Chapter 9 #2
My breath caught as I vaguely remembered my fingers flying rapidly over my phone, spewing out every detail of the past few months with Beau, desperate to share it with someone.
Cole. I’d texted Cole the whole complicated story, with my unvarnished feelings bursting out of it.
My feelings. For Beau.
My head renewed its pounding.
“I’m sorry.” I spoke quietly, struggling to swallow past the shame clogging my esophagus. “I thought you’d…”
“Forget you?” Cole finished for me, hands on his hips. “Give up on you?”
I pursed my lips, nodding slowly at him. I shouldn't have been surprised by his ability to pluck the thoughts right out of my brain. He knew me too well.
The look in his eyes—which had been sharp, biting—softened.
“Girlfriend, you have had a lifetime of people giving up on you, making you believe you’re not worthy, so I’ll give you a little pass for believing that bullshit.
” He held his pointer finger and thumb a few millimeters apart.
“A little break. But you are also smart as fuck. Your grades reflect that, even if your marital status does not.”
“I can’t believe you’re here,” I exclaimed, instead of addressing what he just said. The last thing I needed to do was burst into tears.
“Yeah, you expected me to give up on you.” Cole shook his head.
I shook my own head. “It’s not that, I—”
“Banana? The brownies are ready. Hi!”
A warm presence pressed into my side.
Cole’s eyes traveled down to the small person in a pink tutu who had greeted him. They immediately lit up.
“Well, hello, gorgeous creature,” Cole replied.
“I’m Clara.” She introduced herself without an inch of shyness, holding out her hand.
Cole shook it dutifully. “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.”
Clara looked at me. “Is he your friend?”
I nodded. “My oldest one.” I didn’t add that he was my only friend, not counting her.
Cole glared at me. “Excuse me, but I get Botox to ensure that no one calls me old,” he hissed.
“You don’t look old,” Clara told him, happily and truthfully. “Do you want some brownies?”
I opened my mouth to protest, not quite knowing how I was going to do that.
Despite the complication of Cole’s presence, I was genuinely happy to see him.
He was my oldest and best friend. He’d stood at my side at my wedding, even though he disagreed with my decision to get married.
He celebrated every one of my wins, and he was there for me through the many lows of my life.
I’d felt alone in Jupiter, despite Clara’s presence, despite the women trying to welcome me. I was playing a part, hiding all the broken pieces of myself. Cole knew those parts and loved me anyway.
I desperately wanted Cole here. Even with his pissed-off gaze, I felt more comfortable. I wanted to eat brownies with him and Clara. I wanted him to know Clara, be in her presence. Wanted another person in my life to share in the memory of her when I was no longer her nanny.
There was just the small problem of Beau. I didn’t know how he’d react to having a man he didn’t know in his house.
No, I knew exactly how Beau would react.
He’d be furious.
Beau would be furious.
I did not want to be on the receiving end of his fury right then. Especially not with the moments we’d shared this morning and last night still lingering.
I had to stop this.
The problem was that Clara was already dragging Cole inside.
BEAU
There was a man in my house.
I’d heard the door; I would’ve answered it myself, but Hannah had beaten me to it. That irritated me. Not because I didn’t want her to feel at home. Precisely because it taunted me with the fact that this wasn’t her home. This place was temporary for her. We were temporary.
That was supposed to be a good thing. My balls would thank me when she left; they’d no longer be fucking bursting with need.
Yet the mere idea of her not being under my roof set my teeth on edge.
The low murmur of voices alerted me to the presence of a man, one whose voice I didn’t recognize.
First, I went on alert purely for safety reasons.
But then, when it became clear that the man at the door didn’t have any ill will, my blood started to boil.
This was a man. Who was here for Hannah, by process of elimination.
Hannah was a stunning woman. She was young.
It only made sense that she had a boyfriend, even though she’d told me she didn’t.
Even though last night was the first night she’d gone out since she’d moved in.
I understood that her generation didn’t need to go out to date. They just needed their phones.
My eavesdropping—though I couldn’t make out most of the conversation—told me this man was familiar to her. This man knew Hannah.
And just the baritone of his voice made me want to punch a wall.
It was bad enough hearing him on my doorstep, but then, when the voice became louder, and it was clear that he was in my fucking house, that’s where I drew the line.
