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“What were you doing?” I ask as I readjust my pants and thesemiI’m sporting.
There’s a pause, then a sigh. “Working. Going over data from the Special Reserve.”
I chuckle.
“What?” she asks.
Now she’s lying to me about it, and it’s a good thing, because if Vanessa Barron said,“I’m wearing your shirt. It’s clinging to my breasts, and my ass cheeks are falling out while drinking chardonnay and thinking about you,”I would break through the glass and give her what she’s dreaming about.
“Nothing. Do you remember everything I told you?”
“I do.”
Why can’t she just say yes instead ofI do. Those arenotwords I need to hear from her. I’m still so damn angry. “Just keep your phone close, okay?”
“Okay.” She pauses. “Beau?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m glad it’s you protecting me.”
Her voice is subdued and genuine. She’s probably biting her bottom lip waiting for me to respond. And even though I want to wrap her in my safe arms, there’s an ocean between us, and I just can’t cross it.
ChapterSeven
VANESSA
Who’s at my door so early?
As I fight to get out from under the covers, I curse myself for drinking an entire bottle of wine. My head hurts but my heart aches even more. Last night, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Reminders of our sixth grade year sent me shuffling through our seventh and eighth grade annuals, which meant more wine to soothe the never-ending pain.
During our eighth grade assembly, we were announced for our character, along with five or ten others and in the yearbook. I spot a photo of Beau holding my hand. He never hesitated to show his unabashed and unashamed feelings for me. With nearly three years under our belt, we defied the odds as the “it” couple—a rarity for teenage relationships that usually dissolve in a month or two.
I was always more carefree. He was more responsible. We were like milk and cookies—the perfect complement to each other.
As I drag myself to the front door, I swing it open, and the alarm goes off.
When will I remember to disable the alarm?
“Jessie? What are you doing here so early?” I’m barely awake, and having an unexpected guest leaves me stunned, because she’s picture perfect before the sun is up. Her hair is tied back neatly in a ponytail that accompanies her broad, beaming smile, and she’s dressed in lavender scrubs.
She grabs my hands and bounces on her toes into my personal space. “Is it true?” she asks. “Did Beau visit you at work yesterday?”
“Answer my question first,” I say, lifting a brow and drawing her into a hug.
She slips into the house, pulling me with her. “Because I have to be at Mr. and Mrs. B’s at seven, and I wanted to hear all the juicy details. So, spill.”
“I still can’t believe you and Maverick are getting married soon. Is it weird?” I ask.
Without hesitation, she spits out, “No. Mark was my first love, but Maverick is my forever love. It’s different.”
I adjust myself, sitting sideways on the couch. I tug on my ear, taking a few moments to wake myself up. She surveys our yearbooks that are strewn over the coffee table.
“Jessie, maybe that’s what it was for Beau and me—first love. We were never meant to be anything more. Two kids growing up in love that couldn't handle trouble and fell apart.”
She squeezes my hand. “That’s not true. Girls sent him naked pictures in high school, and he deleted them. Boys told you he was with other girls in hopes you would turn to them, but you knew it wasn’t true. Once you pressed them for a time and place, you knew he had been with you. You had obstacles but you overcame them all until…”
Her voice fades to a mumble, and it makes me think of the last time I saw Beau, until yesterday, of course.
