AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Beau smiled. “Good. Having Cal around was fun for him, I think.”
A sad smile curved her lips. “Mackey doesn’t get many visitors. Especially the kind that enjoy sticking around for any length of time.”
“He laughed a lot today. Seemed to be doing much better than the last time we saw him.” Beau’s smile slipped as he thought of how devastated Mackey—all the Teagues, really—had been on the morning of Sylvie’s funeral at sea. He hesitated, then said, “You should stop by the cottage sometime. Pay him a visit.”
Her head shot up, a guarded look in her eyes. “Pay Kit a visit, you mean.”
“Wouldn’t hurt.”
Viv’s brows raised in a mocking expression.
“All right,” Beau said, spreading his hands. “It couldn’t hurt any more than it already has. You’re not the only one hurting, Viv. You cut into Kit pretty deep the last time you were over there.”
“After what she did to my mother? To you?” Viv stood and left the table. “She deserved it.”
Moments later cabinets opened, then shut, a bottle thumped onto a countertop, and ice clinked in a glass.
Beau stood, too, and joined Viv at the kitchen island. Her hand trembled as she poured a shot of vodka. He hooked his heel around the leg of a barstool, dragged the barstool out, then sat and watched as Viv drank the shot, her head back and eyes closed. “That’s not—”
“Going to help.” Viv poured another shot. “I know.” She drank the second. “Nothing helps.”
“Talking might.”
“To you? Or to Kit?” She drummed her fingers on the island. “Did the two of you have a good conversation today? Did she apologize for what she did to you?”
“Yes, and the only reason she caused the scene she did was to get your attention—not mine.”
“But she got yours, anyway, didn’t she?” Viv braced her hands on the island, leaned heavily against it. “If Kit wanted my attention, all she ever had to do was show up. Just come home, or better yet, she could have stayed instead of leaving fifteen years ago,” she said, her head lowered, her voice shaking. “I’m right here. I’ve always been here.” She raised her head, met his eyes. Tears welled onto her lower lashes. “Why not me?”
He stilled as an ache spread through his chest. Lowering his head, he left the barstool and walked to the cabinets, opened one, and retrieved a shot glass.
“Beau?” Viv followed his movements with her gaze, watching as he returned to the barstool, picked up the bottle of vodka, and poured a shot. “Why not me?”
He tossed the shot back and closed his eyes as the liquor scorched a path down his throat.
“Kit and I grew up in the same house,” Viv said softly. “We did the same things growing up, lived basically the same childhood . . . sometimes even finished each other’s sentences.” She inhaled a shaky breath, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly, before she said, “We even look the same. Exactly the same.”
“But you’re not the same.” Beau opened his eyes, and his gut sank as a tear rolled down Viv’s cheek. He balled his fists to keep from reaching out and wiping it away. “I don’t want to hurt you, Viv. You’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had, but”—he swallowed hard, his eyes burning—“I won’t lie to you, either. Friendship is all you and I have ever had. It’s all we’ll ever have.”
Her expression crumpled, and she looked down, her fingers picking at the label on the vodka bottle. “You think she was right, don’t you? You think I helped my mother kill herself.”
“No.” He did touch her then. Unfurled his fists and cupped her chin, tipped her face up and met her gaze head-on. “God, no, Viv. I’d never think that. Not ever.”
She reached up, curled her hand around his wrist, and squeezed gently. “Then you think Kit was wrong.” Relief tinged her tone. “That she should never have left.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I wish I knew the answer to that, but I don’t.”
Viv pulled away. “Nate was right. It’s getting late.” She picked up her empty shot glass and placed it in the sink, then turned away. “Think I’ll turn in.”
“Viv.” Beau hesitated, watching as she paused on the threshold of the kitchen, her back to him. “You asked me before if Cal had a choice of saving me or himself, which he would choose.” He smiled slightly, recalling how strongly Cal had pulled on his arm when he’d been buried almost waist-deep in mud. “I have no doubts that he’d choose my life over his own, but I wouldn’t want him to.” He bit his lip, then forced himself to ask, “Have you ever thought about what Sylvie would’ve wanted for you and Kit?”
* * *
Kit stood in front of the closed door to the guest bedroom on the first floor of Teague Cottage. It seemed such a simple task, really—to open the door and walk in. But habits formed over a period of almost forty years were hard to break.
“Dad said not to go in.” Mackey stood by her side, wringing his hands. “He said never to go in there when Mama is in there.”
Kit watched an array of emotions flicker over his face: worry, anxiety, grief, and fear. She’d grown accustomed to carrying them around herself dozens of years ago. But thankfully, Mackey had shown small signs of improvement recently.
