And my heart starts pounding like it knows something my brain doesn’t want to admit.
An hour later, I’m at the table with coffee and toast I barely taste.
I try to write. The words won’t come.
I try to read. The sentences blur.
My eyes keep flicking to the window, to the road, to the place where Beau’s truck disappeared.
My phone buzzes.
A new text.
June:Morning, sweetheart!
Beau left for a call, I assume?
Don’t worry. He always comes back.
I stare at the message.
He always comes back.
Does he?
Or is that just what June tells herself so she can breathe?
I text back before I can overthink it.
Me:June… why is Beau really up on that mountain? Like… why does he live like this?
Three dots appear for a long time.
Then:
June:Because he doesn’t believe he’s allowed to be happy.
June:Because he thinks if he wants something, he’ll lose it.
June:And because the last time he loved a woman, he didn’t get to keep her.
My throat closes.
I set the phone down slowly, like it’s heavy.
Last time he loved a woman…
I didn’t know that. He never said anything. He never hinted.
He kissed me like he was starving, yes—but hunger doesn’t always mean hope. Sometimes hunger is just pain looking for somewhere to go.
A cold thread slides through me.
What if I’m just… relief?
Warmth?
A moment?
