Trusting His Promise (Love on Sanctuary Shores #5)

Chapter 33

Well, that had been a disaster.

Beckett blew a hot stream of air into the cold night as he hurried toward Jo’s house. The patterns of steam curled and dissipated in front of him. Kind of like his hopes for today.

He should have told Jo sooner that they were leaving this weekend. And he should have thought to warn her that they were filming a kissing scene. By the time it occurred to him, they were already in the middle of the first take—and when he’d looked up afterward, she was gone.

He couldn’t get the kiss right after that, which meant their scene at the gazebo took forever—and then they’d had to rush off to film at the lighthouse the rest of the day, with no breaks to sneak off and see her.

He’d sent a few texts, but her responses had been brief and indifferent.

This was not how he wanted things to go with only three days left on the island.

Three days.

A wave of near-panic surged in his chest. Just when things had finally been going well, everything was falling apart. The same way they had in his family.

He slowed his footsteps.

This was what he had known would happen all along, wasn’t it? He’d known there was no such thing as a happy family, except in the movies. So why was he out here, running headlong for Jo, when he knew way too much was on the line?

Because you love her.

The silent words brought his feet to a complete stop, and he stood in the middle of the street, breathing heavily and marveling at the truth.

“I love her,” he said out loud, tilting his head back to the stars and laughing quietly.

He exhaled and prayed. Wow, Lord, I did not see this coming. But you did. You led me back to Sanctuary. You led me to Jo and Sam. Help me to trust you to guide us through whatever comes next. In your timing. Amen.

Peace slipped over him, and he sprinted the rest of the way to Jo’s house.

When he reached the door, he hesitated. It was already after nine. What if Sam was in bed?

He pulled out his phone and sent Jo a quick text. Are you home?

The reply was a moment in coming. Yes.

Good, because I’m here. Could you come let me in?

He hit send and imagined Jo reading the message. Imagined the way her eyebrows would lower and her forehead would furrow. Imagined how she would debate letting him stand at the door all night. Imagined the sigh she would give as she relented and came to the door in three, two, one . . .

Nothing happened.

No text. No open door.

He waited for a few more seconds, then tapped out, I know you probably don’t want to talk to me right now, but I want to explain. And apologize. And— His fingers hovered. There were some things that had to be said in person.

He hit send, debating whether he should just walk right into the house if she didn’t answer.

But the door opened a moment later, and Jo stood there, wearing a pair of flannel pants and the sweatshirt he’d let Sam borrow the other day.

He grinned, hope surging in his chest.

“It’s late,” she said flatly.

“I know, that’s why I didn’t ring the doorbell. I figured Sam was probably—”

“Mr. Beckett!” A squeal from the stairway proved that Sam was not, in fact, asleep. “I told Mommy that you would come and I wanted to wait to say goodnight to you, but she said you probably wouldn’t come.”

“Hmm. Well, she was wrong.” Beckett raised an eyebrow at Jo, who scowled in response. “I’m glad you know me better than that.”

“Go back to bed, Sammycakes.” Jo’s voice was firm. “It’s late.”

“I will.” Sam hurtled down the stairs. “I just want to give Mr. Beckett a hug first.”

She flung herself at Beckett, and his arms closed tight around her. He lifted her off the floor and squeezed, making her shriek.

“All right, that’s enough,” Jo said. “Get to bed.”

Beckett set Sam down and rumpled her hair. “Goodnight, Sammycakes.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Beckett,” she called, skipping up the steps. “Goodnight, Mommy. I love you.”

“Love you too,” Jo returned, and Beckett had the hardest time not saying it too—to both of them—but he held it back. For now.

As soon as the click of Sam’s door sounded, Jo turned to him, her expression guarded. “What do you want?”

“Is that Beckett?” Mr. Fletcher’s voice called from the kitchen. “Come on in and play some cards with us.”

Beckett looked at Jo, who shrugged. “You can play if you want. I’m going to bed.”

“No. Jo, please. Can we talk?” Louder, he called, “Hello, Mr. Fletcher. I was just about to take Jo for a walk. But we’ll play next time.”

He looked to Jo with an eyebrow raised in challenge.

She sighed. “Fine. Only for a few minutes.”

Silently, Beckett reached for a warm jacket on the coat hook by the door and held it for her. She slipped her arms into it, and he slid his hand under her hair to untuck it from the back of the jacket.

She shivered but didn’t say anything, and Beckett opened the front door.

The moment they were outside, he grabbed her hands. “Jo, I’m so sorry about today. It wasn’t— I didn’t want— I should have—” His words stumbled over each other, and he paused and let out a breath.

She shrugged. “There’s nothing to apologize for.” She eased her hands out of his.

Beckett laughed wanly. “Clearly there is, or you would be here in my arms, not backing away from me. And I understand why. I should have told you that we’re leaving sooner. And I should have warned you that it was a kissing scene.”

“It was no big deal.” Her tone was dull and unconvincing.

“If it was no big deal, then why did you leave?” he asked gently.

Jo shook her head, but tears filled her eyes, and Beckett’s heart splintered. “Oh Jo. I’m so sorry.” He stepped forward to reach for her, but she dodged out of his grasp.

“It’s fine,” she insisted, her voice thick with the unshed tears. “It just made me realize some things.”

Beckett swallowed roughly. “What kinds of things?”

Jo shook her head, a tear escaping to plop onto her cheek. “That this isn’t going to work. It’s not real, Beckett. It’s all just an act. A nice act, but . . .” She laughed a little as another tear fell. “But just an act.”

“You think I’m pretending?” Beckett’s voice was hoarse. He thought she knew him better than that. Thought she believed he had changed.

“No.” Jo swiped at her cheeks. “I think I am.”

Beckett took a step backwards. “You don’t—” He swallowed. “You don’t have feelings for me?” Someone was reaching into his chest and twisting his heart.

“I’m not the person you think I am,” she whispered.

Beckett laughed with relief. “The person I think you are is sweet and kind and—”

“Beckett, stop.” Jo turned her back on him and stood looking in the direction of the lake, though it wasn’t visible from here. “There are things you don’t know about me.”

Her voice was agonized, and Beckett moved closer, resting his hands gently on her shoulders.

She stiffened but didn’t move away from him.

“So tell me,” he said softly. “Or don’t. Either way, it won’t change how I feel about you.” Slowly, he turned her around to face him, then tucked a finger under her chin and made her look at him. “This is the most real thing I’ve ever known, Jo,” he whispered. “I love you.”

“You can’t,” she choked out.

“I can.” He wiped at her tears. “I do.”

She shook her head and pushed his hands away. “You wouldn’t if you knew.”

“I promise it wouldn’t change my—”

“He was married.” Jo threw the words at him as if they were chunks of ice.

Beckett froze. He didn’t have to ask who Jo was talking about.

The shame in her face answered that question.

“Are you happy now?” A wrenching sob shook Jo, and she shoved past him and hurtled down the steps and away from the house.