Chapter 16
sixteen
HANNAH
Beau and I had not spoken since our moment with the coat yesterday. I’d worn it because it was stunning and much warmer than my old one.
I was desperate to navigate my relationship with Beau, to be brave enough to have a frank conversation with him. But I wasn’t brave enough. My cowardice swallowed every word before I could even taste it on my tongue; it averted my eyes every occasion we were alone, which was very rare.
What would I even say? How would I present it beyond jumping his bones once Clara went to bed? And I couldn’t do that. Even if the mere thought made my body feel light and alive. Even if the vibrator Cole gifted me was likely going to break down from overuse.
Anything I tried to speak to Beau about would only further fracture the fragile dynamic between us. It would make it impossible to stay through my last months with Clara. With everyone else in Jupiter.
Lori and I were together often. She was still trying her best to hide her pregnancy, but I doubted she could do so much longer. I suspected the women at the bakery already knew but were respecting her privacy.
She was struggling with her family, who hadn’t responded to the news well. And with Finn who, apparently, wasn’t leaving her alone. It was nice to be a supportive friend. And a terrible part of me felt less alone, knowing that I wasn’t the only one navigating complicated life circumstances.
But the closer we got, the more I wanted to be there when the baby was born, to help when I could. I wanted to be part of the Jupiter community so very badly, as unrealistic as it was.
Beau and Clara were in the kitchen preparing a pumpkin pie for tomorrow’s Christmas dinner party. It was being hosted at Nora’s place again. Another large group of people. A lot of exposure to germs.
Clara’s doctor had already cleared her for almost all large gatherings, even without a mask. I knew she was beside herself with excitement while Beau quietly freaked out.
She was almost ready to start school. They were going to be conservative, give her some more time, but she was getting close to being a completely normal kid.
She wouldn’t need me soon. And that was a good thing.
A knock at the door jerked me out of my stupor. I’d been pretending to read on the sofa while they worked, really just quietly spiraling. Despite the snow piling up, each day melted away even as more snow fell. One less day I had with Clara. With Beau.
I put down my book. “That’s probably Lori.” Beau was getting ready to leave for the restaurant, and Lori, Clara, and I had planned on a movie night.
Lori had been over a handful of times. Clara adored her, and the feeling was mutual.
But it wasn’t Lori at the door when I opened it.
It was a man who needed a haircut and who, unfortunately, I was legally married to.
All feeling left my extremities as I tried to comprehend that he was here. I’d been waiting for this. I knew in my heart of hearts that he wasn’t done with me. That I’d eventually have to face him. But not here. Not in the only true home I’d ever known. One that wasn’t my home at all.
The thought of him laying his eyes on Beau, on Clara, made me want to vomit.
“What are you doing here?” I hissed, my gaze darting back to where Beau was busy with Clara before stepping out into the frigid air so I could hide Waylon.
I was only wearing thin sweats and a tee. It was toasty warm inside Beau’s house, and I hadn’t been planning on going anywhere that chilly night.
“I need to talk to you.” Waylon’s beady eyes roamed over me and my improper attire for the subzero winds, not bothering to offer his jacket.
He wasn’t that type of guy. He’d berate me for dressing improperly or being “fucking stupid” and decide that I’d need to learn my lesson.
He didn’t think that his discomfort was worth warming me up.
I hadn’t, apparently. Learned my lesson. Not when it came to men who were cruel to me. But seeing Waylon, all of our past bubbling up to the surface, I knew that Beau was absolutely nothing like Waylon. Beau would’ve given me his jacket in a heartbeat.
The arctic air caused my exposed skin to shrink. I was dressed for a cozy house that smelled of rosemary and that I’d tricked myself into thinking was my home.
My homes had always smelled like Marlboro Reds, Jack Daniels, and cheap soap.
Like poverty, alcoholism, abuse, and insults.
Like Waylon.
“You don’t need to talk to me,” I argued, rubbing my arms in a fruitless effort to stave off the cold. “You need to sign the papers. Then you need to leave me alone. And don’t ever come to my employer’s home again.”
I was proud of myself. For being strong. Assertive. For standing my ground. I wanted to show him I had a voice now. I was no longer a wayward teenager desperate for love. No longer someone he could manipulate. Grind down.
“Your employer?” Waylon chuckled, looking me up and down again. “Dressed like that, like a slut? You whoring yourself out now? Shouldn’t surprise me.”
