Chapter 25 Beau
Beau
Dawn creeps through my bedroom windows like a cautious messenger, painting everything in shades of gray and gold that remind me why I chose this room, this view, this life.
I've been awake for the better part of an hour, afraid to move, afraid to disturb the impossible perfection of this moment that feels too fragile to be real.
Lucy sleeps between Colt and me, her naked body curved against my side like she was made to fit there, like some divine architect designed her specifically for this space between my ribs and my heart.
Her quiet sighs stir something fierce and protective in me, something that wants to build walls around this moment and keep the world from ever touching it.
My fingers trace lazy patterns across her shoulder blade, following the delicate line of her spine, memorizing the silk of her skin because nothing this perfect has ever lasted in my life.
Everything good gets taken away eventually.
After yesterday's encounter in the barn, we'd somehow made it back to the main house in a tangle of hands and heated kisses, stumbling like drunks on something stronger than whiskey.
Gabriel had texted saying he needed to stay overnight at the precinct, coordinating with state police about Roy Cutter, asking us to keep Lucy safe. The irony wasn't lost on any of us.
We'd kept her safe, all right. Kept her thoroughly occupied too.
We'd barely crossed the threshold before we were at each other again, desperate and hungry like we hadn't just claimed her completely in the hay.
Hours had passed in a blur of tangled limbs and gasped names, punctuated only by necessary trips to the kitchen for water and whatever food we could manage one-handed.
None of us had wanted to break contact, afraid that letting go might shatter whatever fragile magic we'd stumbled into.
Now, in the quiet aftermath, doubt creeps in like morning frost.
My thumb traces the curve of Lucy's hip, and she shifts slightly in her sleep, pressing closer to my warmth with unconscious trust. The simple gesture nearly undoes me.
Beside her, Colt sleeps hard, one arm thrown possessively over her waist even in unconsciousness. His face is relaxed in a way I haven't seen in two years, the lines of pain and anger smoothed away by exhaustion and satisfaction.
Yesterday didn't just reconnect me with Lucy. It reconnected me with the man who used to be my brother in everything but blood.
But for how long?
The questions spiral through my mind like vultures circling carrion. What happens when Lucy moves on? Because she will, eventually. Beautiful, vibrant women like her don't stay in places like this, with men like us. They spread their wings and fly toward bigger, brighter things.
And what about the secrets still lying between us like unexploded ordnance?
The truth about Sophia that I've kept locked away for two years, the reason I destroyed the best friendship I ever had.
How long before that poison starts seeping through the cracks again, contaminating everything we've built?
My finger finds small scars on Lucy's ribs, thin white lines that speak of old pain and survival.
Everyone has scars.
Everyone has secrets.
But some secrets are too heavy to carry alone, and some are too dangerous to share.
A soft intake of breath tells me she's waking. Lucy's eyes flutter open, brown and warm and immediately focused on my face with an intensity that makes my breath catch. When she smiles, sleepy and satisfied and completely trusting, something tight in my chest loosens like a knot finally giving way.
"Good morning," she whispers, her voice rough with sleep and thoroughly used.
"Morning, sunshine." The endearment slips out naturally, and I watch her eyes soften at the sound of it like she's been waiting her whole life to hear it.
She stretches like a cat, arching against me in ways that make my body take immediate notice despite our marathon session yesterday. When she settles back down, her hand finds the center of my chest, fingers playing through the hair there with absent intimacy.
"How long have you been awake?" she asks.
"A while." I catch her hand, bringing it to my lips to press a kiss to her palm. "Come with me. There's something I want to show you."
She doesn't hesitate, doesn't ask questions. Just slips carefully out from under Colt's arm and follows me from the bed with the kind of trust that humbles me. The implicit faith in that simple action hits me harder than it should.
I grab a hoodie from my dresser, one of my old ranch working sweatshirts that's been washed soft with age and wear. When I slip it over her head, it engulfs her small frame, falling nearly to her knees and making her look young and precious and utterly mine.
I hurriedly dress myself too.
"Where are we going?" she asks, but there's curiosity in her voice, not concern.
"You'll see."
I take her hand to lead her from the room, then stop when I notice the bandage still wrapped around her wrist. The reminder of her attack, of how close I came to losing her before I even had her, sends ice through my veins and steel through my spine.
"Does it hurt?" I ask, my thumb ghosting over the edge of the bandage with infinite care. "We were... intense with you yesterday."
Lucy's cheeks flush pink, but she shakes her head. "It doesn't hurt. The attack feels like a lifetime ago after..." She pauses, biting her lower lip in a way that makes me want to soothe the spot with my tongue. "I enjoyed every moment, Beau. All of it."
The honesty in her voice, the way she meets my eyes without shame or regret, makes my throat tight with emotion I don't have words for. I lift her hand to my lips again, pressing a gentle kiss just above the bandage.
"Good," I tell her, meaning it with every fiber of my being. "You should never feel anything but pleasure when you're with us."
I lead her through the quiet house and out the back door, the morning air cool and crisp against our skin. The world is hushed and gray, caught in that perfect moment between night and day when everything feels possible and nothing has been decided yet.
The hill behind the house isn't much more than a gentle rise, but it offers a commanding view of the entire ranch spread out below like a kingdom.
I've climbed this path thousands of times, in every season and weather, whenever the weight of responsibility threatens to crush me under its familiar burden. It's my sanctuary, my place of peace in a world that demands constant strength.
I've never brought anyone here before. Not Sophia, not my parents, not even Colt in all our years of friendship.
At the top, I settle behind Lucy, pulling her back against my chest and wrapping my arms around her waist. She fits perfectly against me, her head tucked under my chin, her warmth seeping through the cotton of the hoodie like she's trying to heat me from the inside out.
