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“Beau—”
“I mean it.” I shove him again with way more force than necessary, my elbow finding a sweet spot between his ribs. He yelps and holds his hand to the sore spot as he falls back on his ass.
The teasing glare in his eyes goes out.
I realize a beat too late I’m out of line.
I feel that moon again, clogging my throat.
“I’m sorry.” I tear a hand through my hair, wet with sweat. “Samuel, I didn’t mean—”
“Fuck sorry, Beau. Fuck that.” He lets out a noisy breath, nostrils flaring. Last time I saw him this angry was at Daddy’s funeral. “I know you’re going through some tough shit right now. But don’t treat me—don’t treat any of us that way. Ever. Because that’s a dick move, Beau, and that’s not who you are. Yeah, you might hurt us down the line. But today, you’re ruining Annabel’s life. Right now. Fuck, man, avoiding her—”
“Samuel—”
“Let me say my piece.” Holding up his hand, he rises with a groan, lifting the hem of his ripped-up shirt to wipe his face. “You brought Annabel up here to help her heal, and you’ve done a great job of it. Y’all both looked real happy at the two Sunday suppers Annabel came to. But now you’re letting her go, and I can’t help but feel that y’all are taking one step forward and two giant steps back. Don’t you get it? You’re causing her so much unnecessary pain. You’re hurting the woman you wanted to help.”
I swallow. “I’ll only hurt her more by leading her on. Promising her a future that could turn to shit at any moment.”
Samuel just shakes his head. “Get more help if you need it. See a different therapist. Try different medication. Because that thing you’re so afraid of? You destroying everyone’s lives? It’s already happening, and I ain’t gonna stand by and watch as you light your life on fire.”
I grab the row bar so I’ll have something to squeeze. He’s not right.
He is.
I know he is, but I’m right, too.
“I’m just trying to do the right thing,” I grind out.
I feel paralyzed. I’m squeezing the bar so hard my knuckles crack.
Samuel bends down and gently unlocks my fingers, one by one.
The bar slams back into place. Thwack.
“Let it go,” he says.
And then he walks out.
To: John Beauregard ([email protected])
From: Annabel Rhodes ([email protected])
June 12, 2018 8:30 AM EST
Subject: Turkey Baster
Hey Beau! So I know you’re super busy these days, but I really appreciate you coming to see me this weekend. Although using all that food your brother made as justification for “needing” to use the jet was a little extra, even for you.
I don’t think I could’ve faced the official date of my divorce without you. And without Samuel’s biscuits, pun not intended. AND without that wine. Screaming Eagle? That stuff is harder to find than Santa Claus. Please tell Samuel thanks. Your family’s generosity is always, always appreciated.
Once the turkey baster has done its trick, there’ll be no more of that wine for a while. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU again for supporting me in my decision to have a baby. Truly means the world to me. The timing just feels right, you know? I’m not at all interested in rekindling my romantic life. I think I’ll be a member of the broken hearts club for a while. But I’ve always wanted a family, and it feels good to make my dreams happen on my own terms. You said you think I’ll be a great mom, but I know you’re going to be an awesome uncle.
If there’s one thing you’ve proven over the course of our friendship, it’s that you have my back. Knowing you’ll always show up for me means so much, Beau. You’re one of the few people in my life who never lets me down. I appreciate that more than you know.
I’m excited. For the first time in years.
XO,
Bel
PS: When are you gonna let me come up to the farm again? Your progress pics are making me itch for another trip!
Chapter Thirty-Four
Annabel
I check my watch.
It’s the first time I’ve worn it since I arrived at Blue Mountain. The baby keeps me on a pretty regular schedule, so it’s not like I’ve escaped time entirely. But the constant reminder that it exists, and that I’m bound to it, is jarring.
Four thirty. I glance out the window, half expecting to see Beau’s Bentley out front.
The street is empty.
Maisie squirms in my arms. I finished nursing her ten minutes ago, and Beau knows how long a feed takes. He’s been with me for nearly every one since we first made love.
“You ready?” Mom asks, coming down the stairs.
She looks a little bleary, too. Larry left an hour ago. Mom didn’t say as much out loud, but I know she wants to be here to take the baby while I say goodbye to Beau.
