HANNAH
“You’re notclose with your brother.” Beau pointed out the obvious as I was getting ready for bed.
He was perched on the edge of the tub, watching me, as was his ritual. He watched me do everything he could—bar a couple of private, personal things that I was thankful he didnothave a kink about.
It seemed he couldn’t get enough of seeing me in his space. Which I understood now that I was allowed to look at him. Naked. Now that I was allowed to kiss him. Shower with him. Hold his freaking hand. I did all of those things as often as I could too.
I dabbed cream under my eyes. My personal care routine was minute.
Correction, ithadbeen minute.
Last week, Lori had been over—as she often was. Even more since Beau and I became “official.” He urged me to treat the house like my own, to invite Lori over. I knew he also liked watching over her; he felt protective of my pregnant best friend, especially after what happened.
It was after Clara went to bed. Lori and I were watching our favorite reality show, Beau was in the kitchen making tea.
He fussed over the both of us like a hen, not masking his need to be around me, to take care of me.
It didn’t feel suffocating or possessive—I knew all too well what that was like. He gave us space but happily lounged in an armchair reading on his Kindle if Lori invited him to sit.
I found it hard to concentrate on my friend when he did that, though, because it was almost certain he was reading something spicy, ready to recreate it later that night.
That evening, we’d been talking about skincare, since Lori had a long list of things she couldn’t use while pregnant. I’d mentioned, offhand, that being on a budget was a good way for a simple skincare routine to be established. Maybe I’d mentioned I wanted more, I couldn’t exactly remember.
All I knew was the very next evening, neatly lined up, had been a collection of not cheap new skincare.
“I had Calliope’s help,” Beau had murmured sheepishly from behind me in the bathroom.
I wondered if he’d had her black card too, because this stuff was pricey. Like insane. I’d had samples of a few of these, scraping out the last drops. They were heavenly.
“This is too much.” I’d turned to Beau.
“It’s not. It’s your things, littered over my sink.” Beau had stepped forward, slipping his large palm underneath my camisole to cup my breast.
I’d leaned into the touch, my head landing on his shoulder.
“It’s a gift tome,” he spoke against my neck, tweaking my nipple. “One request… Don’t you ever change your fucking vanilla moisturizer.” When his other hand had gone beneath the waistband of my shorts, my argument about him spending money on toiletries was forgotten.
My current nighttime routine was luxurious, dreamy. Especially with Beau watching.
Though not so much when the conversation involved my brother. Who was sleeping in my old room because Clara had insisted.
“No, we’re not close,” I answered.
I put the tube of eye cream down before turning back to face Beau, leaning on the sink.
He didn’t need to speak for me to see the question on his face. He’d respect me, if I wanted to leave it at that, but I could feel his yearning for information. I had some of my own. To know all the details about his life, his past. To be the only person in the world to possess intimate, painful details about him.
“We’ve never really been close.” I reached for body cream so I had something to do with my hands. “He’s older. My dad was around long enough to form memories of him. My mom favored him.” I shrugged. “Not that that meant a whole lot in our world. He got more food than me, better bedding.”
I tried to say it all in a flat tone, but my voice caught. Jack had started making amends tonight, but that didn’t wash away the past.
Beau was stock-still, face already a mask of fury. My overprotective man.
“Sometimes, a traumatic upbringing brings siblings closer together, when all they have is each other,” I continued. “Other times, it pushes them onto separate islands.”
Beau glowered in the direction of the guest room as if he wanted to shoot laser beams through the wall. “You are seven years younger than him,” he bit out. “You didn’tchooseto be on any fucking island.”
I smiled sadly. “No. And he did what he could to protect me, but at the end of the day, he was a kid. And he left when he got the chance. He knew if he stayed where he was, with the people he was hanging around with, he’d end up in jail or dead.”
