Page 81 of Double Puck

Oh God.

What is this man doing to me?

The wood gets older and more worn out the further we walk, with the old boards creaking under our feet. The sound of the waves crashing against the pilings vibrates up through my heels, and eventually, Beck pauses at the railing near the fishermen's section, both hands curled around the weathered metal.

His facial expression tightens for half a second. So quick I'd miss it if I weren't already watching.

"This is where you were," I say quietly. "When the livestream happened."

"Yep. Right about here."

"And yet, you still come out here?"

"Sometimes." He shrugs, running his thumb over the worn railing. "Usually when I need to think. It's weird, I guess. This is where everything went to shit, but it's quiet out here. Nobody's asking me anything. Nobody's telling me what I should do next." His mouth pulls into a small smile. "Just me, the ocean and a bunch of old guys who take fishing way too fucking seriously."

I look toward the empty stretch at the end of the pier. "So this is where Beck Morrison comes when he wants to disappear?"

"Pretty much." His eyes find mine. "Don't tell anyone. I'm creating an air of mystery."

He stares at the dark water for a moment, then turns back to me with something softer in his expression.

"Look at me, huh. A bad game, complicated family, career hanging by a thread. And yet, I'm still having a good time tonight."

"Yep. By every metric I understand, you should be miserable, Beck." I step closer, letting my hands fall on his chest. "How are you doing this?"

He sucks in a breath, curling an arm around my waist to pull me closer. "Doing what? Enjoying a date with a gorgeous woman who sank three skee-balls into the gutter to start the evening?"

"Beck."

He holds my gaze, then sighs. "Because if I wait for everything to be okay before I let myself have a good night, I'll never have one. That's just how it is, Darce. That's life, isn't it? Even you can't argue with that."

He's right.

I can't.

Ahead of us, the carousel turns beneath hundreds of tiny golden bulbs, painted horses rising and falling while its old-fashioned music floats over the water.

"Can I ask you something?" I keep my voice light. "If Beachside traded you. What would you actually do?"

"Honestly? This is the first place that's ever felt like mine. The team, the town, the mansion. I love all of it." He's quiet a second. "But there's this tiny part of me that wonders what it'd be like somewhere nobody already knows me. Somewhere I'm not Declan's little brother. Or Mason's little brother. Or the Morrison they got as part of the bundle deal."

"You'd want that?"

"Yeah." His gaze meets mine. "Might be nice to find out who Beck really is when no one's deciding for him."

I swallow hard, but before I can do anything else, Beck grabs my arm and yanks me towards a giant claw machine overloaded with stuffed Bears plushies.

Inside, wedged against the glass, is an oversized blue bear wearing tiny plastic glasses that some factory in another country decided was a good idea despite looking absolutely nothing like any of the men playing on this team.

Beck takes one look at it and says, "I'm winning you that bear."

"Beck, those machines are calibrated to absolutely rob you—"

"I'm winning. You. That bear."

Eleven dollars later, the bear has not moved.

"Beck… The claw grip strength is randomized," I tell him, watching over his shoulder. "It only engages—"