Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
It was clear Beau was furious. I could feel it in his every movement. But he forced himself to speak softly, touched me delicately.
He sat beside me, back straight.
“Today must’ve brought up some uncomfortable memories,” he murmured softly.
Ah. Not only was he stewing about the violence inflicted upon me in the present but ruminating over the past I hadn’t even entirely shared with him.
Had he seen? That I was only half there? That I was trying to wrench myself out of horrible memories?
I considered lying.
“Yeah,” I admitted. “It has.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, horrified that I had begun to cry. I wanted to be stronger than that. Handle this with grace. But as soon as the first tear fell, many followed.
Then I let out a broken sob.
Beau’s arms were around me in a split second. I buried myself in his chest, finally feeling safer. But still, the tears kept coming as I broke down completely, the pieces I’d been trying to hold together splitting apart in Beau’s embrace.
“I’ve got you, baby.” He kissed my head. “I’ve got you.”
And I believed him. Believed that Beau wouldn’t let me break. That he’d help hold me together until I was strong enough to stand alone.
I was wrong, not realizing he’d eventually leave me in pieces too.
BEAU
I wished I smoked.
If only so I’d have something tangible to do with my hands while I was sitting out in the cold, staring at the lights in my backyard. Whisky helped to warm me up, but I’d stuck to a single glass. Tea, I supposed would work, but I didn’t want to risk waking Hannah.
I’d stayed with her a long time after she’d fallen asleep, hand on her chest, measuring her heavy breaths. My eyes had traced lines over her face, swollen, bruised, tearstained.
Rage was a physical thing inside of my chest, pulsing, twitching, demanding retribution. Demanding blood on my knuckles.
A man had laid hands on my woman. Almost broken her fucking nose. It was not the first time a man had laid hands on her either.
I clenched and unclenched my fists, hating how powerless I felt. How guilty.
Was I another man destined to hurt Hannah? I’d never lay a hand on her. Fucking never. But I loved her. Violently. Possessively.
I wanted her in my home forever. Wanted her to have my last name. I wanted to plant a baby in her before I got too fucking old.
I’d never considered giving Clara a sister. I’d never considered a woman being worthy of being Clara’s stepmother. I’d never let myself think too far in the future, in case there was a future where Clara didn’t exist.
Now, the future was all I could think about. Clara growing up. Watching that. With Hannah.
And yes. I wanted another child. I loved being a father, even if the prospect of loss was terrifying.
But Hannah was too young to get pregnant. She wanted to be a nurse, pave her own life. She deserved that. I wanted to give her that, fuck did I want that.
But I didn’t trust myself. Not completely.
Because I feared that my love took things from her too.
A whole fucking future.
HANNAH
ONE WEEK LATER
Second to Waylon, my brother was the most unexpected visitor on Beau’s doorstep. Beau said it was now my doorstep too, but I couldn’t trust it. Not yet.
Not when I was so fragile, still healing emotionally and physically from last week.
“Jack?” I gasped, staring at the man on the stoop.
My brother smiled weakly, waving. “Hey, sis.”
I stared at the man I hadn’t seen in years. He’d invited me to his place for Christmas my first year after leaving Waylon. It had been clear that he’d had to argue my case to his wife.
She didn’t like reminders of his upbringing. She came from money. My brother made a good salary, but only because he worked for her father. Was under his thumb. I was happy that my brother no longer went hungry, though I didn’t entirely like who he became in order to get there.
But we all had to survive the best way we knew how.
His was to cut himself off from his past. Me.
It hurt, most especially when I was almost destitute with nowhere to go. But I managed.
My brother’s weak smile disappeared when I took off the glasses that had been part of my “costume” while dressing up with Clara.
“What the fuck?” he hissed with a fury he wasn’t entitled to.
The bruising around my eyes was the worst the first few days after. Beau hadn’t been able to look at me without clenching his fists and muttering curses under his breath. But then he’d shaken himself off, put on his brave face. For me. He was militant about taking care of me, ensuring that I had painkillers every four hours. Ice. Rest.
Luckily, rest didn’t mean all kinds of physical rest. That first night, after I cried more tears than I ever had in my life, I’d reached up for him, pulling our lips together.