“I’ll protect her, Bug.” He kissed her head. “Both of you. Now let’s get you to bed.”
Clara hugged me good night, gingerly kissed my nose better, then made me promise to take my painkillers.
My book was sitting in front of me, the TV remote beside me. I decided my face hurt too much to concentrate on a book, but I didn’t pick up the remote either.
I just sat there, curled on the couch, staring into space. I hadn’t even realized how long it had been until Beau walked back into the room.
He stood in front of me, expression tense with his eyes focused on what I knew were rapidly developing bruises under both of my eyes.
It was clear Beau was furious. I could feel it in his every movement. But he forced himself to speak softly, touched me delicately.
He sat beside me, back straight.
“Today must’ve brought up some uncomfortable memories,” he murmured softly.
Ah. Not only was he stewing about the violence inflicted upon me in the present but ruminating over the past I hadn’t even entirely shared with him.
Had he seen? That I was only half there? That I was trying to wrench myself out of horrible memories?
I considered lying.
“Yeah,” I admitted. “It has.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, horrified that I had begun to cry. I wanted to be stronger than that. Handle this with grace. But as soon as the first tear fell, many followed.
Then I let out a broken sob.
Beau’s arms were around me in a split second. I buried myself in his chest, finally feeling safer. But still, the tears kept coming as I broke down completely, the pieces I’d been trying to hold together splitting apart in Beau’s embrace.
“I’ve got you, baby.” He kissed my head. “I’ve got you.”
And I believed him. Believed that Beau wouldn’t let me break. That he’d help hold me together until I was strong enough to stand alone.
I was wrong, not realizing he’d eventually leave me in pieces too.
BEAU
I wished I smoked.
If only so I’d have something tangible to do with my hands while I was sitting out in the cold, staring at the lights in my backyard. Whisky helped to warm me up, but I’d stuck to a single glass. Tea, I supposed would work, but I didn’t want to risk waking Hannah.
I’d stayed with her a long time after she’d fallen asleep, hand on her chest, measuring her heavy breaths. My eyes had traced lines over her face, swollen, bruised, tearstained.
Rage was a physical thing inside of my chest, pulsing, twitching, demanding retribution. Demanding blood on my knuckles.
A man had laid hands on my woman. Almost broken her fucking nose. It was not the first time a man had laid hands on her either.
I clenched and unclenched my fists, hating how powerless I felt. How guilty.
Was I another man destined to hurt Hannah? I’d never lay a hand on her. Fucking never. But I loved her. Violently. Possessively.
I wanted her in my home forever. Wanted her to have my last name. I wanted to plant a baby in her before I got too fucking old.
I’d never considered giving Clara a sister. I’d never considered a woman being worthy of being Clara’s stepmother. I’d never let myself think too far in the future, in case there was a future where Clara didn’t exist.
Now, the future was all I could think about. Clara growing up. Watching that. With Hannah.
And yes. I wanted another child. I loved being a father, even if the prospect of loss was terrifying.
