Sugar Free (8 page)

I turn from her and open the door. “You go right ahead and do that, Helen.”

I have to literally bite down on my tongue not to throw JT in her face. I want to say,
“You go right ahead, Mother, and talk to Dad about all of this. Ask him about JT too. You want to know why he's so upset, ask him about JT and what he really means to him.”

But I don't.

The minute I said I was done with her, I meant it.

I'm done.

My heart aches for Beck.

For many things and in many ways.

But hearing him tell his mother he was done brings about a sadness that feels like a heavy, suffocating blanket upon me. I can't imagine, because my mother was wonderful and there's not a day that goes by I don't think of her and wish I had her back. To think that Beck's maternal experiences were so horrific over his lifetime, that it would be a relief to cut that poison from his life, is almost too unbearable to even consider.

I leave the sanctity of the bedroom behind once I hear the door shut behind his mother and find Beck in the kitchen. The oven door is open and he's checking the chicken.

“I think it's done,” he says, sensing my presence behind him.

“Let me see,” I say as I walk up, put a gentle hand on his back, and peer in the door beside him.

It looks about done, but I won't know for sure until we cut those puppies open and see if they're cooked through. Beck grabs two pot holders and nudges me aside with his hip, pulling out the pan of baked chicken. It smells delicious and I'm starved, even though the events of the last few minutes have left a sour taste in the back of my mouth.

I pull a fork and knife from the cutlery drawer and cut into one of the breasts. As I pull it apart to look at it, Beck says, “So…back to our original discussion…what else did you and Caroline talk about at lunch today other than going to the police, which I'm assuming is a subject that's been thoroughly discussed and won't be discussed again?”

My jaw drops slightly and I turn to look at him. “Don't you want to talk about what just happened with your mother?”

Beck tilts his head to the side and gives me a sympathetic smile. “Poor Sela,” he says with gentle mockery that's not meant to hurt but to let me know he finds me silly in my concern. “Wanting to romanticize a nonexistent mother-son relationship.”

I huff out a curse and swat him on the chest. “I'm being serious.”

“So am I, babe,” he says before leaning in for a quick kiss. His eyes are somber but his tone is oddly light. “You saw me do something I should have done a long time ago. I cut the poison out, and frankly, I feel better for it.”

My skeptical look rings through loud and clear, but I give him some concession. “If you're sure, then fine. But if you want to talk about it, lay it on me. I've got loads of advice and sweet sentiments to get you through.”

“You are a silly girl,” he says, and turns to the cupboard to grab two plates. “But seriously…what did you and Caroline talk about?”

“God, you're like a dog with a bone,” I grumble as I take a plate from him and put a chicken breast on it. I set that down on the counter and take the other. “But if you must know, we skirted around the edges of our respective rapes. I think we'll probably discuss details in the future with each other.”

“Go on,” he says as I hand him another plate with the second chicken breast. He turns and puts a few pieces of tomato and mozzarella, which still need to be finished off with basil and balsamic, onto both plates.

“What do you mean, go on?” I ask evasively, as I go to the fridge and grab the fresh basil. Like a coordinated team, Beck grabs the balsamic sitting beside the stove top.

“I mean, tell me what was said about me,” he says in exasperation. “And don't try to pretend I wasn't discussed.”

I shrug and begin shredding basil by hand over the tomato and mozzarella while Beck drizzles balsamic. “She wanted to know how you were holding up. I told her you were fine.”

“You lied to her.”

“Because I know you're not,” I affirm. “But she doesn't need to know that.”

Beck nods but remains silent. We grab the plates, forks and knives, and head into the dining room, Beck pausing to grab two bottles of water from the fridge. We sit and start on our meals. I'm beyond famished and know the way I'll shovel the food in will not be pretty.

As he cuts into his chicken, Beck says, “There's an awful lot of lying going on.”

I look up at him, a bite of mozzarella halfway to my mouth. I lower my fork. “What do you mean?”

“You told Caroline I'm fine when I'm not—”

“To protect her,” I point out.

He nods understandingly. “Yes, I get it. But it's made me think about all of the deception that's been going on…for fuck's sake, for most of my life. My parents lying to the outside world that we were a happy family. Covering up Caroline's rape. Not acknowledging Ally. My dad and JT. All of that…”

“Not telling the police what really happened with JT,” I add softly.

He ignores that. “Covering up JT's death aside, because that ship's already sailed, I'm just tired of all of it, so when you saw me cut my mother out, that was the first step in correcting some of that shit.”

“I can understand that,” I say neutrally, because I don't really think he's telling me this to justify his actions with his mother.

“I think I was disloyal to Caroline,” he says quietly.

And there it is. I knew there was something else driving this.

“How?” I ask simply.

“By still having a relationship with my parents after what they did to her,” he murmurs, laying his knife and fork down. His eyes are so sad when they look at me. “I should have cut them out then. I should have chosen Caroline and Ally completely. I should have made my stand for what was right, and by not doing it, I was just as complicit in their rotten ways.”

I don't even know what to say to this, because sadly, I think he may be right. I never understood really why Beck maintained a relationship with them, although it was nothing more than a few get-togethers each year. But it wasn't for me to judge and it still isn't.

