There You'll Find Me (20 page)

Beckett followed. “Are you mad?”

“That you’re interrupting my morning run? Yeah.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“I can’t imagine what else you could be referring to.”

“Cut the crap, Finley. Just talk to me.”

“And say what?” I rounded on him. “That seeing you on the Internet partying with the cast after you dropped me off hurt me? Or maybe you want me to say that our kiss Saturday night meant something? Well, no—to all of the above.”

“I’m not the jerk you think I am.”

“You’re right.” I looked toward the rising sun in the distance.

“I think you might be worse. But if you believe I’m going to be one of the legions of girls falling under your celebrity spell, you are mistaken.”

“I don’t think that.”

“How could you not?” My voice rose. “Every single girl you so much as look at swoons at your feet. But you know what? I’m not impressed, Beckett.” The lie hurt as it tripped off my lips. “I don’t see what everyone else sees. Saturday night was fun, but kissing you was a mistake. We both agreed on that.”

He ripped off his hat and tunneled his fingers through his hair. “What if I changed my mind?” His mercury eyes held mine. “What if I can’t stop thinking about it?”

With a small laugh, I shook my head. “What is this—phase two of the Beckett Rush seduction plan?” I stabbed him in the chest with a pointed finger. “I’m onto you. I might not be as worldly as all those actresses you date, but I’m not an idiot.”

“Finley—”

“I’m sure you and your friends had a good laugh at my expense.”

In all these things, I am more than victorious . .
.

“Did you tell them about your down-home evening with me and Mr. Murphy?” The tears were going to fall any second, but I’d be darned if he’d see me cry.

“No, it’s not like that.” Beckett reached for me, but I stepped away. “I meant what I said—Saturday night was . . . I loved every minute.” His accent thickened as his forehead furrowed into a frown. “You can’t believe everything you see or read in the press.”

“So you and Taylor aren’t a couple?”

He opened his mouth. Then shut it.

“What a good boyfriend you are.” I forced my voice to be flat and even. “I’m positively eaten up with jealousy over what Taylor’s got. I mean, what a moral, trustworthy guy. She’s
so
lucky.”

“I can’t explain everything, but—”

“Because there is no explaining it.” I stuck my earbuds back in, cranked up the volume, and ran back in the direction of the house.

Leaving Beckett Rush far behind me.

I visited with Erin and the girls outside at lunch for a few minutes before throwing my apple core in the trash and hopping on my bicycle to see Mrs. Sweeney. Between her snoring through my reading selections, yelling for the police, and threatening to lob her pudding cup my way, it was an hour in which I was going to do nothing but store up some treasure in heaven. God owed me for this one. Meanwhile, Erin was matched up with some old lady who’d already knit her a hat and matching scarf.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Sweeney.” I knocked twice, then walked on inside. “How are you feeling today?”

A lonely tray sat on the cart next to Mrs. Sweeney’s bed. “Go away.”

“It’s good to see you too.” I pointed toward the covered plate on her tray. “What’s this?”

“Bangers and mash.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Sausage. Mashed potatoes. What are they feeding you that you haven’t heard of that?”

“Well, if it’s so good, why aren’t you eating it?”

“Because I don’t want to.” Mrs. Sweeney lay against her pillows, her wrinkles more pronounced in a room lit only by her reading light.

“Want me to cut it for you?”

“Am I a child that I can’t cut me own meat?” We both knew she hadn’t cut her own food in weeks. Lately I’d seen a nurse’s aid helping feed her. “I’m just not hungry. And shut that lid.” She turned her head, paling. “I can’t stomach the smell.”

“Do you feel sick?”

“Of course I do. I have cancer.”

I covered the food and pushed the cart away. “You have to eat though.”

She grumbled and rolled her eyes. “If they’re not bringing me something greasy, it’s brothy like I’m a wee baby.”

I dug through my bag and pulled out some crackers from yesterday’s lunch. “I have just the thing.” I opened the packet and handed them to her. “Now eat.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re bossy?”

“Anyone ever tell you your hair needs brushing?” I walked to her bedside and fluffed her pillows. Then grabbing her brush, which she’d begun to keep on her table, I gently smoothed out the day’s snarls. “I see you had a shower today. Your hair smells nice and clean.”

“Hmph.”

God, help me get through to this woman. And help her use sentences that consist of real words. Ones that contain vowels and everything
.

“I know you’re dying for an update on my life. I can see it in your seething eyes, so I won’t keep you in suspense any longer.” Mrs. Sweeney’s lids closed as if she were sleeping, and I took that as an invitation. “I’ve been practicing night and day on my audition song. Nobody can identify the cross in my brother’s journal, which means I still don’t have an ending for it. It’s not like I can just put any old notes in there. We still don’t have a date for Erin. She’s a basket case. And apparently when she gets stressed, she reads medical journals online. Beatrice is still harassing her. And she’s not exactly nice to me either.” I didn’t even wait for Mrs. Sweeney to comment. Because I knew she wouldn’t. “I guess every town has to have a bad seed.” Lumberjack snores slipped from Mrs. Sweeney’s cracked lips. I continued my easy strokes with the brush and kept talking.

