the table. "You sure you don't want some? I've made plenty."
I shook my head and we sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the gentle bubbling of the coffee pot. Finally, I mustered up the courage to broach the subject that was weighing on my mind.
"Beck, we need to talk," I began, my voice steady.
He turned to face me, his expression guarded. "What 'bout?"
I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the conversation ahead. "About what happened at the party," I started. "About what you said to me."
He lowered his fork, and I could see the worry in his eyes. "I meant what I said, Beth," he replied earnestly. "I don't want to hurt you or see you get hurt, but I don't see any good to come out of this."
