“Well,” my dad murmured, then cleared his throat. Everything about his expression and tone dismissive when he continued. “I don’t think there’s anything else to say other than we’ll follow you to the county jail to make sure you drop the charges and suit.”
“Come on, Jason, don’t be like that,” Mr. Rowe said, trying to laugh. “We’ll take care of this, and it can all be forgotten.”
My dad grabbed the keys to his car off the hook in the entryway, his head bobbing slightly. “We have our reservations about Beau and Savannah as a couple, you know that. It’s never been a secret. But he has never once treated her the way your son has apparently been treating our daughter for years.” He held up a hand when Mr. Rowe started speaking. “Years. And that was only the few things she said. What about all the others she still hasn’t told us? And you have the nerve to come in and question our friendship to that family all while you were having one of their kids arrested for something you weren’t even positive happened?” A humorless laugh left him. “I’m questioning our friendship with you.”
“Jason,” both Mr. and Mrs. Rowe said, sounding horrified.
When he only continued toward me, curling his arm around my shoulders to lead me toward the front door, Mrs. Rowe said, “Christi, please.”
“You heard my husband. We’ll see you at county.”
I wasn’t sure I’d ever been so shocked by my parents in my life. I also wasn’t sure if there would ever be another time where they were on Beau’s side for any reason—even if only slightly.
But I would take it.
I would take it and be so grateful.
“Thank you,” I whispered as my dad led me outside.
“You should’ve told us,” he said in response. “Doesn’t matter who the person or their family is. You tell us what’s happening.”
“Understood.”
We watched the Rowes leave the house with my mom trailing behind, then started heading for our car.
“Anything you need to tell us about Beau?” my dad asked as I reached for the handle of my door, sounding far too curious and expectant.
I rolled my eyes and released a deep sigh. “Dad.”
“Needed to check,” he said unapologetically as he ducked into the car.
“Wendy must be a wreck,” my mom muttered as she sank into the passenger seat and shut the door behind her.
“She is.” I looked out the window as I bit at my thumb nail and tried not to think about how long it took to get to the county jail as I added, “Mr. Dixon’s super mad. And that was before Hunter and I told them that Philip lied.”
She sighed and released her seatbelt before it could click shut. “The two of you go on ahead. I’m gonna check on her.” Glancing behind her, she pointed at me. “Stop.”
I forced my hand into my lap. “I’m not biting it.”
Her face softened. “I’m sorry about this. I really am, Savannah.”
I watched as she got out of the car and began walking down the drive, then crawled across the center console to sit up front as my dad began reversing. “How fast can we get there?”
“It won’t make a difference. He won’t be released until they drop everything.”
I nodded, already knowing that even though my heart couldn’t understand it.
Getting there meant getting to him. Simple as that.
“I’m so mad,” I whispered a few minutes later.
Dad released a slow breath. “I know.”
“And I think I might be mad at Beau . . .”
He shifted in his seat. Knowing my dad the way I did, I had a feeling he was trying not to jump for joy at the idea of me being mad enough to want to break up with Beau.
As if that would ever happen.
“Yeah?”
“He just let them take him,” I explained. “He didn’t say anything. He never does. Beau figures if someone thinks something about him, then it either must be true, or he isn’t going to change their mind about him anyway, so why try? And it hurts my heart because I want him to see himself the way I do.” I gestured to my dad before letting my hand fall. “Just like I want you and mom and everyone else to see him the way I do. There’s this guy apart from the anger that is so incredible—he just refuses to show anyone else because they already have their minds made up about him.”
A hum sounded in my dad’s throat. “But he shows you?”
“Yeah,” I said as if that should’ve been obvious.
“And why do you think that is?”
“Because I looked at him that first day and saw him around all that anger he was trying to get away from.”
My dad shrugged. “Or maybe it’s because the boy loves you.”
“It’s because I saw him,” I said resolutely. “It’s because I always see him.” Before he could argue, I said, “You know he fights with his brothers all the time. Physically. But Beau and Hunter are best friends despite that because Hunter sees him too. He knows.”
He didn’t respond, and for a long time, we drove in silence until Dad finally said, “I can’t figure out why you want to be with someone like him.”
“Dad—”
“Someone you always have to defend. Someone who is always putting you in dangerous situations because he can’t control himself. Someone you have to beg people to give a chance to when he’s had more than enough.”
“He has not,” I said quietly, angrily. “It’s like with Philip—he has always started fights with Beau, knowing Beau will finish them. Knowing only Beau will get in trouble because he’s known for his anger. Because it’s so easy for everyone to believe that Beau snapped just because. How is that giving him a chance?”
“He has snapped just because, Savannah.”
“You’re wrong.” I started biting at my thumb nail but forced my hand into my lap as I thought of how to explain Beau to my dad in the first real conversation we’d ever had about him.
Usually, my parents just yelled or tossed out the reminder Utah, and that was the end of it.
“When he loses it, it’s big—I know,” I said carefully. “But he just . . . everything is bigger to Beau. He hurts deeper. Loves harder. Rages stronger. He feels everything on such a massive level, and he spends nearly every minute of every day trying to suppress all of it. So, when he’s pushed, it explodes from him.”
“Tell me how that isn’t dangerous for you,” he said gruffly, doubt weaving through his tone.
The corners of my mouth twitched into a ghost of a smile. “Because he likes being pushed by me.” I turned in my seat to face my dad and reminded him, “And he shows me those sides of him that he’s usually trying to suppress. I’m good for him.”
“He isn’t your responsibility to fix, Savannah.”
I jerked against the door at the assumption. “I don’t wanna fix him,” I said firmly. “He doesn’t need to be fixed or changed or-or-or . . . anything. He’s fine. He’s perfect, Dad.”
He shot me a glance, some horrible mixture of disbelief and an apology as I continued.
“And he’s good for me too. But you wouldn’t know that because you don’t want to know. You and Mom don’t care about the things he does for me or how he cares for me or how he loves me in a way that continues to steal my heart all over again.”