“It’s got to be Lori.” It was difficult, but I was able to force my tone to sound even. “Waylon has to be gone by now. He’s not smart enough to completely leave me alone, but he’s also not brave enough to try anything now that he knows there’s someone stronger in residence.”
It was the truth, as much as I hated it. Waylon was a bully, and bullies liked weaker prey.
Beau was anything but weak.
I didn’t want to hide behind Beau—he wasn’t going to be around forever. Nor was I his to protect. I wanted to protect myself. Be stronger.
Beau’s eyes skated over my body, his brows knitting together in an angry frown, gaze lingering on my throbbing arm.
“We’re going to talk about this,” he said with finality. “You’re going to tell me everything. Tonight.”
He didn’t wait for me to reply, just turned to open the door.
Lori was on the other side, a smile on her face. Clara seemed to have a sixth sense because she came bounding down the hall, taking the snacks from Lori’s arms.
The room exploded in happiness and warmth.
But dread was ice, running through my veins.
My past and present had collided. And there was nothing I could do about it.
Usually, I was relaxed in Lori’s company. But I had been coiled tight since she arrived, my smile forced, my tone a touch too high.
Lori noticed because she was perceptive, and we had come to know each other well, spending as much time together as we did. But she didn’t ask, because that was Lori. She was waiting for me to say something. Which I would. She already knew some of the backstory with Waylon, knew about some of the tension with Beau. It would be a welcome release to speak plainly to her about both things.
But I couldn’t do that with Beau and Clara present. Beau didn’t make his presence obvious; he was in his office most of the time. But his door was open, often coming out as if heforgotsomething. I’d watch him glance toward the windows, his eyes touching me with knitted brows before he went back. Then he headed into the kitchen to make us chocolate lava cakes.
From scratch.
Without us even asking.
Because that was Beau.
Soon, Clara had to go to bed, Lori would drive home. Beau offered to drive her since the weather had turned and it was dark. And because he was a gruff alpha male who, despite being surprisingly feminist, still had that caveman need to protect women. Especially Lori, being pregnant, petite, soft-spoken. She definitely had thatwoman in need of savingvibe going for her. Until you got to know her better, uncovered her quiet strength.
“I’ve been driving these roads since I was fifteen, Beau, you know that,” she told him. “Being pregnant doesn’t affect my driving skills.” Her voice was soft, but her words were sharp.
I bit back a smile.
Beau nodded, holding his hands up in surrender. “Text Hannah when you get home,” he ordered, before going back to the kitchen to do the dishes.
Lori and I said our goodbyes. She promised to text me when she got home, because that was what good girlfriends did. And then it was time. It was just the two of us.
My heart was galloping, making it difficult to breathe properly. Panic was crawling up my throat.
Though I desperately wanted to flee, I stayed in the living room, tidying up. Beau repeatedly told me that wasn’t part of my job, but I needed to busy my hands.
The extremely cowardly part of me wanted to run to my room, close the door, and hide under the covers. Beau wouldn’t breach my space. Then I’d be able to spend the night coming up with some kind of game plan, some kind of story to explain Waylon without me looking like a total gullible, weak asshole.
But I already knew there wasn’t a way of telling my story while making me look like some kind of heroine. I was an active participant in the unraveling process of my life as it pertained to Waylon.
And, worse, I was scared. Scared to be alone in my room with my thoughts. Scared to tell Beau the truth. I was so damn sick of being scared.
“Hannah.” I jumped when Beau growled from behind me. I’d been folding and refolding the throw on the sofa, lost in thought.
I looked up to him standing in front of me, holding a steaming mug. His gaze was harsh, but the corners of his eyes were soft.
“Take this.” He offered the mug.
