Page 85 of Blinding Lights

“Hi Trudy,” I answer with a smile as confusion puckers my brows.

“Oh, good, you answered.” Her voice comes out breathless and my body stills.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes. No. I…ah…need your help.”

“Of course. Anything.” My voice rises as the concern creeps in. For years I’ve asked Trudy to let me repay her for everything she’s done for me, but she’s never let me. She’s never even asked. “Tell me what you need.”

“It’s not me…” she trails off, hesitating before knocking the wind out of me with two words. “It’s Beckett.”

“Beckett.” I choke on his name and my throat tightens, like it’s closing up, until I force a cough to clear it. I knew talking to Trudy after ending things with Beckett would be awkward, but I didn’t count on her bringing him up during the very first call. “I don’t know how I can⁠—”

“You care about him, right?”

Her tone softens and… Shit. She knows more than I thought she did. “Yes, I care.” A lot more than I’d like to admit.

“Good, because he’s going to need you.” There’s an edge to her tone that fills me with dread. And that dread mixes with the already overwhelming feelings I have for Beckett, making my chest ache. Not that I get the chance to dwell on it before Trudy continues on.

“Since he’s been spotted in New Orleans a lot more than usual lately, and photographed with some of the players, a few media outlets have theorized that Beckett’s in talks with the Phantoms.”

“Oh, shit. Is that bad?”

“It wouldn’t usually be. I’m sure rumors like that happen all the time, but when Beckett vehemently denied it, they started looking at other possibilities.” She pauses and I glance up from my desk, muscles tensing as I catch my reflection in the mirror, coming to the same conclusion that I’m guessing the media did.

“Me?”

“That’s one of the theories. Though you’re not mentioned by name. A couple of reporters stationed themselves outside my home this morning wanting an inside scoop. Since I refused to speak to them, I was hoping they wouldn’t release anything. But I just got a notification for a photo of me online, next to a picture of you and Henley out in front of The Bookish Aroma. The photos are harmless, and the article accompanying them is only questioning if Beckett’s reasons for being here are family related. But for Beckett…” She trails off again and my stomach knots.

“What am I missing?” There has to be more or she wouldn’t be calling me.

Trudy sniffs and I almost ask if she’s been crying, but wait for her to respond. “I don’t want to say much, because it’s not my place, but Beckett closed himself off after an incident with me and the media. If he sees this, he’s going to spiral. I know it.”

“Oh, God.” My heart seizes as an image of Beckett floods my mind. “What can I do?”

“Be there for him.”

“How, I⁠—”

“He’s in New Orleans.”

“He’s here?” Without thought, I grab my bag and run toward the front door. Beckett could be anywhere, but I have to find him.

“I’m just locking up and I’ll be on my way. I’m guessing he’s coming to you.”

“No. He’s on his way to you.”

“Me?” I pause as tension coils inside me, mixed with an element of hope, making me realize I’ve been crazy to think I was ever going to get over him. It’s time to be honest with myself because he needs me.

“Does he know you’re at work?”

“I don’t know. We haven’t spoken. We never even exchanged numbers. He might go to my house. I’ll call you from my car.”

I hang up and toss my phone into my bag before throwing open the front door, a startled breath hitching in my throat.

“Beckett?”

With his eyes glued to his phone, Beckett’s frozen in front of me, his body rigid, his fist clenched by his side.