She angrily wipes at her eyes. “I know you’re right.”
I send her a soft smile, trying to ease her pain just a little. “I usually am.”
“That too.”
“Want to have dinner with me tonight?”
Mom shakes her head, swallowing roughly. “I want to be alone for a bit. Between you, Pat, and Andy… I’m not getting much of a chance to be alone. But I think I need to be alone in this house, feel it for a bit.”
“If you’re sure.”
Mom sweetly pats my cheek with another watery smile. “I’m sure, baby. Go on home to your place and try to get some rest.”
With one final kiss to her cheek, I leave her alone to grieve in her own way. I want to be with her, to make her feel better, but I can’t police what she needs right now. Colby warned me of that. So, I head back home to my empty house, in my emptytruck. Maybe I should get a dog. Whiskey isn’t too rambunctious anymore. She seemed to be a great comfort for Colby after Marcus died.
Lots of maybes fill my life right now.
Too many maybes.
CHAPTER EIGHT
TREVOR
Keeping track of Beau for the past few months has been my newest, most painful hobby. I stalk the Clay Road Farms social media account way more than is healthy. But it’s worth it when every now and then I get a glimpse of Beau in the background of a photo. Visiting Andy’s account is fruitless because I’m honestly too scared about what I might find.
Worry for Beau is constant. About the family that I only spent three days with but felt more welcoming than my own ever had. Most of my days are spent at the gym, working out so long that everything hurts. Eating is perfunctory. Something I do to keep my muscles bulging just how the boyfriends that hire me like them. The nights with fake boyfriends are endless, mind numbing, painful in a way that’s impossible to put to words. Like small cuts slicing away at my soul, which is what I always needed before, but now it doesn’t feel nearly as good as before Beau.
And then one day in October, Claire calls me.
“Hey!” I shout into the phone as I pause the stair climber. “Is there an event going on at the clubhouse this weekend?”
“No,” Claire says firmly which immediately has me on edge.
“Uh.”
“Do you remember Beau Callahan?”
My heart skips approximately ten beats. Maybe this is how I die. By cardiac arrest just from the sound of Beau’s name.
“Yes,” I say, voice an octave too high to be normal.
“He reached out wanting to hire you for his father’s funeral. I had the feeling you might want to know despite being booked for the weekend.”
Oh, God. I dip to my knees on the stair climber, then press my forehead to my knee. Sweat dots my chest and arms, my back too. The ache of a good workout is long gone, only to be replaced with absolute heartache for Beau.
“What’d you tell him?”
“That you’re unavailable.”
“Shit.” I stumble off the machine, then stagger towards the locker room. The phone is slippery in my hand from sweat. I almost forget that I’m even on a call, so distracted with thoughts of Beau.
“Was that a mistake?” Claire asks softly, even a little warmly.
“Can you…” I trail off, then take a deep, clarifying breath. “Tell him I’m available?”
“I can, yes. What am I doing about your booking with Nolan? He’s been consistent about booking you.”
“Benji.”
