Page 43 of Meant to be Falling
I can’t makeanywords leave my mouth.
So, I just stare at him as the seconds crawl by.What the hell is wrong with me?
“I know that hat,” he says again. “Do you work with Mom at the college?” I roll my lips inward, pressing them into a firm line as I think of something to say.
A quick line, a witty remark—it’s my defense mechanism—but I don’t want to lie to this kid. I look at him and I see Lana, and I don’t want to backtrack when I meet him for real, when I tell him I’m dating his mom.
Dammit.
“Beck, how long does it take you to pick out chips?” Lana asks, coming up behind him, her eyes widening as she sees our frozen interaction. A little girl is at her side, and now that they’re all together, it couldn’t be more obvious who these kids belong to.
“I’m a friend of your mom’s,” I say simply, finally finding my voice. His frown deepens, and he shakes his head before turning and looking at his mom.
“Ma? He’s wearing the hat.” Her mouth opens and closes, and it would have been comical in any other situation—something to tease her about when we’re alone. But this isnotany other situation and I’m damn near sweating bullets in the pasta aisle.
He turns, placing the chips in the cart as Lana snorts. “Really? Three bags?”
“What? One for you, one for me, and one for Holland.” It sounds logical to me, but it’s probably not the time to interject my support of his take on snacks. She lets out a laugh, but it’s nervous, not at all like the kind she makes when we’re alone, the one that’s light and beautiful and completely carefree. The kind I’m sure she makes when it’s just her kids too.
It’s just not the kind that she’s making in the grocery store as we’re about to be forced to make a decision.
I’m about to say something likeit was nice running into you,when Beck offers me his hand.
“I’m Beck.”
Looking him in the eye, I shake it because it takes a hell of a lot of guts to offer your hand to a man much bigger than you. Although if I think about it, there’s not a whole lot of years between me and Beck anyway. It’s one of the things that Lana was so ready to point out.
Twice.
“I’m Mason Amato. It’s nice to meet you. Your mom said you’re really into playing football,” I offer casually but amp up my smile as I look at him. It’s meant to disarm, but he just studies me before dropping my hand and shoving his hands into his pockets.
“Yeah. I didn’t make the team this year, but coach said if I work hard I have a good chance for next year, and there’s this camp over the summer I’m really tryin’ to do.”
A spark of something familiar ignites in my chest becauseI get it.I remember that drive to make it work—to do the thing that brings you joy and peace.
An escape.
Our situations are nowhere near the same, but they’re relatable enough I feel like I can at least draw the parallel. “That’s really cool. I’m sure the coach appreciates seeing your determination and drive. There’s no substitute for hard work, and even on the worst days, you’re still making a difference.”
Beck rolls his eyes and Lana smirks. “You sound like my mom.”
“That’s a pretty big compliment.” I grin before turning my attention to the little girl who has been silently watching this entire exchange.
“Well, you’ve met Beckham.” Lana sighs.
“Just Beck,” he corrects. “Ma only calls me Beckham when I’m in trouble.”
“So, like all the time,” her daughter says with a dramatic eye roll which makes Lana chuckle and Beck scowl.
“This is my daughter, Holland,” Lana says while wrapping her arm around Holland’s shoulders, and she gives me a little wave. It’s not protective as much as it’s meant to be comforting.
“Holland,notHolly.” She scrunches up her nose as I give her an understanding nod.
“Not Holly, got it.” I throw her a wink and she blushes. “What do you like to do?”
“I like soccer! Mama is friends with Nessa Hart. She plays for the Tennessee Tornadoes!”
“That is very cool. Miss Hart is a very nice lady.” I’m trying to be diplomatic because while Nessa Hart is nice, her personality is more like tryin’ to fit a wild cat into a cage meant for a rabbit.
