We returned the sentiment, but I caught his eye before slipping out the door. “You stay safe.”
He mock-saluted me. “Will do.”
“Beau,” my dad called out as we stepped into the winter air. Jerking his head to the side, he started that way without another word.
Beau tensed but followed without hesitation, quickly catching up to where my dad waited for him. Looking all kinds of terrifying as he listened to my dad speak when I knew he was actually terrified.
And after what had to be the longest thirty seconds of my life, my dad turned away from Beau and started for the car. Another handful of seconds later, Beau finally moved from where he’d seemed to be carved out of stone and walked toward me.
Head down.
Hands in his jacket pockets.
Not giving me any clues as to what had just happened.
“What’d my dad say?” I begged when he neared me.
He lifted his head, his dark eyes dancing in the light from the station as he fought a smile. “He said he still has some reservations . . . but that I have his permission to date you.”
A startled laugh bubbled free. “Doesn’t he know we’ve been dating for almost four years?”
The smile broke free. Just a small flash of bright, white teeth and deep, Dixon dimples before it was gone, but it melted me all the same. “Yeah,” he rumbled as he slid his hand into mine. “He knows.”
My steps were slow as I moved through the large living area to one of the closets just off the entryway to put Levi’s toys away, holding them awkwardly in my arms with my head slanted. Ear trained to the second floor to catch whispers of the kids’ laughter as Beau put them to bed the next night.
The new routine tearing at my chest because everything about it was wrong.
I couldn’t remember a night where we hadn’t put the kids to bed together, and I missed that time. Even more, I hated that my older kids could feel what was happening between Beau and me.
That they knew something was wrong with their dad not being there in the mornings and him being the only one to put them to bed. With us not speaking to each other during the hours he was there.
Most of all, I hated that I couldn’t talk to my best friend and the man who held my heart without wanting to scream at him. That he couldn’t pull me into his arms, and I couldn’t curl up against him in our bed. That every part of us felt like a lie.
I hated that I didn’t know how to stop this destructive path we were on even though every part of my soul screamed at me to find a way. But our relationship felt like a runaway train, and we were nearing the end of the track.
I looked up at the sound of his heavy steps on the stairs, hummingbirds taking flight in my stomach at the sight of him even as my fraying heart wrenched. Turning back to the opened closet, I dropped Levi’s toys into the designated basket and tried to pretend I wasn’t listening as his steps sounded on the entryway floor . . . and stopped.
My chest rising and falling faster and faster as I silently prayed he would just go while every part of me was crying out for him to stay.
I closed the closet door, my breaths turning shallow as I faced where he was waiting.
Arms folded.
Head slanted.
Jaw straining and body twitching like he was getting restless.
And then he looked at me, and I thought I might crumple under all that captivating intensity and unreserved pain.
“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” he mumbled, voice pure gravel.
“I know.”
“The kids know I don’t work,” he said meaningfully.
“Oh, um . . .” I blinked quickly, trying desperately to think through the emotions crashing through me at having to have this type of conversation with him. At the crushing pain that came from having him speaking to me and looking at me for the first time that day. “Right.”
“I’ll be here first thing.”
I just nodded, unable to form words when it felt like my throat was being crushed under the weight of my grief and my anger.
I forced myself to turn when he started for the door, stopping when he asked, “When does the last guest leave?”
“My parents,” I managed to say, the words coming out strained. “Monday morning.”
There was a long pause before he spoke. Voice soft and full of regret. “After the kids go to bed that night, I’ll start moving out.”
My hand shot out in front of me, gripping the wall when it felt like the floor was ripped out from beneath me and the world went dark for a moment. The air rushing from my lungs so fast and so forcefully, I felt dizzy.
Before I could utter a word, the door was opening, and my mind was screaming to stop him. But the sound of multiple people coming up the porch broke through everything else just as I finally managed to turn around.
Beau was standing off to the side, head slanted in an attempt to hide his expression as one of the Rowes’ cousins came in. That terrifying, silent rage, but I could see the anguish lingering in his eyes. I could see the weight he was bearing. The absolute fear.
“Welcome back,” I managed to say, forcing the same smile I’d worn since the guests had arrived the day before.
But their cousin just gave me a wide-eyed look as she turned for the stairs, muttering, “Biggest understatement of my life.”
“Great,” Peter said, voice like steel when he came charging through, pointing at Beau, “you’re still here. I need someone to drink with since that one won’t.” He waved irritably at me, never slowing as he headed for the kitchen.
Beau didn’t move, and I just stood there, too stunned from trying to piece together my wrecked soul to ask Peter what was happening.
My parents followed, looking at once excited to see me and like they were saddened for whatever must’ve happened at the rehearsal and dinner. But the moment they saw Beau, their spirits brightened considerably.
“Oh, honey, hi,” my mom said to Beau, reaching for him and patting his shoulder.
“Glad you’re still here,” my dad said, then blew out a strained breath as he looked between us, scratching at his temple. Focusing on Beau, he gestured toward the kitchen. “Drink? I could use a drink.”
“Let’s make it two,” my mom said, words all an exhausted sigh.
“What?” The word came out a breath, all shock and confusion just as the Rowes’ aunt and uncle came inside, shutting the door behind them and looking about as worn out as everyone else. “Hi,” I said awkwardly, offering another forced smile.
Peter’s uncle clapped his hands together and returned the smile. “Do you have any alcohol?”
My lips parted just as the sound of glass clinking on granite sounded from the kitchen. Pointing in that direction, I said, “I think your nephew might’ve just found it.”
“Fantastic,” he grumbled, towing his wife along with him.
“What is going on?” I asked once they’d disappeared into the next room.
Before my parents could respond, Beau headed for the door again, dipping his head in a nod when he passed them. “Goodnight.”
“Beau, honey,” Mom began, her shaking fingers lifting to cover her mouth when he left without a backward glance. A sharp breath left her as she turned on me, disapproval radiating from her. “Savannah . . .”