Chapter 11 #2
I’d almost forgotten that I’d blurted about my crush on Beau not two minutes ago. It was only fair. She had told me a secret, trusting me. Plus, I desperately needed to get it out, and I’d spent all that time denying Cole, denying myself. It felt freeing.
“I’ll finish working for him, then I’ll leave. I’ll get my degree, fix my credit, restart my life.” I shrugged, as if it were going to be that simple.
“Selfishly, I wish you were staying here.” Lori gave me a small smile. “I love everyone here, but I’m the odd woman out. It would be nice to have you.”
My stomach pitched. “I wish I could stay too.”
For a second, I let myself believe I might be like Nora, Fiona, or Avery. That I might be someone who had found themselves a rare man. A good one. A happy ending.
But that thought was quickly squashed. Beau was a good father.
But he wasn’t a good man.
Not for me.
Never for me.
“A toast.” I held up my soda. “To terrible men giving us the strength to live extraordinary lives.”
Lori clinked her glass to mine. “I’ll toast to that, but I’m pretty sure Beau is not a terrible man.”
I pursed my lips.
That was what I was afraid of.
Lori was driving me home. She’d suggested driving because she was now the default sober driver and wanted to give me the opportunity to drink at dinner.
Though I enjoyed the night with Lori and the champagne with the other women, neither was going to be a regular occurrence for me.
Even without the hangover, I was still haunted by the hold alcohol had over Waylon and my mother.
I was still waiting for it to sink its talons into me and drag me down to their level.
That, and I didn’t need to repeat the situation of crawling on all fours in front of Beau, being so clouded by champagne I could’ve kissed him.
I didn’t need him to muddy the waters between us more by acting like he cared about me. And it was just plain unprofessional to be hungover while looking after Clara.
“Are you sure that there isn’t anything with you and Beau?” Lori asked during the drive. “Because that would be a pretty cute love story.”
I barked out a laugh. It was funny, describing Beau Shaw as cute and referring to our situation as a love story.
“I’m sure,” I told her. “I may be somewhat attracted to him, and maybe even like him, but we’re not suited.
” It was the first time I’d admitted out loud that I liked him.
It felt nice to say it to someone who understood how messy things could get.
And it also made me extremely sad. Because we were not suited. Not in the ways that mattered.
Lori gave me a sideways glance, opening her mouth to say something. But then there was a crash, a crunch of metal, and not much else.
It was my first car crash.
I didn’t love it.
There was a lot of chaos. Flashing lights. Paramedics. Luckily, nothing dramatic like us being pulled out of the car. We weren’t speeding, nor was the person who ran the stop sign and crashed into us.
I had a minor cut on my head, which was being treated by paramedics. Lori seemed shaken but unharmed. I was worried more about her than me, since she was pregnant, so I’d been arguing with the paramedics to focus on her.
Then a police cruiser turned up, and a handsome man folded out of it, eyes on Lori. She had her back to him, speaking to the EMT.
“I’m, uh, not sure if this is going to change anything, but I’m pregnant.”
She uttered this just as the officer made his way to us. Or to her.
He froze for a split second, eyes wide on Lori. “You’re fucking pregnant?” he rumbled.
Lori let out a small gasp, whirling to face the police officer.
“Finn.” When his name flew past her lips, I remembered her speaking about him. About the man she had a crush on but didn’t want her.
This did not look like a man who didn’t want her. Not even a little bit.
“You’re fucking pregnant?” he repeated, this time louder.
She opened her mouth, but he didn’t give her the opportunity to speak. He looked to the paramedic. “She needs to be in the hospital. Right fucking now.”
“Finn—” Lori tried to speak.
He held up his hand to silence her.
Normally, that was something that would immediately put me off a man, but it was plain to see his concern, his fear, his longing for Lori, painted all over his face.
“She seems to be in good shape,” the paramedic said. “But—”
“Seems?” Finn barked. “I’m not going on seems. She’s going to the fucking hospital.”
“Finn—” Lori tried again, but his name was the only thing she uttered before her eyes glazed over.
I knew what someone looked like when they were about to pass out, so I’d already pushed off my seat on the ambulance’s bumper. But I was much too slow.
She didn’t hit the ground. Because this officer—the man who was clearly pissed off and in love with her—caught her. He didn’t even blink before hauling her into the ambulance and shouting orders at the paramedics to get her to the hospital.
I watched them drive away, standing in the middle of the street, realizing I didn’t have a ride.
