Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
“I need you to support the lies I tell myself.”
BLAIR
Beau keeps staring at me, cocking his head to the side. He’s making me nervous as if this day isn’t a test of super-strength Xanax as it is.
Others stare at us, too. They recognize Beau and Colt.
It’s the day after Thanksgiving in this coffee shop full of retail warriors who need more caffeine before they return to battle.
Me? I’d rather be stuck on a puddle-jumping plane, flying through a hurricane, listening to Amber Kostas bitch about drugstore eyeshadow while I barf fried pickles than shop on Black Friday.
Clearly, I’m not a fan.
But this is worse.
Colt blows his hot chocolate, looking so damn cute because he’s got whipped cream on his beard, while Beau sits beside him, across the cafe table from me. He’s staring like praying mantises are mating on my forehead.
“What?” I finally huff. “What are you staring at?”
“Nothing.” He’s not blinking.
But I am. A lot.
I look away, but his stare gives my cheek a dermatological laser peel. “Beau Willuf Bronson,” I mutter. “If I have a booger in my nose that you’re not telling me about, I’ll?—”
“I’ll tell you,” Colt jumps in. “That’s our code, remember?”
“Then what is he staring at?” I ask Colt, who starts doing the same.
Yes, I’m blinking a ridiculous amount, like I’ve been exposed to tear gas, but nothing else is different about me.
I’m the same.
My hair is down, smoothed, and curled to one side. I’m wearing high-waisted jeans that Vale swore do not make my butt look three feet long. Maybe that’s what they’re staring at, but I’m sitting on my ass.
That can’t be it.
I glance down.
I didn’t spill peppermint latte on my white cropped turtleneck sweater. Sure, I’m showing a little belly. It accentuates my curves. My men are used to that.
I dressed for this. I carefully planned it, actually. I look cute and casual while we wait for Reese to join us.
We’re stuck in the corner of a coffee shop in Birmingham, Alabama, patrons gawking and snapping pics at us. I’ve gotten used to that, too. Fans and press don’t bother me.
Atlanta is 10-1. The hype is so loud, honestly, I don’t hear it anymore. Beau and Colt are deaf to it, too.
They say they’re just having fun playing ball. It’s like since they secretly know it’s Beau’s last season, the pressure is gone. They’re soaking up every moment on the gridiron like they’re back in high school. Half the time they play, they smile like they huffed laughing gas.
It’s so damn cute. I’m so proud and happy, but not now.
Beau is so sexy, annoying the shit out of me.
Finally, I can’t take it. I lean toward him, trying to widen my eyes while I demand, “What are you staring at?”
“Kitten, if I tell you, you’ll get mad.”
“If you don’t tell me, I’ll start putting toothpaste in your golden Oreos again. Or make more caramel candied onions instead of apples for Halloween.”
Colt chuckles. “Fuck, that was funny.”
The memory of our Tricks and Treats Halloween trip with Zar and Nick to that private island of fucks and fun with their friends gives Colt the belly laughs again.
“Dude,” he says, “her candied onions made you cry for an hour. No boom, boom for you that night.”
Beau rolls his eyes, smiling at the memory, too, but I’m focused on this annoying minute.
“Just tell me, Beau. Please. What is it?”
Am I whining? Yep, I sound like a rich housewife on a reality show.
He lets out a long exhale, his face tender while I blink and blink and blink, the suspense killing me.
“Kitten,” he sighs, “what did you do to your lashes?”
“What?” I blink like a frog. One eye oddly, slowly, lazily blinks before the other blinks with an amphibious twitch across my face.
It makes him fight a smile. I see his nostrils flaring while he asks, “What did you do to them?”
“Nothing,” I lie, making it worse. I try not to blink, straining my eyelids. You know, like when you suddenly smell a fart and it wasn’t yours?
“They look different,” Beau softly says. “They make you blink like you have conjunctivitis.”
Colt snorts, then looks away. Smart man. He’s avoiding my blinking death stare.
“My lashes are perfectly fine.”
No, they’re not. They’re sticking like gooey price tags attached to my eyelids.
“They look pretty as usual,” Beau eases. “But you keep blinking like you’re caught in a dust storm or like you’re an animated character or like?—”
“Okay, okay. Enough with the similes.” I fight the instinct to blink and my eyes fight back, filling with water. “I might’ve tried something new. I wanted to look nice today. We’re meeting Forrest for the first time, and I wanted to make a good impression.”