I was not dressed like a slut. I was wearing light-pink sweats and a tee. Both hugged my body in a way I knew looked good since Beau had stared at me for a full five seconds when I’d first walked out, swallowed visibly, cleared his throat, then turned his back, clattering in the kitchen.
“Yeah, that’s my cue to leave,” I scoffed, refusing to take the bait. I knew what Waylon was doing. Trying to make me feel small, dirty.
I’d grown. He hadn’t. He never would. I was at peace with that now. “Come back again, and I’ll get a restraining order.”
I turned my back, or at least tried to.
Waylon grabbed my arm. Hard. Rough. Enough to hurt.
Another one of his go-tos. It was something that I hadn’t categorized as physical abuse, because I thought that was being hit, kicked.
Waylon was careful to dance over lines like that.
He’d never once struck me. But on many occasions, I had bruises as a result of his touch.
He’d tell me he was passionate, that he was allowed to touch his wife, that I was being dramatic.
And I’d believed him.
I’d tolerated it.
For a while, at least.
I tilted my head upward, looked him square in the eye, prepared to tell him to get his fucking hand off me.
Warm air rushed at my back as the front door opened, an even warmer presence behind me as I inhaled Beau’s scent.
“You’re gonna wanna get your hand off her right now.” Though he didn’t raise his voice, he spoke with a cold fury that made my skin prickle more than the icy wind.
Waylon’s eyes widened as he took in Beau. Beau was much bigger than him. He should’ve been afraid. But Waylon never did have the best instincts. He let out a laugh as he tightened his grip. “I can do whatever I want to my wife.”
I squeezed my eyes shut at the word. At the title I had once thought would keep me safe, sacred, loved, taken care of. Instead, it had caged me, broken me down, and controlled me.
And now Beau knew. I’d been lying to him. Beau was big about honor. It was one of the things I liked most about him. Loved about him.
He’d take that knowledge as a final, concrete reason to push me away. Because I was a liar. Because I was connected to this … person who didn’t even deserve to be standing on Beau’s stoop, let alone breathing his air.
I should’ve spoken up then. Should’ve said I was an estranged wife.
A reluctant wife. One who desperately wanted to be an ex-wife.
But I felt small, cold, and my arm was starting to throb.
I already knew it would bruise. I made a promise to myself in that moment that it would be the last bruise Waylon would ever give me.
“No, you cannot do whatever you’d like to a woman, whether she’s your wife or not.
” Beau’s voice was shaking with a rage I’d never heard in my life.
“And if you don’t get your hand off her and your ass off my porch in the next five seconds, I’ll be exercising the rights I have as a homeowner against a trespasser on my property. ”
Beau’s voice raised the hairs on the back of my neck. I’d never heard him speak like that before. Had never seen him look like that. So menacing. Dangerous. His words were not a threat. They were a promise of violence, seconds away.
Waylon—asshole that he was—deduced—rightly so—that their size difference and general stature meant that he wouldn’t win any kind of fair fight he had with Beau.
He scowled at me, squeezing hard enough for me to let out a mew of pain before letting me go with a push, causing me to go tumbling back into Beau’s firm, warm body.
When Beau caught me, holding me close to him, my body instantly relaxed. My jaw relaxed, my heartbeat calmed. His arms only released me to drape a large coat over my freezing shoulders before positioning me at his side, slightly behind him.
“She’s a crazy bitch,” Waylon spat, looking me up and down with a sneer. “You’ll be roped in by the tits, the lips. But she’ll ruin your fucking life.”
Beau’s body became a statue, his arms holding me in place. “Your five seconds are up.”
Waylon snarled before turning and walking to his beat-up pickup idling at the curb.
Though I felt physically safe, the panic coursing through my veins made black spots dance in my vision.
I tried to reason with reality, over what had just happened.
Waylon was here. In the place I’d found true happiness—with some complications—and he just shat all over it.
Ensured that this place would always be tainted by his presence.
Beau walked us back inside, quietly closing the door.
I stared at it, my heart hammering in panic, my eyes prickling with tears. Then I darted my gaze around in horror.
“Where’s Clara?” I was suddenly appalled at the thought of her having heard some or any of that. Clara wasn’t cognizant of the kinds of horrible people who existed in the world.
She understood how cruel fate could be and had ample experience with it. But everyone she’d been exposed to in her short life had been kind, loving.