“What?” he demanded, the question like whispered poison.
My head moved in small, harsh shakes as I repeated what the counselor had said like a dirty confession. “They were told the abuse was also sexual.” I tried to swallow, but my throat was suddenly too dry. Too thick. “I think . . .” I met Beau’s blank stare and wanted to curl into a ball and die. “I think someone’s saying you’re raping me.”
Seconds passed before Beau reacted. Head bobbing as he carefully moved out from between me and the locker.
“Beau—”
He held up a hand as he backed away, a silent plea for a minute alone.
Except he never needed minutes when he was with me. I calmed him. Always.
His steps were slow and unsteady as he turned and started down the hall, his trembling hands moving to rake through his jet-black hair and forming into fists.
Not more than a dozen feet away, he stopped. Body subtly moving with all that aggression rolling off him and filling the narrow hall before he turned and headed back to me.
Steps hard and fast.
Expression fierce and terrified.
Eyes glassy and shattering my soul.
He stopped a foot away, making sure not to touch me. As if any closer, and what was said about him would be true.
“Beau, don’t let it get in your head. It’s someone being horrible to hurt you.”
“Answer something for me,” he begged in that deep, gravelly tone.
“Anything,” I cried softly.
“Have I ever—”
“No,” I said before he could finish, already knowing where he was going with the question.
The muscles in his jaw shifted as he studied me, and after a shuddering breath, he asked, “Have I ever forced myself on you? Have I ever hurt you?”
“No,” I repeated, my voice cracking with my own grief.
At that, he stepped closer and dipped down to press his forehead to mine. “Savannah, I love you.”
And then he was gone.
Ripping himself away from me and stalking down the hall.
I hurried after him, the ringing bell drowning me out when I asked, “Where are you going?” Grabbing his hand, I tried pulling him to a stop as kids poured out of classes. “Beau, please.”
“Savannah, I need to get out of here.”
“Then I’m coming with you.”
He squeezed my hand tighter before slipping his fingers from mine. “Not this time, angel.”
I watched him walk away through the tears filling my eyes until he was out of sight. But throughout covering up the words on his locker, the pep rally, and the next couple of classes, all I could focus on was his pain and self-hatred and humiliation. All I could think of was who would’ve done this to us.
All I could feel was the hurt of Beau needing time alone.
Time without me.
“Hey, Riley.”
I jerked away from the too-close voice and smacked the fingers teasing the bottom of my skirt. “Feel like a trip to the hospital?” I sneered as I slammed my locker shut and sent an icy glare Philip Rowe’s way. “Or how about the morgue?”
He smirked as he leaned a shoulder against the locker next to mine, his stare darting over my body as if the thought didn’t bother him.
As if the entire school didn’t know exactly how afraid Philip was of Beau.
Once his eyes met mine again, he shrugged, then looked around at the other kids passing by, heading to lunch. “Look at that . . . no Beau.” He leaned closer, continuing to move with me even when I stepped back. “No threat to the students here. No threat to little Savannah Riley.”
“He isn’t a threat to me,” I snapped.
“No? I heard a rumor that he hurts you.”
I shoved his shoulder back with as much force as my body was capable of the moment I felt him trailing something up my arm, then felt anger burn in my veins when I saw the big Sharpie in his hand. A tiny piece of red barricade tape was attached to the cap, proudly flaunting what he’d done.
“You bastard.” It was barely a breath, but I felt the words and the hatred for him down to my soul.
Philip took a step closer, a victorious grin crossing his face. “I heard a rumor that he beats you. Uses you. Rapes you.”
He dodged my fist, that smile growing with my rising anger.
“With that swing, you probably don’t stand a chan—” His grunt of pain was quickly met by shocked ohs from surrounding students when my knee met his groin.
As he bent, I moved with him to speak in his ear. “I heard a rumor you made up lies about him and our relationship because you’ll never be as good as Beau at anything in your life, and that kills you. School. Football. Girls . . . you’ll never satisfy anyone the way he satisfies me.”
Philip shifted back so his eyes met mine. All hard steel.
“You’ll never make anyone scream your name the way I scream his when he fucks me.”
His nostrils flared as possession ripped across his pained features. “Remember those words when I have you screaming my name, Riley.”
Disgust rolled up my throat, but I managed to choke it down. “And when Beau finds out all this was you?” I let that linger in the small space between us for a moment. Let the possibilities of what Beau would do swirl in his mind until that hint of fear flashed in his eyes. “I heard a rumor he’s gonna destroy you.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” I said breathlessly, stopping my hips’ movements to look for my phone beneath the pile of mine and Beau’s clothes.
A giggle broke free when I leaned over and Beau took the opportunity to switch our positions, rolling us so I was on my back and he was settled between my legs. The sound bouncing around the great room of the plantation house.
Just as empty and haunting and beautiful as it always was when we snuck in. But the cold, dreary days of winter seemed to magnify it all.
My moan cut short when I finally found my cell phone and flipped it open to see my mom’s name on the screen. “Oh God, shh,” I said, slightly frantic as I covered Beau’s mouth with one hand and answered the call with the other. “Mom?”
“Where are you?” It was all a suspicious demand, and although I knew I needed to be convincing, it was really hard when I was there. Beneath Beau Dixon and in his arms. His teeth nipping at my palm and moving down to my wrist as his hips started a slow, steady rhythm that made my eyes roll back.
“I’m—” I swallowed a moan and curled my legs around Beau’s back. “I’m with Madison.”
“And where should you be?” she asked impatiently.
Here.
Right here.
Always.
“Um . . .”
“Are you out of breath?” she asked suddenly. “Why are you out of breath? Why are you breathing so hard, Savannah?”
I squeezed my legs tighter against Beau to stop his movements and tried like hell to think clearly.
“I’m—we’re . . . dancing.” I met Beau’s dark eyes—the wicked amusement there—and fumbled to continue. “We’re rehearsing our numbers for the winter performance.”
My heart pounded in the seconds before my mom responded, an intense mixture of worry and need to continue being loved by Beau.
“Isn’t there a clock where you are?” she finally asked. “The Rowes are already here. Dinner will be ready soon.”