Finn sighed, hands landing on his hips. “I can’t arrest him, but I’ll serve him with the order.”
“Did you see her fucking arm?” Beau snarled. “That’s assault.”
I shifted, uncomfortable under the heavy weight of attention on me. Beneath all of the male fury filling the air. “You did not mention assault,” Finn replied slowly.
I wrung my hands, looking down. “It wasn’t, technically.”
“Technically, a man putting hands on you against your will, leaving a mark, is assault, Hannah,” Finn countered gently.
Even though his words were kind, hot shame crept up my throat.
“I-I just want him to go away.” I hated how weak I sounded, but I was exhausted. Ready for Waylon to be a distant memory. “I just want a divorce. I don’t want to have to make statements or see him in court. I don’t want him tangled up in my life any more than necessary.”
Yes, he should’ve been punished for laying hands on me. Yes, I was a coward for not pressing charges, but there was only so much I could handle. A divorce and a restraining order were plenty.
Finn eyed me for a long moment, as if deciding whether to push the matter further.
I did not look in Beau’s direction. I couldn’t.
“Okay,” Finn finally said. “I’d like to take a picture of your arm for the record. I’ll note it on the order to help strengthen your divorce case. Unless I can convince you to press charges…?”
Though I felt Beau’s furor as a physical manifestation beside me, I pretended it didn’t exist. Although his protective fury he felt was coming from the right place—even if it was seriously confusing—I would not let a man’s anger dictate my actions.
Not again.
I tilted my chin up as I regarded Finn.
“No,” I stated with finality. “I’m not pressing charges. I’m not giving him a second more of my time or attention than I need to.”
When Finn nodded, I swore I might’ve seen some respect in his gaze.
It felt good.
Beau didn’t say anything as he drove us to our next destination—the lawyer’s office on Main Street. I was immediately intimidated by the tasteful and upscale location. The furnishings, the real plant in the corner, the smell, the glossy-haired receptionist… It all told me one thing: He was an expensive lawyer.
I could not afford an expensive lawyer.
“Beau,” I whispered as the receptionist went to get Marty.
He instantly looked down at me. I held back a flinch at the intensity of his gaze. The way it felt as if it was the gravity pulling me to Earth.
“You have to take whatever fees he charges out of my paycheck.” I tried to say it without a wince, considering this lawyer’s fees would likely be my entire paycheck for the next two months. If I was lucky, and if this divorce was uncomplicated.
I was not lucky, and this divorce was not uncomplicated.
Therefore, I was going to be back to zero and again postponing finishing nursing school. But I’d be free of Waylon.I hadn’t realized how much the legality of our union had hung over me like a guillotine until I was standing in front of him and heard him call me his wife. In front of Beau, no less.
Whatever it cost to be rid of that title would be worth it.
“I’m not taking a fucking cent out of your paycheck,” Beau said blandly.
Though this noble side of Beau was reasonably new, I had already gotten the gist of it and had suspected this might be the response I got.
Beau was offering to cover my lawyer’s bills. When I knew Beau didn’t have that kind of money to spare.
“I’m not taking a single cent from you that I haven’t earned,” I replied sharply, despite a small, shameful part of me wanting to submit to this new dynamic, to lay myself at his feet to be rescued, taken care of.
But it was nowhere near that simple for us. Even taking away the employer slash employee relationship, even taking away the age gap—which didn’t matter much to me but I knew would be a sticking point with Beau—there was the subject of Clara.