The scene I was about to make would lower me in Hannah’s estimation—a good thing, I reminded myself.
Yet doing anything confrontational in front of Clara was a problem, which was the only thing that forced my temper down as I strode into my kitchen.
All three sets of eyes shifted to me. Including vibrant blue ones belonging to the man I hated on principle.
He was tall, handsome, wearing expensive shit, and very well-groomed.
Too well-groomed to be straight, though I knew that was an antiquated and possibly politically incorrect thought to have.
Though I was old and didn’t socialize, I knew a couple of things. Today’s generation was less about labels, and sexuality was more fluid. Straight men sometimes wore more personal care products than their girlfriends.
Therefore, it stood to reason that this man could be straight, bisexual, pansexual. I glared at how close he was standing to Hannah. Too close, playing with her hair with an intimacy that made me see red.
My daughter was sitting on the counter, swinging her legs while chewing on a mouthful of chocolate, blissfully oblivious of my fury.
Hannah froze with her eyes on me, red blooming across her cheeks, eyes widening with panic as she looked between the man and me. I hated seeing her react with unease and hurt. She was preparing for me to be an asshole. It shredded my insides. I did not want to be the man who made Hannah uneasy.
I wanted to be the man who made Hannah smile. Who made her scream with ecstasy and forget her own fucking name because she was so overcome by pleasure.
My molars gnashed together as I tried to force that thought from my mind. My daughter was in front of me, for fuck’s sake.
“Beau,” Hannah murmured, her voice soft, small.
The man beside her narrowed his eyes at her for a moment before he looked at me.
His expression was not friendly. It was almost outright hostile.
The feeling is mutual, buddy.
“This is Cole.” Hannah motioned to the man. “He’s a childhood friend. He just stopped by, I didn’t know he was coming. Otherwise, I would’ve…” She didn’t complete the sentence, chewing on her lip.
I fucking hated seeing her suffer, seeing her brace for me to be a dick to her. And the only person I had to blame for that was me.
With great effort, mindful of my daughter’s gaze, I stepped forward and extended my hand. “Cole. Glad to meet one of Hannah’s friends.”
Cole eyed my hand for a moment before shaking it. He didn’t engage in some meaningless, toxic display of masculinity by trying to break the bones in my hand. The handshake was firm. Polite.
And he had some really soft fucking hands.
“Cole works in the Natural History Museum in New York City,” Clara gushed. “He said he can get me in at nighttime, and I can touch some things.” She whispered the last part, as if the museum had bugged our house. “Can we go?”
Her question was a punch to the gut. Clara read about all sorts of places when she was sick, and I’d promised her all sorts of adventures when she was better.
Promises I was yet to follow through on because I was too fucking scared to take her out into the world.
Hannah had taken her on more adventures than I had.
Yet all of those were within town limits.
“Of course, Bug, we’ll pencil it in,” I lied. No way in fuck were we going on any kind of outing with Hannah’s boyfriend.
“And Hannah has to come,” Clara added. “Cole said he knows the best place to get French hot chocolates.”
Cole seemed to have won my daughter over with science and chocolate, and fuck if it didn’t impress me. I wanted to hate the guy simply because he had been running his hands through Hannah’s hair.
What did it feel like, to have the ability to touch her? Did the strands feel like silk on his fingers? Could he smell the vanilla she used in her shampoo that stuck to my very pores?
“I don’t know…” Hannah’s eyes darted to me.
“Of course, Hannah will come,” I stated firmly. It was stupid of me. Hannah did not need to come to things like that, yet I wanted her deeply involved in every one of Clara’s adventures. In every one of Clara’s memories.
“Oh!” Clara yelled. She tended to yell when she was excited. “I just thought of the book I wanted to show Cole.” When she made as if to jump down from the counter, Hannah and I both moved. Hannah was closer, so Clara climbed naturally into her arms.
“You know the one I’m talking about?” Clara asked Hannah. “It has the whole section on ancient Egypt.”
“I do, and you can’t carry that alone. Especially not if you want other books too, which I’m sure you do. I’ll help you.”
“I’ll finish the tea.” Cole gestured to the mugs, looking meaningfully at me.
Hannah again looked vaguely panicked. “I mean you can come—”
“I’ll finish the tea, Han,” Cole replied sternly.
Hannah visibly swallowed then nodded, surrendering as she carried my daughter in the direction of her room.
