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13
LYNDI
Beau used his key to let us into the quaint house in the suburbs of New Orleans, the smell of cleaning products and air freshener slammed into me the second I stepped in.
The living room was minimally decorated, but it looked like none of it had been updated in at least twenty years. And though I could tell his father had made a good effort cleaning up before our arrival, the home was very clearly occupied by an older, single man.
It lacked a sense of unnecessary frill that seemed to fill the house I shared with my sister. No flowers on the table, no color-coordinated throw pillows on the couch, no bits of random clutter on the counters.
And yet, with old family photos lining the walls and shelves, a plethora of what looked like crime thrillers in stacks around the room, and the inviting sense of “come as you are,” it immediately filled me with a surprising amount of…peace.
“Well, there he is,” Beau’s dad said with a wide smile as he looked up from his book. He sat in a ratty old recliner with an oxygen tank at his side, tubes in his nose, and reading glasses perched just above them. “Welcome home.”
“Hey, Pops,” Beau greeted his dad, then shut the front door behind us before placing his hand on the small of my back. “This is Lyndi.”
I stopped myself from jumping at his touch just in time, forcing on a warm smile instead. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Devereux.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lyndi. Call me Louis. How was your drive?”
“Louis,”I repeated in my head, loving his French-sounding name and buttery Cajun accent. It was similar to French, but with a touch of a Southern drawl. It was a shame Beau had mostly lost his, if he’d ever had a strong one to begin with. I made a mental note to ask him later.
Then again, it might be betternotto ask him about his past or his childhood. I wasn’t sure I could handle hearing more about what this man had lived through. I’d already known he’d suffered a great loss at a young age, buttwo?And now with his dad being sick… Beau’s suffering seemed endless, and he kept it locked so tight it was a wonder he could even breathe.
Which was why as much as I’d wanted to give in to the overwhelming sense of betrayal I’d felt on the road out here, it wasn’t right. He hadn’t owed me anything. He hadn’t needed to tell me about his family or the losses he’d suffered. We were barely friends—more like acquaintances—before all of this, so really, I should just be grateful I gave him a reason to open up in general. He clearly needed it. Anyone would.
“The drive was good, thanks,” Beau replied. He dropped his hand from my back and moved around the living room, looking at the walls and furniture with a small smile. “The place hasn’t changed at all.”
“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” Louis said with a laugh that quickly morphed into a cough.
Beau lifted my suitcase and gestured down the hall. “Uh, Pops, do you mind if I show Lyndi to the bathroom and guest room? I’m sure you want to get settled, right?”
I nodded. “That’d be nice, thanks.”
“Make yourselves comfortable,” Louis said with a wave of his hand.
Beau headed for the hallway, and I followed him into the dark space, pleased when he pointed out a small but clean bathroom.
“And here’s the guest room,” he said, stepping into a simple bedroom with one full-size bed, a bench at the foot of it, and two end tables but not much else.
He put my suitcase on the bench, then headed back out, so I followed him with my heart in my throat. Was that the only bedroom? Was that the only bed? Did that mean we were supposed to—
I stopped spinning out when he flicked on the light of another room. It appeared to behisbedroom. One twin bed was pushed against the far wall, the bedding black and navy blue. There were posters of fast, shiny cars, and one that looked like it’d come from a Marine Corps recruiting office.
There was no other furniture except for a small desk in the corner, and even though there were no clothes in the closet—or strewn around the floor—I could almost picture teenage Beau living here before he left for the Marines.
“I’ll be staying in here if you need anything during the night,” Beau said, his eyes straining like he was trying very hard to appear unaffected by his surroundings.
Unable—or unwilling—to dive into his feelings, I put my practiced smile back in place and hooked a thumb over my shoulder. “Thanks. Do you mind if I shower? I have to shower before I go to sleep. It’s kind of—”
“Your thing,” he finished, a ghost of a smile on his full lips. Then he led me back to the bathroom. “There should be towels—ah, yep. Right here.”
I accepted the towel he’d taken from under the counter and held it against my chest like a shield. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
For a long moment, we just stood there, me blocking his exit with my towel shield and him looking down at me. The bathroom’s size kept us within arm’s reach, and every single cell in my body wanted to step closer.
I wanted to tuck up against his chest and have him wrap his arms around me, rest his cheek on the top of my head, and just breathe through whatever storm was raging inside him.
