My fingers slowly trace over the stack of papers, brushing against the title of my book: 'Better as Friends'. 347 pages, 4,059 paragraphs, 86,750 words. It's only the first draft and I'm certain it's riddled with errors and typos, but it's here, tangible.

The book I wrote.

A smile quirks my lips, and I glance up at the employee who is assisting me. "Thank you."

"No problem," he replies.

I snatch the three-hole punched stack of papers, secured with rubber bands, and quickly leaf through them before heading out the door toward Hansen's Coffee. I promised Wells I had a surprise tonight but I wanted him to see it in print. Something substantial, concrete evidence that I did it. Something that Wells helped me accomplish.

I make my way across the street toward the coffee shop, tucking the manuscript into my bag. As I stroll along the sidewalk, my phone buzzes. I pull it out to find 9 text messages and 4 missed calls from both Ellis and Delaney. Ellis is likely still pushing us to attend some cosmetic event for her Instagram, though neither of us wants to go.

I roll my eyes and brush the phone back into my bag, choosing to ignore it for the moment because I'm too excited to see Wells. So excited I'm practically skipping there.

But as I walk up to Hansen and reach for the door, I falter mid-step. My gaze lifts, and there, out of the corner of my eye, a blue-grey Ford Raptor catches my attention. I freeze and slowly turn my head toward the truck, feeling my heart drop into my stomach.

I know that truck; I was there when he bought it. He loved it because it had a lifted frame and extra-wide all-terrain tires with the black rims. I remember telling him it was perfect because it matched the color of his eyes.

I blink again, half convinced I'm imagining it.

There are probably a million trucks just like that out there. It has to be a coincidence. There's no way that's his truck.

Yet, my eyes trace over to the rearview mirror, and there they are—the unmistakable University of Washington purple and gold fuzzy dice I bought for him hanging from it.

"For good luck." I had told him.

"Baby," I hear from behind me, and as I turn around, Beckett's hands slide to my waist, and his lips meet mine in a light peck.

My eyes widen with shock, my body stiffens, my stomach churns. I'm in such shock that I'm not even sure what do to with myself.

He pulls back, dipping his head to meet my gaze, his dark blue eyes locking onto mine. Holding me at arm's length, he offers a smile like we've been talking every day since I left. Like I saw him only yesterday. Like him cheating on me never happened.

His hands gently rubbing my arms up and down. "Do you have any idea how long it took me to find you? Ellis and Delaney wouldn't tell me where you were."

My hand instinctively goes to touch the lips that he just kissed, as I try to process the surreal situation unfolding before me. This has got to be just a really bad nightmare—a really really bad dream.

I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping desperately that it's just a figment of my imagination. But when I open them, he's still there, rubbing my arms up and down.

"Beckett, what..." I shake my head in disbelief, "...What are you doing here?"

"June, I told you you can't ignore me forever." His fingers stretch out to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. I instinctively take a small step back out of his grip, turning toward the window that looks into Hansen's Coffee. I catch Nora, her brows furrowed, eyes fixed on me.

"Seriously?" His jaw flexes and unflexes as he removes his backward baseball cap, running a hand through his short blonde hair. "You don't want me to touch you now?"

"You're not supposed to be here."

"What's that supposed to mean? You're not supposed to be here," he mimics, my jaw tenses and I question how I ever even tolerated him. "Don't be so dramatic, June. It's unbecoming. You didn't think I'd come get my girl?"

"Beckett, we broke up."

"No, we didn't. We didn't break up," he insists, his frustration palpable. "You just walked away and wouldn't return my calls."

"I walked away because you were cheating on me."

Rolling his eyes, he shakes his head dismissively. "June, I apologized. It meant nothing. I told you all of this already. It was just a moment of weakness. Can we move past this, please?"

"No," I grind out, my teeth clenched. "We can't just move past it."

"What do you want from me, June? How long do you want me to wait then?" He gestures with his hands, seemingly out of ideas. "Do I need to beg? You want me to beg for you to take me back? Because I will. I'll get on my knees right now."