“So I went to Galway with Beckett Rush Saturday night. You know, the actor you were drooling over at our little picnic. We ran into someone you might know.” I teased the top portion of her hair to give it some lift. “Donal Murphy.”

Mrs. Sweeney’s closed eyes flinched.

“Said he’s known you a long time. The man sure is full of information.”

“A bloomin’ busybody is what he is.” Mrs. Sweeney’s voice popped like a firecracker. “Can’t believe a word he says.”

I settled myself into the chair beside the bed. “I know about your sister.”

“You had no right to go nosing around! You didn’t just run into that man, did you?” Her hair flopped as she pulled herself up in the bed. “You’re to stay out of my business!”

“How long has it been since you talked to her?”

“Just leave!” She flipped to her side and yanked the covers to her chin.

Fine. If I had to have this conversation with her back to me, I would. “I know you care about your sister.” Silence. “Mr. Murphy said you, um, stole her fiancé. And while I’ve never done that, I have done some pretty terrible things. I’ve hurt people. Made my family cry. Lost some friends. I know what it’s like to make bad choices—ones that seem right at the time. And I know what it’s like to pay the consequences. And, Mrs. Sweeney, I don’t know what you believe, but I think if you asked God to wipe your slate clean, he would. It’s that easy. And that’s something I can’t do for you.” Her breathing was slow and steady. I knew I’d probably worn her out until she truly did fall asleep. “But I think you want your sister’s forgiveness too. And . . .” I hoped I didn’t regret this. “I can help.”

The clock on the wall ticked. The lamp bulb hummed.

But I got no response from Mrs. Sweeney.

“Okay. Here’s the deal,” I whispered. “Maybe you shouldn’t trust me with this. Because God and I . . . we’re not cool. And he’s kind of mad at me right now. Or maybe he had to run interference for me so much last year, he’s taking a Finley break. But I’m still going to pray about this. For you. Because”—I sniffed against unexpected tears—“it bothers me that you won’t have closure. And believe me, you need it. We all do. You are the grumpiest woman I know . . . but it seems I care about you.”

Oh, what was the point?

Walking around the bed, I crept to the door and pulled it open.

“Finley?”

At that hoarse voice, I stilled.

“Yes, ma’am?” My eyes teared up again and I pressed my lips to hold back a smile.

“Bring your fiddle next time.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And Finley?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t take any guff from that Beatrice.”

“I won’t, Mrs. Sweeney.”

Behind me the lamp shut off.

And the room went dark.

Chapter Seventeen

STEELE MARKOV

No, I have no reflection in the mirror. I have no reason to look upon it. I see who I am reflected in your eyes. I know what you think about me. But what if I told you, you were wrong?

Fangs in the Night, scene 8, page 48 Fierce Brothers Studios

T
hat’s quite a book you’re reading.”

Beckett looked up from his biography on George Washington and stared at me as I stood in the doorway of his trailer, blocking the Wednesday afternoon sun. “It does have lots of big words in it.” He quirked a brow. “Maybe you could help me.”

“Just sound them out.” I shut the door behind me and stepped inside. “I’m here to tell you I quit.”

Beckett scratched his shoulder and yawned, an indulged prince in his castle.

“I said I quit.”

He went back to his book. “I heard you.”

“Okay then.” I stood there like a fool, counting the ways I’d love to tell him off. “I just wanted to say good-bye.”

“Resignation not accepted.” His long finger slowly turned a page.

My face flushed with angry heat. “Don’t pretend like this bothers you—”

The sentence died as Beckett slammed his book on the table and pushed to his feet. He closed the gap between us in three steps and towered over me. “You want to think I’m a party guy, fine. You want to think I chase anything in tight jeans, I’ll take that too. But at least I’ve been faithful to our agreement.”

“And to Taylor? Have you been faithful to her?”

“You said you’d help me until the movie was done.
That
was our agreement, in case you need a reminder.”

“But—”

“Haven’t I driven you to wherever you asked?”

“Yes.”

“Have I treated you badly on this set?”

I shook my head. “No, but—”

“Is this what you do? Just shut down when things get tough?

Run away when it doesn’t go your way?”

I flinched at his words. “You are such a jerk.”

“Maybe so.” His jaw tightened. “But not about our bargain. Looks to me like you’re the one flaking out. I thought you were better than that.”

Yeah, well, I wasn’t. “Why can’t you just let me go?”

His gaze slowly dipped to my lips, then slid back to my eyes.