Page 206 of Love Felt Like This

“Figured. Y’know, I”—he kicks an errant rock—“I listened to his album today.” I narrow my eyes, making him continue without acknowledgment. “Lots of bird stuff, huh?”

“Maybe he just likes birds,” I deadpan.

He dips his chin. “Or he likes the girl that made a bird show.”

I don’t know what to say. I’m standing here with the sun sinking, casting large haunting shadows over the cobblestone driveway, and all the time I have is being wasted on the person across from me.

“I’ve got to go.”

Beau takes a quick step closer. “Wait.” He reaches for my hand, and it feels like I’m in some dream—some nightmare. For the split second that his fingers brush mine, I recoil from the sizzling spark it gives. It’s the type of spark you get from static on your clothing. Irritating.

“I was wrong,” he says.

“Wrong about what?” I snap. I can feel my chest rising and falling, trying to sort through the nerves trickling up my arms.

He sighs, letting his palms fall by his side. He gives me a half smile, a pitying smile, a you’re being naive right now smile. I don’t give him the satisfaction of asking again.

“About us breaking up,” he says. “Not seeing what I had when I had it.”

The words hit me like a ton of bricks. I’m almost knocked over, catching myself on a toppling step back. And when they land on my chest, the sentiment bubbles like lava, popping and boiling, sinking into my chest and down my spine.

He looks pained. “I love you, Bev.”

I shut my eyes, shaking my head and gritting my teeth. Those three words mean nothing. They don’t sound like crooning songs and gentle piano. They’re selfish.

“No,” I say. “Don’t do that. Don’t say that.”

“I mean it, though,” he counters.

My chest is aching. The space behind my eyes stings, and my chest heaves.

“No, you don’t.”

He scoffs. “You’re gonna look at me and say that?”

“Yes. Yes, I will,” I say, opening my eyes, leveling him with a glare. “I am.”

He sighs, rolling his head on his neck. “What happened out in Elk Grove? Huh, Bev? Did you spend a lot of time with him? Did it ‘change you as a person’?” I don’t know why the bunny ears around the last sentence felt necessary for him, because he’s right. It did.

Then he smiles, and it feels oddly sinister. “Or was it his daughter that got you?”

Suddenly, I find that the anger I felt before has nothing on the inferno I feel now.

I shove a finger at him. “Don’t you dare mention Ava. How did you even know about her before?”

He sniffs. “I overheard him talking at the Grammys. Taylor reached out after.”

I shake my head. “Taylor? And you just…let it happen? You could have told her not to post them. You could have denied it.”

“But it was true.”

“Oh, screw you,” I sneer. “What do you care about truth?”

“I’m telling you truths right now, aren’t I?”

“Well, good for you. So happy you found a conscience.” The sarcasm oozes from me, and I can’t stop it. I don’t want to.

“Beverly…”