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She wants me. Regardless of my fame and rockstar status.
Authenticity is the one thing I’m not built to say no to.
It’ll be glorious and then…
I’m gonna break her precious heart.
seven
One Week Later
I’ve avoided coming home since she died.
My mom’s house is a three-bedroom bungalow three blocks off Green Lake. The porch sags on the left, the kitchen hasn’t been remodeled since around the time Limelight got famous, and my bedroom still looks like a twelve-year-old girl sleeps there.
Technically, only my sister Eden lives here now, even though we both own it equally. She’s a flight attendant, though. Gone four days out of seven. Last week she was home. Today, she’s probably somewhere over the Atlantic, which is the only reason I said yes to bringing him here.
An empty house I can do.
My sister eavesdropping on me and Beau Bixby, I cannot.
He arrived a few minutes ago and is almost absurdly respectful. Toed off his boots in the entryway without being asked. Hung his jacket on the hook.
Now, he stands before me in dark jeans and a fitted black Henley with the sleeves shoved up his forearms. Silver-blond hair still damp from the rain. The shirt stretches across his chest leaving a few buttons between me and whatever he has underneath it.
I could be wrong but it seems like his impeccable manners are meant to create a bit of a barrier between us..
Hmm.
I wonder if he’d maintain such a polite demeanor if I pushed him against the door and kissed him.
Stop it, Elodie!
The man who’s more famous than God is kind enough to make himself small to fit into my world. I’ve got to eliminate all thoughts of seducing him immediately.
“This is her.” I gesture around before he can ask me anything. “Everything in here is her. We haven’t changed one thing after… Eden wanted to, and I begged her to wait.”
He nods. Grips my shoulder. A silent understanding passes between us.
“Should we start?” Beau points to the couch.
I gesture to the living room. “Sure.”
“What’s in the boxes?” He gestures to the shoe boxes on the coffee table.
“Old pictures. More recent ones are on my phone. We didn’t keep photo albums.” I find a video in my favorites and turn my device around so he can see.
I was sixteen. My mom wears a headscarf and stands under a brass bell bolted to the hospital wall. Her favorite care nurse is next to her and they’re surrounded by a few of the staff clapping. It was the end of her first round of treatment. She was in remission and the protocol was to ring the bell in celebration for some stupid reason. She clangs it twice, hard, and grins straight at me behind the camera as everyone cheers.
“She’s being a good sport. They never figured out how badly she loathed the bell.” I keep my eyes on the little screen. “She absolutely hated the attention. Said it felt like bragging in a building full of people who were dying. Thought the whole ceremony was cruel. She did it for the support staff, mainly. They were the ones who needed it. You can’t possibly repay them for their dedication and care, so it was worth it, I guess.”
“Yolanda rang the bell once too,” Beau mutters under his breath. “Knew it was a fucking curse.”
“Totally. Four years later, the cancer came back. Pancreatic this time. There wouldn’t be another bell. Just a morphine pump, a hospital bed in this living room, and me crushing her pills into applesauce.” I glance out the window as a little robin lands in the maple tree.
To his credit, Beau doesn’t tell me she was brave. In fact, he doesn’t say anything. When the video is over, he hands my phone back. Lets what happened to her be as bad as it is.
I could kiss him for giving me this small act of dignity and understanding. He gets it. Maybe the only person I’ve ever met who does.
