𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧.✓ completed

Untitled Part 18

Chapter Eighteen

Beck

I'm working in my dad's office, sorting files on his computer, trying not to worry that Willow hasn't called me back, when my phone rings.

I lean back in the chair to retrieve it from my pocket, expecting the call to be from Willow since she told me she'd call me back. But Wynter flashes across the screen, and I hesitate, unsure if I want to answer. Yeah, Wynter's my friend and everything, but she can be a real pain in the ass sometimes, at least to me. But ignoring her seems like kind of a douchey move, so I press talk and put the phone up to my ear.

"What?" I answer, balancing the phone between my shoulder and my ear so I can continue working and not prolong my time here.

"Wow, way to greet your friend," she replies. "God, Beck, what did I ever do to piss you off?"

I click a few keys. "Do you really want me to answer that question?"

"Probably not," she replies then sighs. "Hey, have you talked to Willow today?"

"Yeah, she called me this morning." I pause as I stumble across a file labeled "Personal Business," a file my dad mentioned I didn't need to mess around with. Curious, I double-click and open the contents. Then my jaw drops. Holy shit. "She's supposed to be calling me back later today. If she doesn't, I'm going to call her back when I get off work."

"Well, I think you should call her soon." The urgency in her tone causes me to straighten in the chair.

I move my hands off the keyboard and slant back in the chair. "What happened?"

"I'm not really sure. She called me out of the blue about twenty minutes ago, sounding upset and asking if she could rent my spare room. When I told her I just leased it out to someone, she got even more upset, although she was trying to hide it. I don't know why she always tries to pretend everything's okay when it's not. It's why she ends up having nervous breakdowns."

"Yeah, I know," I mutter, thrumming my fingers against the desk. "She didn't say why she was upset, though?"

"No, but I could tell it didn't just have to do with me not being able to rent her a room. She was upset before that."

"You should've told her she could crash on your couch. She hates asking for help, and if she went to you ..."—I swallow hard—"something must have happened."

"Shit. I didn't even think about the couch thing. I did tell her sh

e should move in with you, though."

"I bet that went well."

"Yeah, she didn't seem too thrilled about it. Why is that?"

"None of your business."

"Ha, if you really believe that, then you don't know me at all."

"No, I do know you," I say exhaustedly. "But I had to try."

"Well, stop trying and fess up." She pauses. "Did you two do something again?"

I wait a second too long to respond.

"You did!" she cries. "Oh, my God, I told Willow this was going to happen. That sooner or later you two would screw each other's brains out."

"We didn't fuck. We just ... kissed." And touch. And grinded. And fucking kissed again.

"Oh, my God, you sound so turned on right now," she whines. "It's so disgusting."

"So what?" I don't even bother trying to deny it. "It was a hot fucking kiss."

"TMI, Beck."

"You're the one who brought it up."

She puffs out an exasperated exhale. "You know what? I think I'll get the details from Willow. Your details come with too many noises I'd rather not hear."

"Why do you need details at all? It's not really any of your business."

"Why do you do that?" she snaps. "Why do you act like I'm such a bad person?"

"I don't act like you're a bad person," I retort. "I just don't know why you need to know everything. Plus, if you ask Willow about the kiss, she's going to get more upset."

"Why?" she asks. "She didn't like it?"

"No ... I think she did." I drag my fingers through my hair, slumping back in the chair. "You know about her no-dating rule, right?"

"Yeah, she mentioned it once, but I didn't think she was being serious."

"Well, she was, and now that we kissed ..." I'm one step away from touching myself as images of Willow and me kissing flood my thoughts. "Well, let's just say she's trying everything she can to make sure it doesn't happen again."

"But you want it to happen again?"

"Um, yeah. I thought that was pretty obvious with the noises I was making."

"God, you're so gross," she mutters. "Anyway, we're getting off the subject. I called to tell you about Willow being upset because I knew you'd want to take care of her."

"I've been trying to." I lean forward and lower my head into my hand. "I've offered to let her move in with me over and over again, but she's so stubborn. So, if you have any ideas at all, please share. I'd really like to get her out of that shithole she's living in now. That place is sketchy as fuck."

"Just do what you always do," she replies in a sugary sweet tone. "Bat your baby blue eyes to get your way."

"I so do not fucking do that."

"You do that all the damn time, and I think you know you do."

"Whatever." I raise my head from my hand and sit up straight. "I'm going to hang up so I can call Willow."

"Let me know how it goes. I worry about her."

"So do I." More than anything.

After I hang up, I dial Willow's number. The call goes straight to voicemail, and seconds later, I receive a text.

Willow: Hey, I'm at work, so I can't talk. I don't get off until late so can I call you tomorrow?

Me: Actually, can we hang out tomorrow? I really need to talk to you.

Willow: Sure. Is everything all right? You sounded a little irked on the phone.

I shake my head. Leave it to her to worry about me when she's buried up to her chin in stress.

Me: I'm fine. I swear. I just really want to see you.

Then, as an afterthought, I add: I miss you.

She doesn't reply right away, and I start to worry I spooked her. Then my phone buzzes with an incoming text.

Willow: I miss you, too. I have class tomorrow. I get out at two if you want to stop by. I have work later. Maybe we can grab something to eat or something.

 The restlessness in my chest relaxes since she's being cooperative. Then again, she doesn't know what I want to talk about.

Me: Sounds good. If you want to call me when you get off work, too, you can. In fact, I wish you would.

Willow: If it's not too late.

I sigh, knowing she won't yet grateful she's at least hanging with me tomorrow.

Me: You can always call me. Whenever. Wherever. Any time you want.

I end the messages at that then try to shove my worries of Willow aside for the moment and plug my phone into the computer. Then I copy the files in my father's personal business folder, files that I'm pretty sure prove he's committed tax fraud. I'm not positive yet, but I know a very smart girl who might be able to help me understand them better. And while I don't know what I'll do if I find out the information is true, it doesn't hurt to have some blackmail material handy in case he refuses to quit blackmailing me into working for him.

Once I get all the files downloaded, I put my phone away and reach for a piece of paper to work on solving a problem that desperately needs solving: convincing Willow to move in with me.

While I don't think getting her to agree is going to be easy, I might have an idea to help her see why living with me is better than living with her mom. A way to help her understand. A way she understands.

I press the pen to the paper and start writing a list.