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I turn my back. “I didn’t talk to them. I… I… didn’t know what to say, but I saw you on the video. It brought up so many memories. You lost your best friend. I’m sorry we weren’t in a place where I could help you.”
His eyebrow twitches as he evades the subject. “The remote is on the table. I need to start on this film.” As he pivots away, he takes a gander over his left shoulder and says, “Mark was your friend, too. In another life, we would’ve gone through it together.”
My heart drops. His feet are silent as he seems to disappear into thin air. Just like in my dreams, he’s there one minute and gone the next.
There were so many nights I pulled a pen out of my nightstand drawer and wrote him letters, explaining how stupid I was to give in to his brother. I was eighteen and had no idea this would haunt me for the rest of my life. Both what actually happened and the part I played in Beckett’s depression.
The house is full of rich woods and contrasting stainless steel, but with all the touches of a woman. The pictures. Succulents. Throw pillows on the couch. A heavy ivory blanket that has knotted tassel trim lays over the chaise lounge portion of the sectional. I’ve touched every surface in these two rooms, but something seems so familiar about this house. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was, it was more of a sense that I got than anything I could see.
As I make my way to the bathroom, I hear the light taps of Beau typing on a computer. The door is nearly closed with lighting shining underneath the crack.
Should I bother him? Maybe I can help.
I press my fingers against the door and it creaks open. “Hey.” The room is filled with computer monitors and it’s cool in here. “Can I help? I don’t want to be by myself in a strange place.”
He motions me over to his desk that has three television-sized monitors curved around it. The first screen shows the video feed of the entrance to the Two Fourteen. The monitor in the middle is swiftly running computer scripts, and the one on his left has an image of the man that gave the waiter the note to give me.
As I lean over Beau’s shoulder to get a better look, the musky scent of Beau’s cologne has me shutting my eyes and inhaling.
“Do you recognize this guy? Maybe from Nashville? Could he be a stalker?”
My hair falls forward landing on his shoulder. “No. It’s grainy. Can you make it clearer?”
He types and then makes a square around the face and enlarges the photo. It is clearer, but he’s not recognizable. It’s basically the crown of the man’s head.
“Vanessa, think. Do you know any bikers from Nashville? Anyone that would think you should be with him? An old boyfriend? The bike might be an effort to throw us off track.”
“I’m sorry I don’t. I wish I did because it would probably help find my dad. But I wasn’t the same girl in college. In Nashville I was on my own with fake friends that used me to get job opportunities or in clubs.” I hate thinking about letting myself be used. It’s a huge reason that I rented an apartment of my own.
He hesitates when he asks, “No boyfriends?”
“No.”
“No one that may have had a crush on you or that you turned down? Knowing how you love adventure, I—”
“No. Of course you would think all of this is my fault. That I took things too far with someone.” My voice splinters into tiny pieces, and my hands fan away any tears. “I made a mistake, and you never gave me the opportunity to explain. I… never mind. I’ll be in the other room.”
The floor takes a beating as I storm out of the office and onto the back porch. A sensor beeps but I don’t care. At this point, I just want all of this to be over, and for the second time in my life, I want nothing to do with Beau Landry.
How dare he think this is my fault?
The temperature has dropped and when I breathe, I expel a light-gray fog. The view is breathtaking with the moon casting shadows over the woods behind his house. I can’t see it, but I hear gentle running of creek water as it laps against the stones and pebbles.
A rustling in the distance catches my attention. It stops, then quickly starts again for a few seconds. It must be a deer. I bend, putting my arms on the cedar railing, mumbling to myself about why I did the things I did. Then tears, like gentle raindrops, begin to fall as I think about the past. And not just Beau, but Beckett, too, and the part I played in them no longer being brothers or friends.
The sliding glass door opens. “Come inside,” Beau says in a rich, unhurried voice.
“No.”
“Are you crying?” he asks as he sidles up against me with his lower back against the wooden rail. “Talk to me.”
“Don’t you see? I can’t.”
His hand draws my shoulder toward him and his eyes clash with mine. “I hate it when you cry.”
“Then don’t cause me to cry.”
I raise my hand to keep a tear from falling, and he beats me to it. As his thumbs caress the sensitive skin under my eyes, my lids fall. Looking into his blue discs will make things worse for me. My emotions are rumbling like lava in a volcano, ready to explode.