"I want you to—" I begin, but then he starts kneeling on both knees in front of me. "What are you doing? Don't do that."

"Juniper, please," he pleads. He grips tightly onto my hips as he kneels in front of me. I try to take a step back, but his hold is too tight. "I love you, baby. Just forgive me. I'm sorry."

"Oh my god," I whisper, my face flushing red with embarrassment as people pass by on the sidewalk. "Get up, Beckett." I grab his shirt, trying to pull him off the ground but he stays put.

"Talk to me, June," he says, pressing his forehead onto my stomach.

"I have nothing to say to you. Will you please get up?" I whisper, offering a closed-lip smile to a couple that walks by.

"I'll get up if you talk to me," he says.

I let out a disbelieving laugh. This can't be happening right now. I try to pry his hands from my hips. "Fine," I say, giving up, letting my hands fall to my sides.

As he rises from his kneeling position, his hands keep their hold on me. But the moment he's upright on his feet, I take a step back, turning away and pressing my hands to my forehead.

This is a nightmare. This is my literal nightmare.

"June, will you at least look at me? I drove all the way here, took time off work. I'm probably losing thousands in sales right now."

I pivot around, arms crossed, and shoot him a pointed glare. "Really?"

"That's not the point," he waves it off, closing the distance between us. "I messed up. But, baby, I love you. We love each other. We're good together. Are you seriously willing to throw away two years of our lives over one tiny little mistake?

I...," I falter, shaking my head, searching for the right words. Of course, I don't want to throw away two years, but the damage is done.

"Because if you want to break up, then this is all your fault," he continues. "It's on you for wasting two years of both our lives, June. All for nothing."

"That is not my fault. I didn't–"

"We had plans," he interjects firmly, not allowing me to speak. "We were going to get married. I've got a fucking engagement ring, June. I even asked your parents for their blessing."

My eyes widen. "You asked my pa–"

"Yes, Juniper." He shakes his head, running a hand over his face. "I did all the steps. Are you really going to walk away from everything we've built together"

I bite my lip, rubbing my hand on my chest. A ring? My parents? This conversation is not at all how I ever expected it would go. I feel like I might be sick. Like maybe I should sit down somewhere.

My eyes start scanning for a bench or a chair or something to lean against.

"Baby, it was a hiccup," he says, lowering himself to my eye level. "A glitch. Something that was never supposed to happen."

I close my eyes, not wanting to look at him, and the memories of it all come flooding back. For a while, I'd buried them so deep, almost forgetting I still held onto them. I don't think I had ever felt so embarrassed, so humiliated when I heard them from behind the door to our bedroom.

"Oh god, Beckett, faster!"

"Fuck, Cierra. Always so fucking needy."

"She meant nothing, June. She was just the receptionist at the office. She was always flirting, and..." He gestures, his hands extending out to his sides, "I don't know. I let her get too close."

My eyes snap open to meet his. I remember the receptionist. I'd chatted with her when I came to see Beckett for lunch sometimes. She was really nice and very pretty. Her makeup was always flawless, and I always felt like she dressed far too nicely for someone working at an HVAC company.

But one thing I'm sure of— her name definitely wasn't Cierra.

"The receptionist?"

"Yeah, the receptionist."

"The receptionist? As in Madison? The one with the dirty blonde hair?"

He glances around as if trying to recall. "Yeah, Madison."

I shake my head. "That wasn't her name, Beckett."

"Im pretty sure the receptionist's name is Madison–"

"No, that wasn't the name of the girl you cheated on me with."

He shifted his weight, leaning on one foot as he gazed out, probably realizing his misstep now.

"Oh my god," I whisper, anger starting to simmer inside me, feeling my face flush with embarrassment. "How many were there?"

His jaw tightens, and he takes off his hat again, raking a hand through his hair again. "I don't know what you're talking about. You're just making things up now."

I huff out an angry laugh. "There were more than two, weren't there?" I shake my head. "You've been cheating on me from the start haven't you?"

