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“It’s not that I’m not invincible. It’s that I’m good and truly wrecked on the inside. And pretty soon, it’s gonna start to show on the outside, too.”
Her eyes go soft. “You’re not wrecked. You’re human. Same as me.”
“Some of us are more human than others, then.”
“And that’s okay. In fact—and maybe I’m a jerk for saying this—but I kinda like that you’re not a superstar stud muffin anymore.”
Please. “Says the girl who name drops Brad Pitt and Paul Dollywood or whatever the fuck that guy’s name is.”
“Paul Hollywood. And he’s not a stud muffin, he makes muffins. Crucial difference. And Brad Pitt is Brad Pitt. I’m not sure what else to say about that.” She grins. “Not being a superstar makes you more relatable, Beau. More fun. I mean, hello, we were just slapping each other with dough penises and dumping bowls of flour all over the place. I’ve never seen you let go like that. Not when you weren’t drunk off your ass at the Dutch Galleon, anyway. I loved it, and I’m pretty sure you did, too. Forget what that ESPN article said about you being a god. I like you as a human better. Let yourself walk amongst us mortals for a while. I think you’ll like it here.”
I feel so much right then that I’m not sure how to react.
Full? No, this is something else. This is whole to the point of transcendence.
Whole to the point of hurt.
A good hurt.
Not the kind you earn after a hard workout or a long day at the computer. The kind that’s just there. That you get from the sheer beauty of things you didn’t work for or ask to experience.
Like the way the strands of Bel’s hair dance in the breeze.
Or how she thinks I’m better this way. Human. Foggy. Fallible as fuck.
It’s not pity that I make her feel or disgust—things I’ve felt about myself ever since I got my diagnosis. Hell, I felt them before, when I kept falling down on the shit I was once able to do.
I like being in control, and I like working, to the point it’s almost a compulsion.
Maybe that’s my problem. Not that I have brain disease, but that I feel as though I have to earn love, admiration, and affection by working for it.
Seems like a revelation even though it shouldn’t be. I’m ashamed that, as someone who takes great pride in his self-awareness, I didn’t see it sooner.
I’ve been ashamed that I can’t be the man I’ve tried so hard to become, the man I thought I should be. Seeing my dad go downhill so young and so swiftly meant I felt pressure to fill the vacuum he left behind. I had to be the man of the family. I had to take care of everyone and everything.
Now I can’t be that man. I’m falling down on the people I love, and I hate that.
But Bel? She doesn’t see it as falling down. She sees it as coming down to earth. Where I should’ve been all along.
“I know we’ve done a lot of cool things together,” she says, turning her hips away from me so that her feet meet with the blacktop beside the cart. “But I think today might’ve earned a place in my top three all-time favorite Bel and Beau moments.”
“Me losing my shit over ricing sweet potatoes?”
“Yup. Made your comeback all the more thrilling. Thanks for a wonderful day.”
As if she knows any kind of physical contact would send me into a tailspin, she tosses me a grin over her shoulder.
That fucking dimple. It’s working some kind of black magic on me right now.
She hops out of the cart. My eyes follow her as she makes her way up the path to her front door.
Because it’s her front door now. Whether she wants the house or not.
She’s wearing a skirt today, this silky material that clings to her ass and shapely legs as she moves. There’s something about the proportions of her body, hips to waist to shoulders, that I find so fucking beautiful. She’s strong in places you wouldn’t think to look: neck, calves, spirit.
She’s not beside me anymore, but the pull between us is still razor sharp in its intensity. I watch her, and I want her so badly I can hardly breathe.
I’m in love.
I am so beyond fucked it’s not even funny.
What do I have to lose that I haven’t lost already?
I must black out for a few heartbeats because the next thing I know, I’m out of the cart and jogging after her with my hands in my pockets. By the time I catch up to her, I’m breathless. She turns, and her eyes go wide when she finds me standing so close to her on her front porch.
Our gazes lock.
Desire is written clear as day in her green eyes. It scares her, it scares me, and for several seconds, I have no clue what to say.