My eyes touched their backs, watching until they disappeared into Clara’s room. I tried to imprint every curve of Hannah’s body onto my brain, memorizing the way Clara’s hand was fastened in hers, the sounds of their animated conversations filtering through my house.
Soon, that’s all I’d have of her. Memories. Memories of the sounds, smells, and warmth she brought to our home.
Taking in a long inhale, I stared at the man in my kitchen, eating the brownies my daughter and Hannah made, muttering about sugar being demonized for no unnecessary reason. I thought about the way she smiled at him. With a light in her eyes that had only existed with Clara.
He touched her with a casual affection that infuriated me. That I coveted greedily.
“You’re gay, right?” I essentially barked at him.
He looked at me with a raised brow, still holding half the brownie, chewing slowly while staring at me before finally swallowing.
“I’m pretty sure it’s illegal for you to ask me that,” he replied evenly, looking me up and down. “Unless that’s a lumberjack way of hitting on me.” His eyes traveled down the hallway, toward Clara’s room, as if he were deciding they were out of earshot.
“I’m actually into this.” He spun his hand in front of my body. “But I know you don’t swing that way. You swing in the direction of dark hair and hazel eyes. Big … heart.” He waggled his eyes playfully. Then all semblance of playfulness left his face.
“That heart, by the way, somehow remained large, soft, and giving despite being covered in scars by people who like to ruin beautiful things because they’re ugly on the inside,” he continued with an edge.
“I don’t take you as one of those people, though.
Purely because I’ve seen the way you look at her. ”
He stepped forward, advancing on me in my own fucking house. But all I could think of was how he said Hannah’s heart was covered in scars. That someone had hurt Hannah. I wanted to track them down and make them pay. I wanted to be the fucking person who healed those scars.
But right then, I was facing off with a man who quite obviously loved Hannah and was more than willing to go to battle for her.
“I know there’s a tragic backstory here.
” He waved his hand down my body. “And that makes you interesting and all the more smoldering, but that does not give you carte blanche to hurt my friend. Nor does the fact that your frontal lobe doesn’t seem to have left the playground and still thinks we bully the girls we like.
” When he paused, I heard my heart thundering in my ears.
How in the fuck could he know about the feelings I had toward Hannah? He’d been in my house for five fucking minutes. Was it that obvious? Was it in the way I looked at her?
“I never did that because I never liked girls in that way, but I also didn’t hurt the people I liked.
” His voice was sharp, settling in front of me a little closer than was polite.
“I’ll ask you nicely—because I have manners, your biceps are bigger than mine, and I don’t think I’d beat you in any kind of physical altercation.
Stop hurting Hannah. She does not deserve it. ”
I stared at him. This man who I’d just met. Who was standing in my kitchen, , dressing me down. I was over a decade older than him. And this was my goddamn house.
Yet I felt properly chastised. I felt shame. Coated in it. There was no fight in me. Not when this man spoke the truth that he, apparently, saw in just a handful of seconds. He saw the truth in a fucking look.
And he quite obviously knew I’d been treating Hannah badly.
Because Hannah had told him. Hannah was not someone who easily complained to a friend.
I knew that about her. She didn’t ask for help; she was an interior person.
I must’ve been hurting her pretty fucking badly for her to have talked to her friend about it.
I’d hurt her pretty fucking badly.
When she already had a heart covered in scars.
Didn’t I already know that? How many times had I caught her looking out the window, captured by a thought that painted naked pain on her face? Despair? Hadn’t I wracked my fucking brain about the day I’d found her staring at a letter like her world was imploding around her ears?
Yes, I’d known Hannah had been broken. Yet I’d refused to treat her with the care she deserved because I didn’t trust myself not to worship her. Not to claim her for my own.
“No.” I uttered the word quietly. “She does not deserve it.”
“Fix it,” Cole demanded. “Soon.” His eyes flickered to the hall, where I heard voices approaching.
All menace melted off Cole’s face as the girls approached.
Fix it.
My eyes danced over Hannah’s body. She was wearing sweats. No makeup—not that she wore a lot anyway. She was carrying books for Clara, smiling down at her. She was a fucking showstopper.
Fix it.
How in the fuck did I fix it when in that moment, watching them in my kitchen, absolutely nothing felt broken.