“Babe,” Beau chuckles, “with all that blinking, the only impression you’re giving is that you’re a compulsive liar.”
“Beeaaauuuu.”
“Blaaaiiiirrrr.” He keeps laughing. “Babe, love tells the truth, right?”
“I need you to support the lies I tell myself. My lashes look perfectly natural.”
Just then, the top corner of my left eyelid, which has a super long lash that requires its own zip code, welds itself to my bottom lid, sticking like flypaper.
I can’t open my left eye, and I’m not even in TLC.
This morning, I tried gluing on individual lashes. You know, since one of my boyfriends, who’s arachnophobic, shit his shorts at the sight of my usual lash strips.
And this is the thanks I get for being a lashified, sensitive girlfriend.
“He’s going to like y’all.” Colt’s chest is shaking. The cute fucker is trying not to laugh, either. “Don’t worry.”
“Fine,” I huff. “Gimme a minute.”
I stomp up, wedging my way through the crowd, seeking the ladies’ room to yank these damn things off because Colt’s right. Forrest won’t care. He’ll barely notice I’m there.
He’ll be so focused on Colt or Beau.
We don’t know who Forrest’s biological father is. Reese did the test. She got the results, but we don’t know them yet. They’re sealed in an envelope because Colt wanted to find out this way—in person, with me and Beau here.
Like once and for all, his haunting question will be answered.
But more importantly, Forrest has been told about babies and biological parents. Reese said she and her husband worked with a counselor on how to do this. They’ve had many talks to prepare for today when we’ll follow her home.
Today, when Forrest meets his father.
We just need to know if it’s Beau or Colt.
Staring in the bathroom mirror, I curse, plucking off the fake lashes.
I guess I did this dumb shit because I’m nervous, too.
This won’t be easy. I’m so mad at Reese. So is Beau. I’m surprised if he’ll even speak to her today. He’s not angry about her cheating on him. He’s enraged about all she’s put Colt through.
Yes, Colt is the size of a Viking, but his heart is even bigger. He’s just a giant, ink-covered, muscle-wielding cinnamon roll with a very hard, ripped, long, smooth exterior.
Did I mention hard? Because Colt is. A lot. I’m surprised he doesn’t pass out from blood loss due to erections.
But then again, Beau would be in a coma by now. He’s equally guilty.
And yes, Beau can be so tender, too, but not when he’s protective.
Then, he’s evil.
Like last week when he had enough of the photographers stalking us.
They follow Beau’s truck everywhere. So he pulled through the Starbucks near his house and ordered a round of coffees for them. Then, he strolled up to their cars parked behind us, carrying a drink tray of steaming cups, and said, “Here you go, boys. You’ve been up all day, following me around. I thought you might need a good jolt.”
Oh, it was a jolt.
Beau stirred three tablespoons of unflavored laxative powder into each one.
“Do this shit to me,” I warned, laughing while I watched him do it over the center console of his truck, “and you’re dead.”
“Kitten, I may give you shit.” He kissed my cheek over his piping hot cups of revenge. “But it’s always safe with me.”
Cute asshole stole my line from college.
When I return to our table, I see Reese pushing open the glass door. She searches for us, and I wave.
It’s weird. Reese looks great. She looks healthy, and I’m relieved. We were best friends once. Deep down, I care. But I can’t forget what she did. I just hope to be like Colt and forgive her in time.
Beau struggles, too. “Hi,” is all he says to her as she sits with us at the table.
“I got you a chai latte.” I slide it to her. “It used to be your favorite. Hope it’s not cold.”
“Thanks.” Her hands wrap around the paper cup. “And thanks, y’all, for meeting me like this. I thought we should talk before we go to my house. It’s just around the corner.”
“Does he know we’re coming?” Colt asks.
“Yes,” Reese answers. “I told him that his biological father, the man I made a baby with in college, is coming to meet him today. Forrest keeps asking what his name is, but I said his father wants to tell him.”
Colt nods, but Beau is fuming, staring at her like he can’t accept it.
He seethes, asking Reese, “Why did you name him Forrest? Was that to fuck with Colt’s head or mine?”
Reese drops her gaze, spinning the cup in her hand. “No. It was never to hurt you, either of you. After I realized what I did, I wanted to give him a happy name. A name I associated with hope and unconditional love. The name of a good friend, a good father, a good man, and all that.”
