Chapter 21 #4
I give him my best, you’re not fooling me look—the same one I gave my sisters when they were little and trying to pull something over on me while I was in charge of them.
Except, the look on his face is the first real, unguarded expression I’ve seen since he walked up to me and Jackson a few minutes ago.
And unfortunately, he looks hurt. No, strike that. He looks mad.
“Beau, all I did was defend you. I tried to clear up some misconceptions. I don’t understand why you’re mad at me about that.”
“I told you that I’d never told anyone about my photography business.
You know I don’t talk about my relationship with my dad.
Those things were private, Sierra. Don’t you think if I’d wanted to have those conversations with my family, I would have already had them?
” His voice is a few decibels too loud, and people are starting to glance over at us, which makes me intensely uncomfortable.
“What’s wrong,” he asks, his voice mocking me as he looks at my face, then glances around, “you afraid people are watching you?” I know he’s zeroing in on how much I hate being in the spotlight, and it’s like he’s rubbing at a persistent sore that’s achy and vulnerable.
“That maybe now they know something about you that you’re not ready to share?
How’s that feel? These people are fucking strangers, Sierra”—his words are venom—“and you’re worried about what they might think about you.
Imagine how I feel. You just shared my most intimate secrets with my family. ”
“To portray you in a better and more authentic light!” I practically yell in his face. “Because you’re not who they think you are, and I want them to know they’re wrong.”
“That’s what this is really about, isn’t it? You couldn’t bear to have them know something was going on between us unless you also convinced them that I’m not who they thought. Because you’d be embarrassed to be with the guy they think I am.”
“That’s not—” I stumble over my own words. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” he asks, casually taking a step away from me and shoving his hands in his jacket pockets with an air of ease that he clearly doesn’t feel. He’s like a tightly wound spring. “You only fall for stable, dependable guys. Pretty much the opposite of me.”
“I fell for you, Beau,” I say, and reach out to put my hand on his shoulder, but he leans back so I miss his arm and my hand falls back to my side.
“No, you enjoyed having me as your dirty little secret. The one no one but Sydney could know about. And then when you came here and my family put two and two together, you shared my secrets so they wouldn’t look down on you, wouldn’t think you fell for a womanizing asshole with commitment issues.”
I don’t know where to start with his interpretation of events, so when my jaw falls open and no words tumble out, he assumes it’s because he’s nailed the situation down cleanly.
“Admit it, Sierra. This was never going to work because I don’t fit neatly into the box of requirements you built for the guy you’d end up with.
Luckily,” he continues when I still haven’t found my words, “it doesn’t matter, because whatever I wanted this to be is dead.
I could never be with someone I can’t trust. And I certainly can’t trust you. ”
He steps around me and walks back into the lodge, and the tears start falling immediately. I turn and rush through the crowds of people, making my way back to the parking lot where I climb into my car and hope no one walking by sees me sobbing.
Whatever I wanted this to be is dead. Those words will haunt me.
How did I get this so wrong? In the six hours of daydreaming I did on the drive here, imagining what our reunion would be like, I never could have imagined this. Running into his family, defending him only to have him turn on me.
The texts start coming through immediately, interrupting my thoughts and preventing me from processing what just happened.
Jackson
What the hell happened? You didn’t leave, did you?
Jackson
I will kill my brother if he hurt you. He’s not saying what happened, and I want to make sure you’re okay.
Jackson
See, this is what Beau does.
Jackson
Please, Sierra—talk to me.
The need to defend Beau is almost visceral.
I’m so tempted to respond that I mute the text thread, figuring that if I don’t see her texts, I won’t think about replying.
I set my phone on the console of my car, noting that while my best friend is texting me nonstop, her brother hasn’t sent me even one message.
Without the distraction of my phone, I let the tears fall.
All the tears for the life I thought I wanted, and for the love I unexpectedly found with Beau.
I don’t know how we possibly could have made things work between us, but I wanted to try.
Maybe it’s better this way, I tell myself.
Maybe this ending was inevitable and it’s better that it happened before things got any further along.
Buoyed by the thought that I’ve saved myself from a lot of future heartache, I dry my tears, take off my jacket and hat, and settle myself in for the long drive home. Alone.