Rebecca Caruso

As I shut the cab door behind me, the distant hum of the engine faded away, leaving behind a familiar sense of déjà vu, trapped in a loop from the night before. Same time, same place, and the same gnawing feeling...

Guilt.

With careful steps, I made my way home, the crisp crunch of fallen leaves beneath my feet echoing through the stillness. Each footfall felt heavy, as if the world held its breath, waiting for me to decide my next move.

I had just left the diner, my belly full of pancakes but my mind buzzing with a mix of panic and unresolved tension. The meeting with Rafael had been a delicate dance, and the call with Marco had only amplified my anxiety.

Even though five minutes had passed since I hung up the phone, I could still hear the echo of Marco's frustration. I needed him to trust me—for my own sake, not Rafael's, and definitely not for this case.

As the familiar sight of our front porch came into view, an unexpected scene unfolded. Christopher and Robert sat side by side, each savoring a cigar.

Shit.

The soft glow of tobacco cast a warm ambiance, contrasting sharply with the chill in the air. Christopher looked up, a smile spreading across his face as he waved. "Hey, you're finally home!"

"Hey... you're both up," I replied, forcing a wave as I climbed the steps.

"We just wanted to make sure you got home safely, sweetheart," Robert said, his voice layered with forced warmth. "Especially after last night."

"Last night," I echoed vaguely, sending a direct look at Christopher. Could he ever figure out when to keep quiet?

Christopher took a puff from his cigar, his brow furrowing in discomfort. "Yeah, well, your father wanted to know why I was still up."

I paused, irritation bubbling beneath the surface. What, am I not allowed to let loose once in a while? "You could've called or texted."

"Well, sweetheart, you don't always respond right away, do you?" His tone was patronizing, and I couldn't ignore the underlying accusation. The unspoken tension thickened the air, mingling with the smoke that swirled between us.

Christopher extinguished his cigar abruptly, his concern cutting through the haze. "We were worried, Beck. That's all there is to it, I swear."

"You knew I was with Rafael," I shot back, defiance lacing my voice.

Suddenly, it all clicked. That was why they had waited up. I sighed internally, recognizing their intentions but also grappling with the frustration of my brother being unheard and unacknowledged. I held their gaze, trying to convey my point without letting resentment seep into my words.

"You know what, it's getting late, and I'm exhausted," I suggested, softening my tone. "I think it's best if we all go home and get some rest."

Because I had one hell of a day, I couldn't shake the weariness that settled deep within me, weighing me down with unresolved tensions.

Turning to Christopher, I offered a small smile—an attempt at sincerity. "Tomorrow's your first day on the big Montanari case. Wouldn't want to wake up in a cranky mood, would you?"

"You make a good point," he acknowledged, though his eyes still held a flicker of worry.

Robert's brow furrowed slightly as he sensed the unease. "Irene probably fell asleep on the couch waiting for me; I should head in too before her back acts up." He extinguished his cigar, the sizzling end meeting the wood of the deck, leaving a scar on the paint. "Bright and early, Chico, we've got work to do."

I turned away, rolling my eyes at their banter, eager to distance myself from their growing camaraderie. As I entered the house, a persistent feeling lingered—a sense that I wasn't just hiding something from them, but from myself. The uneasiness wrapped around me, planting seeds of doubt about whether I was truly doing the right thing.

Lying to everyone, about everything. Was it worth it?

The soft creak of the door announced Christopher's entrance. Leaning against the doorframe, his tall figure cast a shadow in the dimly lit hallway. His presence seemed to amplify the weight of my secrets, and I couldn't help but wonder how much longer I could maintain this facade.

His gaze, steady yet strained, bore into mine as he spoke. "Beck, babe, we need to talk."

I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. His tone wasn't sharp, but it carried weight. "Everything good?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"I don't think so," he admitted, his voice low. His eyes searched mine, flickering with hesitation, like he was grasping for the right words.

"Are you mad at me?" He asked, half-joking, trying to lighten the mood. "Your father said you were upset about not being invited to the bar this morning. And the promotion thing—I swear, Beck, I would've told you—"

Of course, he'd make it about himself. His career, his image, his titles. That's what it always boiled down to. I used to admire his ambition, but lately, I'd started to question it. What was I really drawn to? The stability? The sex? Definitely not the dependability.

"It's not about you, Chris," I sighed, my voice softer now. "And it's definitely not about this morning."

He blinked, taken aback, but listened. "Then what is it?"

"Ever since my suspension, I've felt...lost." I met his eyes, trying to convey what I hadn't been able to say out loud until now. "I've been sitting here, bored, stuck. It's like I'm missing out on everything, just watching from the sidelines."

His expression softened, and for a moment, I saw the concern beneath the bravado. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice gentle but still carrying that familiar frustration. "If I made you feel that way, I didn't mean to."

"I know," I replied, squeezing his hand. "It's not just you. It's me too. I feel like no one can really fix this for me, you know?" I needed more than his apology. I wanted to feel understood, to connect with him beyond the surface level we always stayed on.

His brows furrowed, but his tone was sincere. "I want to help, Beck. Just tell me how. You're my rock."

His words were kind, but the weight of them felt like a burden. It was always me being his "rock," me holding it together. Where was my rock?

I sighed, the tension between us thick. "I think I just need space. Some time to figure things out, you know?" My voice faltered, but I pushed forward. "I'm thinking of taking a little vacation. Some me-time."

He looked at me, his concern deepening. "If that's what you think you need, then sure, I'm behind you. But..."

"But what?" I could feel the hesitation in him, that protective instinct he always carried.

"Just don't shut me out," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I know you think the suspension is my fault. I can feel you pulling away, Beck."

I swallowed hard, the truth catching in my throat. "It's not about blame, Chris. It's about me needing to breathe, to clear my head."

He stepped closer, his grip on my hand tightening, his body tense. "I get that. But don't act like you don't need me too. We're in this together, right?"

I looked up at him, seeing the vulnerability behind his bravado. "I'm not shutting you out. I just think this time apart could be good for both of us. You can focus on the Montanari case, and I can figure out my next move."

He stared at me, his emotions flickering between concern and the need to protect. "And after?"

"When it's all over," I said, forcing a small smile, "we'll come back together, stronger. Have some wild makeup sex, and everything will be fine again, right?"

His lips curved into a faint smile, but the worry didn't leave his eyes. "You always know how to spin things," he said, trying to play along.

"I try." But it felt hollow, the playful banter not landing the way it used to. The weight of what I wasn't saying lingered between us.

He pulled me into a hug, and for a moment, I let myself sink into the warmth of his arms. But even in the closeness, I could feel the tension, the unease simmering beneath the surface for both of us.

"If this is what you need, then I support you," he murmured into my hair, though I could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

"Thank you," I whispered, relieved but also wary. The idea of space, of taking a break, was freeing in theory. But even as I leaned into it, I couldn't shake the feeling that things wouldn't be as simple as coming back and picking up where we left off.

Maybe part of me knew that, once we stepped away, things would never be quite the same again.

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