Beau follows me outside, where the crisp winter hits my already aching lungs as I try to stay composed. The sound of boots crunching over gravel is the only thing I hear as I head toward the driveway. Beau’s Bronco is parked in front of mine, and I’m not sure how I hadn’t recognized it before. It’s a deep forest green color with darker green embellishments. I stop as I reach it, feeling him approach behind me.
“Hell of a family reunion,” Beau mutters, trying to cut the tension with humor. He must have gotten that from the Bishop side of his bloodline because I know a dark-haired, blue-eyed goddess who does the same.
I huff out a humorless laugh. “If you can even call it that.”
I turn and find the man standing with his hands shoved into his brown suede jacket. He’s wearing dark blue jeans, browncowboy boots and a navy baseball cap covering most of his hair, but the blonde scruff on his chin is oddly similar to Cam’s and mine. Looking at him now in this light, after years of not seeing him since he’s also been mostly absent from Crossroads for the last decade or so, I can’t deny the resemblance.
Beau’s not broad-shouldered and built like a lineman like the rest of the Bishop men. His tall, thin frame is built with muscle, but is toned from working out in a gym rather than out on the farm like Monty or from doing God knows what on the road like Nash. Even Theo, who spends his time on stage, keeps in shape from dropping in on rodeos in whatever state he’s currently on tour.
“I’m still wrapping my head around it,” Beau says. “One day, I’m living my life. Next, I find out my mom and your dad…you know.”
The look of disgust on his face matches the way I feel. “Yeah. Trust me, I get it.”
For a few seconds, we just stand in silence. Neither of us knows what to say. “It’s been crazy lately,” Beau finally says. His voice sounds strained, like he's forcing the words out, and I notice the way his hands are now clenched into fists at his sides. “Not just this but everything. You and Monroe, the baby. Hell, even the town acts like it’s their personal business. Reminds me why the hell I got out.”
I tense at her name, waiting for whatever is coming. “Then why are you still here?” I ask, my question coming out a lot harsher than I’d meant.
“Because my family needs me. Now more than ever, even if we’re all too proud to say it. Both sides,” he says. “That’s why I’m gonna say this. Be careful with her, Jase.”
My jaw tightens. “I am careful.”
“I’m not saying you aren’t, but I know Monroe. She comes across as strong. Hell, she is strong. God knows I’m more ofa mess than she is right now. However, she’s not bulletproof. She’s got a kindness in her that she tries to hide behind sarcasm and stubbornness, and when someone like that gets hurt…” He shakes his head. “It cuts deeper. Lasts longer.”
I stare at the gravel under my boots, taking in his warning and trying my best not to tell him to mind his own business. Beau doesn’t know half of it. How much I’ve already seen of that vulnerability in her. How much of it I caused back when I didn’t know how to handle what I was feeling. All her brothers think is that I fucked her and now have to deal with the consequences. I don’t blame them. This came out of nowhere, but I want more than just having a baby with her. I want it all.
“I’m not planning on hurting her.”
“We don’t plan on hurting the people we care about, Jase. Sometimes we just do.” That sounds personal, like it might be something he’s currently dealing with himself. “Look, I’m not trying to be an asshole. I know my sister’s life is hers and your decisions are your own to make. But if what your father said is true, if you have your ex-girlfriend staying here and Monroe knows and is pretending she's okay. She’s not. And I won’t stand back and watch her have to put up with?—”
“I’m going to stop you right there, Beau. For the sake of our relationship, which I would like to work on at some point. You said it yourself. Our decisions are ours to make, and I can promise you I know Monroe better than you think. I would never do anything to hurt her.”
“Then we agree.”
I nod as I reach for the handle of my truck door.
Beau leans against his, watching me. His expression is unreadable, though I know he’s aiming to be intimidating until a smile teases his lips. “This thing between you two,” he pauses. “It’s gonna get messier before it gets easier.”
I meet his eyes with a laugh. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”
He smirks, and that’s when I realize how much we look alike. Like him. “I’ve been around, and I’ve seen enough to know some people are worth walking through the mess for.”
I don’t answer him, but his words stick with me long after I drive away.
Chapter Seventeen
Monroe
The Kings’ Ranch is the epitome of sophistication, even during the holiday season. Like something out of Better Homes and Garden magazine or a scenic holiday postcard, the scent of pine trees lines the path from the driveway up to the front porch. The large porch that wraps around the entire property is lit up to perfection, evergreen garlands interwoven with a string of warm toned-twinkly lights. That is if Christmas postcards came with a gift of resentment and long-buried secrets.
Through the floor to ceiling windows at the front of the house, you can see the two large Christmas trees. One in the grand living room, the other in the dining room, both impeccably decorated with lights, bows, and ribbon instead of the more traditional ornaments. The only thing missing is a dusting of snow across the lawn, but in North Carolina, there’s no such thing as a white Christmas.
Margaret, their live-in housekeeper, opens the door with a warm smile, greeting us and leading us into the dining room. Jase removes my coat, hanging it up on the hooks in the foyer,before escorting me toward the large room I was in only a few weeks ago.
Thanksgiving at the Kings’ home, a mere week after my father’s passing, was awkward to say the least. Despite being here with my best friends and brothers, our relationship at the time was quite rocky, though it's no different now. However, tonight, the tension issue will come from the King patriarch and matriarch since it'll be the first time I’ve seen them since the night of the Harvest Festival.
I’ve done my best to avoid running into Magnolia King, and I must say, she’s done the same.
The dining room smells like Christmas. Rosemary and thyme, cinnamon and spice, even an inkling of apple cobbler in the distance—all courtesy of Magnolia and her mother, Nana Dorothy. Gold-rimmed china gleams under the candlelight while more of the evergreen garlands line the center of the mahogany table, dotted with tiny white lights. Everything sparkles beautifully except the people we find sitting around it.