He lets out an impatient sigh, reaching out to grasp my arms. "Baby–"

"Don't," I exclaim, moving away from him. "I am not your baby– "

I'm so angry—furious that I could be so stupid as to not realize, to the point where I almost didn't hear the door of Hansen's Coffee opening behind me and someone calling my name.

"–I'm not your girl. Or your Junie. Or June bug. Or June."

"Everything okay?"

"Everything's fine, man," Beckett dismisses, glancing behind me.

"Oh god, I'm such a fool," I murmur to myself, placing my hands on my head.

"Juniper," I hear Wells say again, his hand reaching for the small of my back. I flinch, startled by his sudden presence beside me. But when I realize it's him I instantly feel about ten times better. I glance over at Wells, his jaw is clenched, and his eyes are narrowed in concern. "You okay?"

"I'm–" I begin to say.

"I said everything is fine," Beckett asserts forcefully. I turn to look at him. "You want to mind your own business?" Beckett adds with a touch more aggression.

"I didn't ask you," Wells asserts, glaring over at Beckett. "I asked Juniper."

"Wells–"

Beckett steps closer, his gaze fixed on the spot where Wells has his hand on my back, the proximity of both men creating an uneasy closeness around me

"You know this guy, June?" Beckett asks, gesturing towards Wells with a pointed finger.

I looked over at him, attempting to defuse the situation. "Yeah, he's my..."

Shit. What is he? He's definitely more than just my coworker. And we're a lot more than friends, but I wouldn't categorize him as a hookup either. We've never really talked about it. We don't really talk about anything regarding our relationship.

"He's my, um..." I glance over at Wells, searching for a lifeline, but his narrowed gaze adds pressure, and he almost looks a little disappointed.

"You're joking, right?" Beckett laughs incredulously, his nostrils flaring. "You're not seriously fucking him?"

"Beckett–'

"God, you're such a hypocrite, aren't you? You think it's fine for you to cheat on me, but I can't make one small mistake?"

"I didn't cheat on you, Beckett. We aren't together."

"Yes," Beckett clenches his fists, his focus entirely on Wells, taking a step closer. "We are"

Wells stands tall, fit, and slim, but Beckett towers over him by four or five inches, flaunting those obnoxious, bro-looking muscles, that I now can't stand.

So when I watch as Beckett's right-hand swings back and connects solidly on Wells' face, panic surges within me. He staggers backward, grabbing the left side of his face in pain.

"Oh my god," I gasp, reaching out for Wells. "Wells!"

"Fuck," he mutters, bending down slightly.

"Are you okay?" I ask, placing my hand on his back as I bend to check on him. He simply nods and stands up straight, and I feel a pang of guilt that makes me want to cry.

"Beckett!" I exclaim, pivoting back toward him. I shove his chest, but he doesn't budge. So I push harder, anger boiling over. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

He sighs, his eyes falling to the floor, regret etched across his face as he rubs his fist with his other hand. Yes, Beckett can be annoying and manipulative and I never want to see his stupid face again, but he's never resorted to being physical, except for on the football field.

"Go home, Beckett! I'm done. I've been done for months," I declare, my voice steady. "I don't want you. You cheated on me more than once. There's nothing you could possibly say to make that right. You can't talk me out of it this time. I never should have let you talk me into moving in with you in the first place. So, please go. Don't call me. Don't text me. Don't email me. Don't DM me. Don't contact me ever again. I don't want to hear from you. When I'm ready to get my things I will let you know."

"Bab–" He begins, but then stops abruptly to correct himself, closing his eyes. "Juniper, please. I'm–"

"No!"

He clenches his jaw, tightens his fist at his side, before storming back to his truck, slamming the door shut and peeling out of the parking spot.

It's not until his truck completely disappears that I turn to Wells, my eyes blurred with tears, and whisper, "I'm so sorry."

Notes

Thoughts on this chapter?

I think most of us expected Beckett to show up. What did we think of him?

Thank you everyone for reading, commenting, and voting. It truly means alot! ❤️