Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
He meets my eyes. Brows furrowed but not confused. If anything, I think he might be learning about what happened right this very moment through comms.
“Beckett,” I say and look to my phone again. “Please tell me what’s going on. I’m thinking the worst. Are you okay? Physically, mentally, emotionally. Did someone hurt you?”
He opens his mouth to speak, but he closes it and then cringes. “Physically, I’m fine.”
That leaves mentally and emotionally hurt, and that’s just as bad. “I’m coming to New York.” I rise to my feet.
“No,” Beckett says quickly. “You’re not. You’re wearing a robe.”
“I can go to New York in a robe, thank you,” I say and brush my fingers through my hair.
He smiles. His yellow-green eyes softening. “You don’t even know what happened yet.”
“I don’t have to know,” I say. “I’m your big sister.”
He nods for a long moment and then pinches the bridge of his nose like he’s trying to stop from crying. My heart nearly shatters.
“Shit,” Eliot curses. “Charlie!”
Tom leaves the living room.
Eliot sits on the couch and puts an arm around Beckett’s shoulders, but my thespian brother is staring at me. “One of Beckett’s…hookups…took screenshots of their texts. They’re all on the internet.”
Oh my God.
Texts are beyond personal. Especially from someone who Beckett had a sexual relationship with. If one of my friends-with-benefits had ever posted my texts for the world to see…if Nate…
I feel ill.
Before I can say anything, Charlie and Tom both return to the living room and in my line of sight.
Charlie taps Eliot’s shoulders. “Move.”
Eliot slides from the couch cushion down to the floor in almost a single effortless movement, and Charlie hops onto the couch. He puts a hand to Beckett’s knee and grabs his attention. They begin to whisper quietly to each other, not audible for me. Tom and Eliot half-listen, while I tell them my FaceTime screen is going to turn off for a quick second to read the texts.
“Do not hang up on me,” I tell Tom.
He gives me a thumbs up and then I click into the internet on my phone. They can still hear me. I can still hear them. But both our screens say connection lost .
It doesn’t take long to find the screenshots. It’s trending on Twitter.
My eyes breeze through them.
Can we do that thing we did last time? ;) – Kara
Sure, baby. Call me? I don’t love texting. – Beckett
Can’t call. I’m in a lecture. Do you think that I could bring my friend? Chelsea. She’s super sweet. Open to threesomes. You’ll love her. – Kara
As long as she signs the NDA. Sure. – Beckett
Won’t be a problem. Are you going to the party? It’s leather night. – Kara
Yeah – Beckett
That’s the last text. But it’s enough for the public to decide that Beckett is not only into threesomes, sex parties, and leather, but he’s also a short rude texter to a girl he’s supposedly sleeping with.
Maybe they missed the fact that he said he doesn’t like to text.
Beckett has always been the most private of all my siblings. Of the seven of us, he’s the only one who doesn’t appear on We Are Calloway , and he refuses to do interviews unless the ballet company requires him.
Beckett may have suggested and participated in the FanCon, but he did so for me. And that was a great leap out of his norm.
He barely posts on social media, and if he could, he’d have chosen to grow up so far away from the spotlight.
It feels so utterly invasive to post texts, but for Beckett, this is a gross violation of his trust. I look to Thatcher before I click back into FaceTime.
“She broke her NDA,” I say, eyes burning.
Thatcher nods. “Legal is on it.”
Tom must hear Thatcher’s voice because my brother asks, “Is that your fake boyfriend?”
I leave the internet and click back into FaceTime. All four are in the screen, but Charlie and Beckett are scrolling on their phones. Tom has a shit-eating grin on his face, and in the wake of true chaos, he’d of course find something else to light on fire.
“We’re not discussing me,” I remind Tom.
“Tell my fake brother-in-law I said hi ,” Eliot smiles like he’s both clever and wicked.
God. Don’t look at Thatcher .
“Jane, I don’t hear you,” Eliot says quickly, teasing me. “Why aren’t you relaying my message?”
“Because he can hear you, Eliot,” I say. “He’s in the room.”
Thatcher crosses his arms over his chest.
“Knew it,” Tom says and taps a pair of drumsticks on the edge of the coffee table.
“Beckett.” I catch my brother’s attention. He glances up from his cell. “I’m so sorry this happened. It’s terrible, awful luck.”
“It’s not luck. I fucked up,” Beckett says. “I shouldn’t have texted. I knew I shouldn’t have—”
“Dude, we’re in the twenty-first century, you can’t not text,” Tom says.