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What I’ve done? She kissed my twin.
The front door slams against the frame. Not wanting to let her go without putting up a fight, I throw on a shirt and pad to the front door. She’s standing on the driveway waiting for Mr. Taylor to pick her up.
“Vanessa, text me when you get home. I’ll give you some space today, but we are talking about this.”
The car pulls up, and before Mr. Taylor can get out to open the door, she jumps in the backseat, rolls down the window, and with a sharp tongue, stressing every syllable, says, “I’m sure you’ll know when I arrive.”
Sagging against the wooden column, I watch her ride away with her blonde curls pressed against the tinted windows. Left with no other options, I make my way to my home office and switch the feeds to Vanessa’s house.
Minutes go by with my head resting on the chair back and my hands covering my face. I went rogue and am paying the price. The military teaches you to plan, practice that plan, and then execute it. I followed none of these protocols.
Tonight, she was wearing that green dress, and the fabric swayed from side to side as she moved through my house. And then when she got all fiery, a hundred memories of her flashed as fast as lightning through my mind, and I lost control. My desire to be with her again took precedence over everything else.
And that damn note. Why did it hit me so hard? Whoever sent it must want a second chance with Vanessa.
The camera shows Mr. Taylor pulling up to the house and Vanessa enters, following all of the instructions, proof that she’s taking her safety seriously.
I watch the feed as she moves around the house, and when she sits in the kitchen with her head in her hands, it crushes what’s left of my heart. They say unused muscles atrophy, and I’m wondering if my heart doesn’t know how to love anymore since it hasn’t been used.
She grabs a pint of ice cream and takes it to her room. I switch the feed to her room from live to heat sensors only. The heat from her body produces a red figure sitting upright for a few minutes before she curls into a ball.
I tap out a message to Vanessa.
Me:Tonight, we reconnected in a way that I never thought possible, needing to heal the wounds of the past. But I know now, we need to tell each other the secrets we hold. I need to know about you and Beckett. Whatever you kept from me won’t change the way I feel about you.
Me:Your reaction proved to me that my brother and you had ‘something’. What…I don’t know. I will never apologize for letting you think the note was from me because it gave me you.
Me:But Nessa, for my sanity, I need to know what happened with Beckett.
I anxiously wait for those tiny dots to bounce on my phone, but they never appear.
ChapterTwenty-One
VANESSA
“He’s unbelievable,” I say to Wynter. It’s after midnight, but she’s awake. I knew Jessie would be in the bed since she has to be at work early. “How dare he say he needed someone to fight for, use my picture as motivation, but have the audacity to never fucking truly fight for me. Instead, he let me die inside a little more each day.”
She makes sure I’m done with my rant and says, “First, I love inked up guys. If I would have known Beau had ink….” Wynter doesn’t complete her thought. “He marked himself with your face. What do you want from the guy? I mean how much more do you need to know that he never stopped loving you?”
“That’s not all. He lied to me from the very beginning. It was Beckett’s note asking me to be his girlfriend in sixth grade, not Beau’s.”
Her laughter rings with disbelief and a tinge of incredulity. “Who cares? You and Beau were and are perfect for each other. Unless you would have rather been with Brooding Beckett.”
I’m unsure if she’s asking me a question so chew on the inside of my jaw. “He wasn’t moody in sixth grade. It seemed like it happened over a few years. Beckett was our friend.”
“If I knew where Beckett and that motorcycle were right now, believe me, I would ride him, but none of this is a reason for you not to take a shot with Beau. He’s giving you a second chance. I mean, you’re the one that kissed his brother.”
A weighty sigh escapes my lips. “Wyn, if you only knew. I gotta go.”
“Then tell me so I’ll know and can help you. Both of you need to come clean. You let people trash you when you were eighteen, but it’s time to tell Beau the truth about your feelings for Beckett. We both know you had them, but I, for one,do notbelieve they were anything but friendship.”
“Thanks, I’m sure he’ll be over sometime today. I have an overseas call, so I need to get a few hours of shut eye.”
I toss and turn for an hour, unable to turn my mind off. I shove the covers off my body and cross the room to my walk-in closet.
The box I need is on the top shelf of the closet organizer. My dad called me in Nashville and asked how many pairs of shoes I had. He was genuinely shocked when I answered, “At least seventy.” This area of my closet is all shoe cubbies, and I’m using them as a ladder to get to that gray box on top.
For a moment, I’m thankful for all I have and what my dad has given me. But after Beau and I broke up, I realized that I only needed him—for us to be together—not material things. Beau was what mattered to me.