She wipes a tear off her cheek. “Beau,” she lifts her eyes to him, “I’m so sorry I hurt you, too. You were always good to me. You saved me until I could save myself. And there’s no excuse for what I did. I’ve told Colt I’m sorry so many times, but Blair’s right. I need to make amends with actions, not just words.”
She turns her watery eyes to Colt. “Whoever Forrest’s father is, I promise you can see him as much as you want. Jake agreed. This has been hard on our marriage, but we’ll get through it. He knows it’s best for Forrest.”
“Do you have the test results?” Colt sounds gruff, like he’s choked up, so I reach for his hand. He holds it while Reese pulls a manilla envelope from her bag.
“I haven’t opened this,” she says. “I respected your wishes. You’ll be the first to know.”
She hands it to Colt. I let go of his hand so he can open it.
The papers tremble in his grasp, and I glance at Beau. He sees it, too. How Colt has waited so long for this.
“I hope Forrest is his.” That’s what Beau told me this morning in the shower. Colt was still asleep. I crawled out of bed, and Beau followed me. The weight of this day hung over us, so he held me in the shower, nuzzling his forehead to mine while he confessed, “I’ll love Forrest if he’s mine. Heck, I’ll love that boy no matter what. But I love Colt so much; I want Forrest to be his. I can’t ever hurt Colt. I can’t take his son from him.”
We hold our breath, watching Colt read the letter, his hand crumpling the paper. A tear falls over his lashes, streaming down to his beard, making me cry, too.
He closes his eyes and lifts his chin. He’s praying to his mom, I know. I do the same when I need help.
More of his tears fall, and I grab Beau’s thigh, squeezing to hang on. To will this to finally go right for Colt. To finally give him peace.
“He’s mine,” Colt sighs, another tear escaping. “Forrest is mine.”
I exhale, a stream of tears pouring down my cheeks. Beau sighs with heavy relief, wrapping his arm around me.
“Your mom always believed it,” Reese gently adds. “She said Forrest may look like me, but he has your soul. She said she could see it in his eyes.”
Colt nods, clenching his jaw. I can see him fighting his flood of tears that wants to escape.
“Can we go see him now?” He coughs, begging, “Please, I can’t wait anymore.”
It’s five quick minutes around some turns, driving up hills through a tree-lined neighborhood to Reese’s home.
Autumn leaves dot her front lawn. Her home is quaint and craftsman-style, with a holiday wreath hanging on her door. You can tell it’s a warm, loving home.
The day is sunny and crisp. Beau parks his truck by the curb in front of Reese’s house, but we wait. Reese asked us to while she disappears through her front door for a few minutes.
“We’ll stay here for an hour, and then we’ll meet him, too.” Beau looks in the rearview mirror, telling Colt, “Okay, babe? You tell him and take your time with him. You’ve waited long enough for this.”
“I’m nervous,” Colt mutters. “What if he hates me?”
I turn around in my passenger seat. Colt won’t let me ride in the back, but now I wish I were there with him, holding him. Instead, I reach, holding his knee. “It’ll be okay. He’s going to love you. Heck, he already does. He’s your biggest fan.”
The front door opens, and the little boy emerges with his parents behind him.
“Oh, god. Your mom was right,” I gasp, seeing him in person. “Forrest does look like you, Colt. He’s you up one side and down the other.”
Colt coughs, clearing his throat. “Alright, I got this. I can’t lose my shit in front of him.”
“It’s okay to cry,” Beau says. “He’s your son. It’s okay if he knows how much you love him.”
Colt cups Beau’s shoulder, leaning forward to peck his cheek, and then he pecks mine before turning to open the car door.
And when he does?
When Colt emerges from the back seat of the truck, his massive body landing on the sidewalk with a gentle thud, a sob escapes my throat.
Because I watch Forrest.
I watch the boy’s eyes get so big as if he can’t believe it. It’s like he’s witnessing every childhood miracle. I’d feel sorry for his dad, Jake, but that boy will always love him. Jake raised him. He’s been there.
“Hey, Forrest,” Colt calls out, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans.
I climb across the truck’s cab to sit in Beau’s lap to watch this together.
Beau cracks the window a bit so we can hear, too.
“Colton Hawke?” The boy sounds surprised but looks confused. He’s frozen on the brick step of his porch. “Are you here to play with me? With your ball?”
