Mark straightens up. He’s five-ten. Maybe five-eleven in good shoes. Beau is six-three in his boots and outweighs him by at least fifty pounds of pure muscle. The size difference is almost comical. Mark looks like he’s being confronted by an entirely different species.
“Who’s this?” Mark asks, turning to me. But his voice is thinner now.
Beau doesn’t wait for me to answer. He walks up the steps…past Mark, not around him, his big shoulder brushing Mark back a half step without even trying…and comes straight to me. His rough hand finds the back of my neck. His calloused fingers curl into my hair. And he kisses me. Right there. Full and firm and slow. His lips, warm and possessive on mine. His body angled so that his broad back is to Mark and his entire world is my mouth.
When he pulls back, his golden eyes check mine.You okay?
I nod slightly. My lips are tingling. My body is humming.
He turns to face Mark. Keeps his hand on the back of my neck. His thumb stroking my nape. Casual. Claiming.
“Beau Redding,” he says. Low. Quiet. Not unfriendly. But not friendly either.
Mark looks at Beau’s hand on my neck. At my beaming face, the size of the man standing next to me with his arm around me like I’m the most natural thing in the world. I watch Mark do the math …the age, the body, the confidence, the fact that this man clearly fucks his ex-wife regularly and thoroughly …and I watch the result hit him right in the ego.
“Mark,” he says stiffly. “I’m Ina’s…”
“I know who you are,” Beau says.
Something cold passes behind Mark’s eyes. He looks at me. “So this is what you’re doing now?”
“Yes,” I say. No hesitation. No apology. “This is exactly what I’m doing now.”
“Ina, can we talk? Privately?”
“No.”
“I drove four hours…”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
Beau’s thumb keeps stroking my neck. Slow and steady, like he’s got nowhere to be. Like he could stand here all day if that’s what I need. His body is relaxed next to mine. But I can feel the tension under. His muscles are hard against my side. His jaw is set. He’s calm. But he’s watching Mark the way he watches a bull that’s thinking about doing something stupid.
Mark tries one more time. He adjusts his polo, pulls himself up to his full, very average height. “Ina. I came here because I think we should talk about where things stand. For the kids’ sake.”
“The kids are fine. Lilah’s thriving. Miles is good. They don’t need you to drive four hours to pretend to care.”
That hits him. His jaw ticks. His nostrils flare. For a second the mask slips and I see the real Mark…petty, wounded, small. The man who couldn’t handle me being happy without him so he drove across the state to check.
“I think you should go,” Beau says. Same low voice. Same calm. But his golden eyes are stone-cold, and his hand on my neck has shifted. His arm around my shoulders now, pulling me into his side, his massive body a wall between me and the man who broke me.
Mark looks at Beau. Really looks. Takes in the height. The chest, the arms, the quiet, absolute certainty in his intense eyes that saysI will not ask again.
“Fine.” Mark takes a step back. Then another. His smile is gone. His smooth charm is gone. He looks exactly like what he is…a man who drove four hours to feel important and is leaving with nothing. “I’ll call Lilah.”
“You do that,” I say.
He gets in his BMW. Closes the door. The engine sounds tinny and weak after Beau’s truck. He backs out slowly, pulls onto the road, and disappears.
The dust settles. The gravel goes quiet.
I exhale. Long and shaky. And Beau’s arm tightens around me.
“You good?” he murmurs against my hair.
“Yeah.” I turn into him. Press my face against his chest. His T-shirt is warm and damp and smells like sweat and cedar and dust and him. I breathe him in. Deep. Let his scent push out every trace of Mark’s cologne. “I’m good.”
He holds me for a minute. His hands, on my back. His heartbeat steady against my cheek. Then I pull back and look up at him.
