“Oh my God,” I groaned, standing and shrugging back into my jacket.
“There is the other side of the accusations,” she continued as she stood with me, understanding practically pouring from her as her eyes begged me to come clean to something that wasn’t happening. “Abuse can be emotional. I’ve seen the way he keeps you close.”
“There is no abuse, Mrs. Warin,” I nearly shouted, unable to take anymore. “God, if this town would just give him a chance. He is . . . he is . . .” A sound of aggravation rose in my throat as I tried and failed to explain that boy.
No one had ever understood Beau except me. Even still, I couldn’t begin to figure out how to make someone truly see him. Because for me, it’d been immediate. The sense that he was important. The feeling that flowed through my veins and whispered to my soul everything I needed to know about Beau Dixon.
I knew how he raged and lost all control. Knew how he hated himself and broke for those he hurt. I saw it. I felt it all the same as I felt how deeply he loved me.
“Beau is good and beautiful and cares more passionately than anyone I know,” I finally said. “But no one else has ever seen him as anything other than destructive, so he’s grown up thinking they’re right.” My head shook as I snatched my bag off the couch. “Give him a chance.”
She called my name when I headed for the door, but I continued out into the hall without slowing. Eyes catching on the stares of the front office ladies as I hurried through. Their gazes concerned and discerning, as if they were trying to find whatever Mrs. Warin had expected to see.
I tossed a saccharine smile their way as I pressed my back to the door leading to the school’s main hall, my voice like honey. “Don’t you know it’s rude to stare?”
Their heads fell in sync. Their shamed eyes shifting, looking anywhere else as their lips moved, whispering words to each other that were far too low for me to hear as the door slowly fell open behind me.
I whirled around into the empty hall, my expression slipping and jaw wavering as I fought back the tears that threatened to spill over. As I wondered why this was happening to us—to him.
As I wondered if it would ever stop . . .
“It has to,” I mumbled under my breath as I headed to class. “There has to be a day where this stops for us.”
I nodded resolutely and forced an extra bounce in my step as if my positivity alone might make it so. But that positive outlook came crashing down around me when I rounded the corner to the long hall that held mine and Beau’s first-period class and the seniors’ lockers. Mainly, Beau’s locker.
I knew it as well as my own because I decorated it before games and left little treats in there for him. I’d decorated it late yesterday afternoon—every football player had his locker decorated.
But I hadn’t done that . . .
At least a dozen strips of red barricade tape were spilling to the floor from the slots on his locker, displaying one word over and over again.
DANGER.
I passed one of the other classrooms as I slowly moved to his locker, my heart cracking with each step closer as my eyes darted over the addition. I tried to take comfort in knowing Beau hadn’t seen it—that he wouldn’t see it. Because it had to have been done after class began. Otherwise, someone would’ve torn it down.
A teacher, at least.
But like everything else that morning, that comfort died, and the tears I’d been fighting broke free as I carefully tore strip after strip away, revealing the large words scrawled in permanent ink across his locker.
SAVAGE.
DANGEROUS.
HEARTLESS.
All written throughout one, repeated word: ABUSER.
I let the barricade tape fall to my feet, my fingers trembling as I lifted them to touch Beau’s locker. As if the words, the tape, Mrs. Warin . . . everything . . . might disappear once I did.
But it was real.
And the sob that burst from me echoed down the hall like a siren.
My blurry stare went everywhere as I tried to figure out what to do. As my heart broke for the boy I loved.
The sound of my bag hitting the floor was lost beneath the reverberating sound of my pounding feet as I tore through the empty hallways of the school. My heart beating faster and my tears falling harder with each second that passed. As if my soul was mentally counting down the minutes and knew there wasn’t enough time.
Relief barreled through me when I found the large storage closet where we kept our decorating supplies unlocked. Grabbing a paintbrush and the small can of Eagle-blue paint I’d used the night before, I ran out of the closet and back the way I came. The entire time, whispering prayers that the bell wouldn’t ring anytime soon.
That I would have time.
A cry of sorrow and disappointment scraped up my throat when I rounded the last corner and saw him there.
Leaning up against his locker. Arms folded. My backpack hanging from his fingers.
His head shifted my way, the look on his handsome face slaying me until I was sure I would do anything to take this moment and this pain from Beau.
Give my life.
Sell my soul.
Beg God until He agreed to turn back time.
Anything.
Because that pain and shame radiating from Beau were real and soul deep. That question in his eyes was the most dangerous thing about him because he was wondering if they were right—just as he always did. He agonized over their words until he feared what he was capable of. Until he exploded with it.
And that apology creasing his forehead? I wanted to erase it. I wanted to kiss it away. He had absolutely nothing to apologize to me for—not when it came to who he was.
Not now.
Not ever.
“I’m sorry.” The words were a whisper when I reached him, wrapped in regret and my tears.
His head slanted and his face twisted with humiliation and lightly concealed rage. “Savannah, I—”
“Don’t,” I said quickly as I set down the paint. “Don’t go there.” Placing my hands on his face, I felt the way his strained jaw tensed and twitched beneath my fingers for a moment before softly continuing. “You don’t deserve this. None of this is you.”
Doubt rumbled deep in his chest.
“It isn’t,” I maintained. “This is someone trying to get in your head. This is someone trying to make you do something—like with what they said to Mrs. Warin.”
“What?”
Ice-cold fingers tore at my chest and gripped my throat as soon as I realized what I’d done.
Oh God.
No. No, no, no . . .
He needed to know, but not right then. Not in the middle of a school hallway next to a locker full of cruelties.
“Savannah.” Beau’s tone was low and careful as he pressed his fingers below my chin to lift my head. Eyes searching and studying mine, looking ready for whatever else I might throw at him. “What did Mrs. Warin say?”
I swallowed thickly, my eyelids slowly closing as I sucked in a deep breath. “Beau, the school was informed that our relationship is abusive.”
His body went still against mine.
His jaw tightened so forcefully it felt like granite beneath my fingertips.
“They were also told that it . . .” When my eyes opened, I was staring at Beau’s jersey. Unable to continue. Still struggling to fully digest what Mrs. Warin had said—what it meant.