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)
“I need to be the one physically securing you, Hannah.”
I blinked rapidly, wondering if this was a symptom of a concussion I hadn’t read about, hearing Beau Shaw saying impossible things.
He stayed suspended there for another moment before pushing back, closing the car door slowly.
I tried to steady my breathing as he rounded the truck. I tried to concoct reasons to explain away this behavior. Tried to wrestle away the warmth I felt in my bones despite my shitty coat.
I tried to stifle my sigh of relief when Beau got in the truck, fighting to ignore the feeling of safety that covered me like a blanket.
The truck started with a rumble, then he took off driving.
“You just assaulted someone. In front of a cop,” I said finally, my brain slowing down.
Beau was strangling the steering wheel. “Wouldn’t call that assault, Hannah. What I wanted to do to him might’ve been.” The ire I’d seen in his gaze lingered in his tone too. Violence. I hadn’t known Beau was capable of that. Yeah, he was gruff, sometimes straight up hostile with me, but never truly scary. I’d never been afraid for my safety.
This man wore a tutu while dancing with his daughter. He was not violent. I’d thought his muscles were for show only.
Apparently not.
I rubbed my temples. “I’m not sure what I should say to that,” I said quietly.
He stared straight ahead. “He was negligent, he could’ve fucking killed you.” Beau slammed his fist onto the dashboard. “Damaged you forever. Scarred you. Because he couldn’t pause for three seconds at a stop sign. Three seconds could’ve—” He cut himself off, choking out words I couldn’t ever have even imagined him saying. He shook his head.
I squirmed, the depth of his outrage tangible. Surely this was connected to Clara’s relationship with death, not related to me personally. The reaction was so excessive.
He took an audible breath. “Where’s Lori?” he asked. “Is she okay?”
“Finn caused a bit of a scene to get her to the hospital,” I said slowly. “Though she did faint.” Worry crawled up my spine. “She’s pregnant,” I added quietly.
Beau blinked in surprise. “By whom?”
I shrugged. “No one good.” I hoped the baby was okay. With my medical knowledge, I knew the odds were on her side. The accident wasn’t severe, and babies were resilient, even in the womb. But I thought about how determined she was to make a life for herself, and I felt a bit of Beau’s ire. A whole future could be washed away because someone didn’t want to obey a simple traffic law.
“Finn will take care of her.” Beau stated matter-of-fact. As if Finn had magical powers.
But then I thought about the way he looked at her, the way he caught her, cradling her in his arms as if she were the most precious being on planet Earth. Maybe he did have special powers. A true and pure kind of love like that was a power in and of itself.
I was both relieved and disappointed when we pulled into the driveway. The energy in the car was overwhelming. Intoxicating. My head still ached faintly.
I unbuckled my seat belt, Beau’s head darting toward me as he put the car in park. “Don’t you open that fucking door.”
I pursed my lips, wanting to argue but deciding to pick my battles. And if I was honest with myself, I was kind of enjoying this protective side of Beau. It felt nice, safe to have someone—to have Beau—so thoroughly concerned about my well-being. I’d never experienced that before.
As he rounded the truck, I told myself to manage my expectations. This didn’t mean anything. This was an extreme situation, triggering Beau’s trauma. That was it.
The door opened, and a blast of cold air cut through the polyester of my coat. Not for long, though, because I was pressed into a warm man who smelled like juniper and home.
He delicately grasped on to me, lifting me onto my feet. Again, he cupped my cheek, tilting my head so he could use the porch light to examine my head with a clenched jaw.
Again, I stopped breathing.
“Can you walk?” he murmured.
I nodded mutely, though I didn’t quite trust my legs to work. My knees felt weak. But walking was the only option. Beau could not carry me inside.
“Let’s get you inside.”
Again, he led me with a firm hand on my lower back, walking slowly, carefully. He didn’t stop touching me as we ascended the steps, walking through the front door.
The house was warm, cozy, and welcoming.
Elliot was waiting in the living room, standing as we came in.
“You’re okay,” he exclaimed in relief. It shook me—nowhere near as much as it had with Beau—to see that Elliot was concerned too. I wasn’t used to people caring enough about me to worry.
I nodded, smiling weakly. “Just a little bump on the head.”