The one thing I do know without a doubt is that Caroline never looked upon Beck differently for choosing to give them a small sliver of his life.

“When we were at lunch today,” I say as I reach across the table and cover his hand with my own, “I was telling Caroline about how for the longest time I thought getting raped was my fault. That I brought it on myself.”

Beck nods and doesn't attempt to disillusion me on that feeling. We've discussed this before…many times…and he knows those feelings, while complicated and misplaced, had credence in the past.

“Caroline had felt the same way,” I continue. “Not surprising. I think a lot of rape victims probably feel a level of culpability.”

He watches me carefully, understanding damn well that I have a point to all this.

So I make it clear. “I told Caroline it took me a very long time to come to grips with that, and do you know what she said?”

Beck shakes his head.

“She said it didn't take her all that long to get past that,” I tell him, my eyes boring into his. “She said you wouldn't let her. That you were her rock and savior. That you helped her find peace. So I guarantee you she doesn't give a shit if you have a Christmas drink or a slice of birthday cake a few times a year at your parents' house.”

He sighs long and loud, flips his hand over, and squeezes mine. “I know. You're right.”

“Damn tootin' I am,” I say with a smile, and then pull my hand away so I can eat.

Only getting hungrier here.

“I think we need to tell Caroline that JT is the one who raped her,” Beck says quietly, but his tone doesn't diminish the force of the bomb he just threw at me.

“What?” I ask, stunned beyond any further words.

“She needs to know the truth. It's going to hurt like hell, but it will give her closure. She'll be able to stop the wondering who did it, and I know you understand that, Sela. You're going to be left wondering about your other two attackers.”

And fuck if he isn't right. It's gnaws at me every day not knowing who committed those atrocities on me along with JT.

“Are you going to tell her that JT was her half brother?” I ask hesitantly, because that's the twist to the twisted story that Caroline will be forced to hear from us.

He nods. “Yeah…and I know it's a loathsome thought, but fuck if I can be wigged out by it. I see Ally and how good and smart and funny and kind she is, and there's nothing of JT in her. She's pure Caroline, and that is how I'm choosing to look at it.”

And damn…my heart. Right there that got me. It flutters with little happy wings of joy that I have someone as amazing as this man.

“I wish I had known you back when…well, you know,” I tell him with a sheepish smile. “Caroline's such a lucky woman to have had you by her side.”

“You got through it just fine without me,” Beck says, and then picks up his utensils. “But you got me now and that's what really matters, right?”

“Right!” I agree, and pick up my fork with mozzarella still speared on the end.

I bring it to my mouth but then stop again when Beck says, “There's something else that's been eating at me.”

I lower my fork and sigh wistfully at it. Beck snickers and says, “Eat your food and listen while I talk.”

“Okay,” I say, happily picking it back up again and placing the cheese in my mouth before I can be stopped again.

“The DNA's bugging me,” he tells me while he works on cutting up his chicken.

I nod and speak around the food in my mouth. I know what he's talking about because it's caused me a little worry too. “You mean that if JT raped both Caroline and me, how come the DNA wasn't matched up?”

“Yeah,” he says, deciding to dice the entire chicken breast before eating as he continues to throw his thoughts out to me. “It could be that JT lied to you. Told you he raped Caroline just to torture you a bit before he killed you, and I wouldn't put it past that sadistic fuck to do that.”

“But you don't think he lied,” I observe as I spear a piece of tomato.

He shrugs. “I honestly don't know. The other plausible explanation is that something happened on the police side of things and the DNA didn't get entered in correctly. I mean…no clue how that shit works, but people are fallible. Computers are fallible. Who knows?”

“And Dennis did mention that he didn't see the documentation in the file about sending the DNA in to the database…whatever that was called,” I add.

“That's right,” he agrees, and finally puts some food into his mouth. He chews, swallows, and then repeats as he contemplates what this all means.

Finally, he lowers his fork again and says, “I need to know, but I'm not sure how to go about doing it.”

“Just call the investigating officer in my case. Simple as that.”

“Maybe,” he says hesitantly. “But I'm a little worried about drawing attention to us right now. And we certainly can't tell them why we're questioning it. It's just extra motive to pin on us. So, I don't know. It doesn't feel right, but then again, it's the easiest thing to do.”

“Have Dennis get involved?” I suggest.

And I can tell by the look on his face that he's already considered this. “He's on vacation, and I hate to bother him.”

“What the fuck ever, Beckett North,” I scoff at him. “Dennis is a friend and he'd jump all over this in a heartbeat.”

“And he'd ask us questions,” he points out, and now I understand his hesitancy. “I don't want to drag him in any deeper.”

“Well, we don't have to decide right this minute,” I tell him as I pick up my utensils again. “I say we finish dinner and relax the rest of the night. God knows we need a little downtime away from all of this worry and stress.”

“And we have whipped cream,” he says with a husky laugh.

“Exactly.” I pop the tomato into my mouth and chew through my grin at him.

Beck's phone starts ringing from the kitchen and he stands up to retrieve it. As he's walking away from me, he looks over his shoulder and adds, “But I don't think we tell Caroline until we know for sure about the DNA. Agreed?”