It wasn’t that far to Beau’s house. I briefly considered walking, but it was cold, and my boots were not suited for half-mile walks. I also considered ordering a rideshare, but then I remembered Beau’s ire at me taking one the other night.
Not that his fury should factor into my decisions. But the memory of his fury, how close he’d stood to me, the thundering of my heart, had me rethinking things.
Beau had mentioned Elliot was coming over for dinner tonight, so I figured that even if Clara was in bed, Elliot would likely still be there. He’d be the one to come pick me up. That was the kind of thing Elliot would do.
Hopefully. I could handle small talk with Elliot because he made it easy. An enclosed space with Beau, alone, even for a short ride… Just the thought had me almost reconsider walking.
Almost.
“Are you okay?” was how he greeted me.
“It’s customary to say hello,” I shot back, rubbing my arms against the chill in the air. My cheap coat was not equipped for this weather, and it wasn’t even technically winter yet.
“Are you okay, Hannah?” he repeated, this time more harshly. It was almost a growl.
Okay, he was not in the mood for jokes. Was he ever? I bit my lip. “Physically, I’m fine.” My finger reached up to my tender head. “Well, just a little scratch. We got in a small car accident on the way home, and Finn whisked Lori away in the ambulance. I could walk—”
“Where the fuck are you?” he shouted.
I winced, holding the phone from my ear. I’d never heard Beau shout before. Not once. His low, deep voice could carry on its own. A little shaken by his abrupt change in tone, I hurriedly gave him the details of where I was.
“Don’t fucking move,” he ordered.
Then he hung up.
“Rude,” I muttered. And needlessly dramatic. Rude, I could work with. The dramatics, I could not.
“Hey! Are you okay?”
A police officer jogged over to me. Younger than Finn. And handsome. What was in the water in this place? It was as if Jupiter was unable to produce average-looking people.
“Were you in the accident?” He motioned to Lori’s car.
I nodded.
The police officer looked at my head, covered in a simple butterfly bandage. No stitches needed, maybe a mild concussion, the paramedics had said.
“Do you need me to take you to the hospital?” He offered politely, sounding friendly, concerned.
I shook my head. “No, I don’t think that’s necessary. I’m okay.”
“I’m Oscar.” He held out his hand.
“Hannah,” I replied, clasping his hand in mine. It was only the polite thing to do.
“Nice to meet you, Hannah,” he said with a smile. “Though I wish it weren’t under these circumstances. If I’m going to come to the rescue of an attractive woman, I prefer it be before she gets her blood drawn.” He indicated my head.
If I wasn’t mistaken, he was almost … flirting with me? I was sure that wasn’t entirely professional, but it seemed harmless enough. I had a finely tuned asshole meter. And this, I reasoned, was a handsome, small-town cop being friendly.
I smiled back. “Well, I assume that most people you meet on the job aren’t having their best day.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes not. I like being able to try to help make people’s days, or nights, better. Need a ride?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but the screech of tires distracted me. Both Oscar and I turned our heads to the pickup truck arriving at the scene, then the large man who darted out the door.
Beau’s eyes zeroed in on me before he jogged toward me.
I stood statue still as he barged forward, almost shoulder-checking Oscar—a police officer—to delicately grasp on to my jaw, tilting my head upward to the streetlight.
His stormy eyes centered on my head for five seconds—I counted—then he scanned the rest of my body, as if I might have a bone sticking out of me somewhere and had neglected to notice.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
I nodded, though my chin smarted underneath his fingertips. “I’m fine.”
He searched my face again, not saying anything for a handful of seconds. “You need to go to the hospital, get that looked at?” He tipped his chin to my head.
“It’s a scratch, maybe a mild concussion,” I told him, my breath thin, my heart pounding in my ears.
“You’re bleeding and mildly concussed, that’s not fucking fine,” he disagreed in a clipped tone.
I swallowed at his anger, which was maybe his way of expressing concern. “If you’ll remember, I have medical knowledge to know how to treat a mild concussion. I can be treated at home with some over-the-counter pain relief and maybe a bath.”
I figured I’d wake up with sore muscles tomorrow. Even a mild car accident could cause muscles to tense and adrenaline to course through your body.
Beau was silent again for another few beats, as if he were deciding whether he was going to argue with me. It occurred to me then that he was still cupping my cheek.
“Okay,” he said finally. “Let’s get you home.”
Beau turned to Oscar, who was still standing in front of me. “Can we help you?” he asked, voice tight.