“I sure am.” Slowly, like he’s afraid he’ll scare him away, Colt walks across the grass, closing the distance between them. “I’m here to throw the ball with you all day if you want. But I’m also here to tell you something if that’s okay.”
“Go on, sweetie.” Gently, Reese urges Forrest down the front steps. “Go say hello. Colton came to see you.”
Forrest’s dad, Jake, watches. He’s stoic but not mad. You can read it in how his eyebrows bend. He’s just worried about his boy.
“But,” Forrest turns back to his mom, “we’re waiting for the man you made a baby with. The man who’s my father, not my dad.”
Colt struggles. His voice cracks. “That’s me.”
Forrest turns back to him, and in the boy’s eyes, Colt drops to his height. But to us… we witness love so profound drop Colt to his knees on the grass before his son.
“Forrest, I’m your father,” he says, his tone strangling with emotion. “I’m the man your mom had a baby with. And I’m really happy to finally meet you like this. I’m here today because I hope we can be friends if that’s okay with you.”
I bite my lip, salty tears spilling over their seam. I nestle my head against Beau’s. He’s squeezing my waist. He’s crying, too.
The boy tilts his head. It’s so cute. It’s like he’s seeing Colt for the first time. “Is that why I run so fast?” he asks. “Because you’re my father? I’m like you because I’m the baby you made me with my mom?”
Colt huffs a laugh. It’s so tender. It’s so he won’t cry; I can hear it. He’s fighting back tears.
“Yeah,” he answers. “That’s probably why you’re so fast. But I bet you throw so good because your Dad taught you. Right? He’s teaching you to be a great football player?”
“Yeah,” Forrest answers, his proud chin jutting high. He’s an innocent kid. For him, it’s simple. “Can we play now? Me, you and my dad? Can we play with the ball you gave me? It’s in my room. Wanna see it? I have posters of you, too. And I have your jersey. You and Beau Bronson’s, but you’re my favorite. Don’t tell him. He’s your friend, right?”
“Yeah.” Colt clears his throat. He rises from his knees. “He’s my best friend. But I won’t tell him I’m your favorite. I’ll let you tell him.”
I kiss Beau’s cheek. It’s wet with tears.
“Come on.” Forrest holds out his little hand for Colt’s. “Come see my room. And my Legos. And my?—”
The boy’s excited, rambling on, tugging at Colt’s massive hand like he’s found his new best friend. Colt smiles, glancing over his shoulder at us, and we wave. Then he climbs the porch, shaking Jake’s hand before following his son into the house.
We watch as Reese disappears, closing the front door behind them.
Wind rustles the autumn leaves while we’re silent, while love swirls around us.
Gently, Beau presses his lips to my ear. “We’re going to have a baby together, Blair Monroe.” He whispers, “Please, say yes.”
Tears won’t stop filling my eyes. “Yes.” I can see it, too.
Tenderly, he murmurs, his beard tickling my flesh. “We’ll have a girl who loves books, and then we’ll have a boy who loves football. Two boys, actually.”
I turn, nuzzling his nose. “Or the other way around.”
“Sorry.” His eyes sparkle, searching mine. “I forgot my feminism.”
“You’re a hot alpha male with a big dick and a sexy smile. Feminism says I have to forgive you.”
He laughs. “Not in the books I read.”
“And since you read books by Virginia Woolf and Toni Morrison, too, my feminism says I have to give you really hot, kinky sex every single night.”
“It doesn’t take hot, kinky sex for us to make lots of bookish babies.”
“It does if you’re making babies with me.”
Laughter fills our kiss. I taste the salt on our lips, too. The happy tears we shed for Colt.
Something about this moment makes Beau cup my cheeks, and I cup his back, loving his whiskers in my grasp. It deepens our kiss, our hearts beating together, our breath intertwined like our connection.
It takes me full circle, back to the night Beau showed up at my dorm. When he had a busted lip and a broken heart over Colt. I could feel his love, wanting to take away his pain. And we wanted to kiss, too. We wanted to share everything together, but we couldn’t.
We waited until now.
“Marry me,” Beau sighs into our kiss. “Marry me, Blair Monroe.”
The sweet shock stops my heart. I pull back, searching his deep blue eyes. I can’t believe my ears. Or my luck.
“Is this a prank?”