"This is my place," I tell her, my voice quiet in the pre-dawn stillness. "I come here every morning when I can. It gives me perspective, helps me remember what I'm working for, what all of this means."
Below us, the ranch spreads out like a promise made manifest. Pastures and fences, barns and outbuildings, cattle moving slowly through the morning mist like ghosts of prosperity. Four generations of Blackwell sweat and dreams transformed into wood and wire and fertile ground.
"I've never shared this with anyone," I continue, surprised by my own honesty. "This moment, this place. It's always been mine alone. But having you here..." I pause, struggling for words that don't sound like pretty lies. "It feels right. I can't explain it properly, but it does."
Lucy's breath catches, and when she turns in my arms to look at me, there are tears gathering in her brown eyes like morning dew.
"Thank you," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. "For trusting me with this..."
She doesn't finish the sentence, but she doesn't need to. The emotion in her voice says everything that words can't capture.
"I can't explain it either," she continues, settling back against my chest like she belongs there. "But this feels right to me too. All of it. Yesterday, last night, this moment. It should be complicated and messy and wrong, but it's not. It's the most right I've felt in..."
She stops abruptly, and I can feel the weight of unfinished words between us. Secrets wanting to spill out in the safety of dawn and isolation.
"How long?" I ask gently, my arms tightening around her protectively.
"A long time." Her voice is barely audible, like she's afraid speaking too loudly might break the spell. "Since before my mother died. Maybe longer."
The pain in those words makes my arms tighten around her instinctively. I want to ask more, want to understand what puts that wounded look in her eyes sometimes.
But I also know the crushing weight of secrets too heavy to share.
"When my mother died, I just... lost myself for a while. Made some poor choices, trusted the wrong people. Ended up in a situation that was..." She pauses, choosing her words with surgical precision. "Difficult to extract myself from."
The careful way she phrases it sets every protective instinct I have ringing like alarm bells. A situation difficult to extract herself from. That could mean a dozen different things, none of them acceptable for a young woman alone in the world.
"Did someone hurt you?" The question comes out rougher than I intended, edged with violence I'm trying to keep leashed.
"Someone tried to control me," she corrects, and there's steel in her voice now, pride and hard-won determination.
"Tried to convince me I was broken, that I couldn't take care of myself.
That I needed... management." The word drips with disgust. "I got out.
I've been taking care of myself ever since. "
The pieces start clicking together like tumblers in a lock. Her jumpiness around authority figures, the way she flinches sometimes when men raise their voices, the careful distance she maintains. Someone did more than try to control her. Someone succeeded, at least for a while.
Rage builds in my chest, hot and vicious and barely controlled. The urge to find whoever hurt her and make them pay is so strong it's almost physical. But underneath the anger is something else. Recognition.
"I understand keeping secrets," I tell her, my voice rough with emotion I can't quite contain. "Sometimes we think we're protecting people by not telling them the truth. Sometimes we're just protecting ourselves from having to face it."
Lucy goes very still in my arms, and I can feel her processing my words. "What kind of secrets?"
The question hangs between us like a challenge, like an invitation to jump off a cliff together. I could tell her everything right now. About the guilt that's been eating me alive for two years like acid in my veins.
But the sun is starting to paint the horizon with streaks of pink and gold, and Lucy is warm and trusting in my arms, and I'm not ready to shatter this perfect moment with the wreckage of my past mistakes.
"The kind that feels too dangerous to share," I say finally. "But too heavy to keep carrying alone."
She turns to look at me again, and in her eyes I see understanding. Not judgment, not demands for explanations, just recognition of shared pain and the careful dance we all do around our deepest wounds.
"Maybe someday," she says softly, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw. "When we're both ready to trust that much."
"Maybe someday," I agree, though the words feel like both a promise and a threat.
We settle back into comfortable silence, watching the sun climb higher, painting the world in shades of hope and possibility.
In the distance, I can hear the ranch starting to wake up, horses nickering, cattle lowing, the distant sound of truck engines. Soon I'll have to go back to being the boss, the responsible one, the man who has everything under control.
But for now, I'm just Beau, holding a woman who somehow makes me feel whole again.
"Beau?" Lucy's voice is thoughtful, careful.
"Yes?"
"Yesterday, with you and Colt... that couldn't have been easy. After everything that happened between you two."
I consider her words, the diplomatic way she's approaching the minefield of our history. "No, it wasn't easy. But it was... necessary, I think. We've been circling each other like wounded animals for two years. Maybe it was time to stop circling and start healing."
"And now?"
"Now I think we will figure out what comes next. All of us." I pause, gathering courage for what I need to say.
"Lucy, what happened yesterday, what's happening between all of us... it's not just physical attraction. At least not for me."
She's quiet for so long I wonder if I've said too much, pushed too hard into territory she's not ready to explore. Then she speaks, her voice barely audible.
"For me either."
Relief floods through me, followed immediately by terror. Because this is dangerous territory we're entering. Four people trying to navigate something most of the world would never understand or accept.
The sun breaks fully over the horizon now, flooding the valley with golden light that makes everything look new and possible. Below us, the ranch comes alive with purpose and the rhythm of honest work. In my arms, Lucy sighs with something that sounds like contentment, like coming home.
For now, watching the sunrise paint the world in promises, that's enough. The morning stretches ahead of us, full of questions and complications and choices that will define who we become.
But in this moment, on this hill, with this woman in my arms, I allow myself to believe that some things are worth the risk.
That some people are worth fighting for.
That maybe, just maybe, we can build something beautiful from the wreckage of our separate broken pieces.
The thought should terrify me. Instead, for the first time in years, it feels like hope.