“Never.” He won’t let go of my face. “I’ll do it right one day. I’ll surprise you with a huge ring and everything, I promise. But I can’t sit here and see Colt with his son and not see every day of my future with you and him and our kids, too. It’s all I want now. More than the Super Bowl.”
“Such goddamn blasphemy.” I gently smile. “I’m telling Coach you said it.”
“Go ahead.” He pecks my lips. “It’s the truth. I’m not going to win the Super Bowl for myself. I’ll win it with Colt for every kid like us in school. For every closeted guy in a locker room. For every lonely college athlete who’s not as lucky as I was.” His thumb brushes my cheek. “Because I loved Blair Monroe. I survived hell because she made my life heaven when she was around.”
I’m so proud. I’m so in love, too, I have to prank and pout, “But you said I was the pain in your ass who made your life hell. You said I was the best at it.”
“You are, baby.” His smiling lips seek mine. They’re soft, kissing and vowing, “You’re my heaven and hell forever.”
“So, you want me to be your wife, your WAG?”
“Yep.”
“You want me to wear an obnoxiously massive diamond ring, size five by the way, on my finger. It’ll be so big, twelve carats to be exact, that I’ll have to do bicep curls to pick my nose with my left finger?”
His deep laugh is so sexy. “Yep.”
“You want me to decorate our house any way I want, as well as our vacation home in Key West?”
“Key West?”
“Yeah. Where Hemingway lived. I have a love-hate relationship with him.”
“Yes, Kitten. We can buy a house in Key West.”
“And you want me to be Mrs. Beau Bronson?”
“Hell, no.” He shakes his head. “I love Blair Madison Monroe way too much. Don’t you dare change your name or the other naughty ones I call you.”
I search his eyes, remembering the morning after Valentine’s when I made Beau leave. When I wanted him to have his dream. Even if it wasn’t me.
But now, I am.
He dreams of our love.
I nuzzle his nose. “Okay, I’ll be your wife, your better half, and ball-and-chain. I’ll be the mother of your children, too. I’ll spend all your money on books and?—”
“Uh, you make money, too.”
“Yeah, but it’s more fun spending yours.”
I feel his smile as he kisses my neck. “This is the prenup from hell.”
“Beau.” I lift his gaze to mine. “I’ll be your wife forever under two conditions.”
He cocks a grin. “What’s the game plan?”
“Ask me next time in a way that melts my panties and makes me snot cry.”
“Done.” He kisses me. “What else?”
“Marry Colt, not me.”
I watch it light up his blue eyes. I watch the dream dance across his gorgeous gaze.
“Right?” I ask. “It feels right, you marrying Colt, doesn’t it?”
His brows bend. “But I want to marry you, too.”
“But you can’t. Not legally. So marry your high school sweetheart. The one you’ve loved for so long. Do that, and you can have the wife of your dreams, too. I don’t need for it to be legal, for it to be real.” I touch his chest. His heart is pounding. “But think about it. You and Colt need it. You deserve it. You don’t need to hide. You deserve to celebrate your husband, your love, and for the whole world to see it.”
“Blair.” His hand glides through my hair, tugging my lips to his. “Baby, I love you even more for saying that. You know I love Colt. I’ve always wanted to marry him, but I want to be your husband, too. I wanted you for so long. I need you to be my wife.”
“I am.” I chew my lip, fighting the sweet tears, but fuck it. Today is the time to let them flow.
“Beau, from the moment you showed up at my door, saving my friend with her passed out in your arms. Or the time you knocked on my door with a busted lip, missing your friend and needing me too. Or the morning I made you leave me alone in a hotel room, so you could have your dream. It’s like you said; there’s always been an us. We’ve always been together. I’ve always loved you, and good fucking luck making me stop.”
He kisses me so deeply a tiny sob catches in my throat. I can feel it in how he clutches me so tight. He’s in the moments with me, too.
Like that’s where our love resides, not in rings, paper, or names.
“But there’s this girl from college,” he murmurs over my lips. “For my birthday, she made a paper rose for me from the pages of a Harry Potter book and left it on my pillow without a note. But I know it was her. I still have the rose, and she still has my heart. How do I show her I’ll be devoted to her forever?”
My fucking happy tears won’t stop, so I kiss his lips. I won’t ever stop kissing Beau’s lips. “I’m sure you’ll come up with a game plan.”