Chapter 17
seventeen
HANNAH
“Let’s go.”
I looked up from my laundry, finding Beau leaning against the doorframe.
My complicated feelings for the man had been twisted further by the tender way in which he had listened to me the previous night. By the lack of judgment I’d been bracing for. And the fury that shook his entire body as he’d looked at the red mark on my arm. Rage. For me. Not at me.
He’d protected me from Waylon. Banished him from the doorstep while keeping me behind him. He’d kept me safe.
I’d tossed and turned all night, trying to decipher what exactly it had all meant. I’d cried a bunch too.
Maybe it meant nothing more than Beau Shaw was a halfway decent man who was also an extremely good listener, when he wanted to be.
As complicated as it made things between us, it made me feel lighter. The secret of Waylon had been coiled in my insides, eating away at me like a predator waiting to strike.
It felt nice that someone else knew that part of my life and hadn’t looked at me any differently. It helped that the person was Beau, who had rarely looked at me fondly anyway.
His words weren’t harsh or cold this morning either. Nor was his expression. Though it was currently pointed at my hands.
Which were holding a lacy, hot-pink thong.
I nearly drowned in shame as I quickly shoved it under the pile of laundry I’d been folding.
It was just underwear. Everyone wore them. So why did it feel like the room was a hundred degrees, and I was suddenly aware of my nipples?
Beau exhaled loudly before his eyes met mine. He looked composed. Calm. He was a grown man, not unnerved by panties.
And I was a grown woman, not unnerved by her hot employer looking at her panties.
I forced myself to hold his gaze.
“We’re going to the police station.” I didn’t miss how his voice sounded thicker then.
“We are?” I asked. “For what?” Worry crawled up my spine. Clara was out with her grandfather, and I knew Beau wouldn’t be this calm, leaning by my door if there was anything going on with her.
His jaw was iron. “For you to put a restraining order out on your husband.”
I flinched. Of all the things I expected, that was nowhere near close.
I suddenly wanted the earth to crack open for a different reason.
Because of Beau taking on my problems. Because he felt duty-bound to do that.
And in a small town, no less. I didn’t doubt that the police here were honorable, but it didn’t mean word wouldn’t get out.
Hot shame crawled up my throat. “That’s not necessary.”
He folded his arms. “I disagree. We’re going.”
My back straightened at his command. His tone. Authoritative. Telling me what to do. It was annoying.
And … hot?
Oh, how I craved someone to take over. To make decisions for me, take all the pressure off my shoulders.
I’d been taking care of myself since middle school, worrying about household bills, food, where I’d get money for clothes that fit, if my mom’s new boyfriend would try to sneak into my room at night.
I wanted to feel safe. To be taken care of.
Beau was not going to be the man to do that, I reminded myself. His reason for taking me to the police station pertained to his daughter.
“If you’re worried about Clara—”
“Every second of every day I’m worried about Clara,” he interrupted me. “But right now, I’m worried about you.”
My breath left my lungs, a faint ringing in my ears. Did he say that? He just said that.
Beau Shaw. Worried about me. Beau Shaw was demanding we go to a police station. To get a restraining order against Waylon. I didn’t even know if it would work across states; my legal knowledge should’ve been a little better, considering I had an estranged husband who was known to be violent.
“You don’t need to worry about me,” I whispered. “I’m fine.”
His eyes were glued to mine. “You’re physically fine because you’re living under my roof, and I’m going to ensure you stay that way.” When he ran his eyes up and down my body, I shivered.
“But, Hannah, you are not fine.” His eyes went to his feet as he rubbed the back of his neck.
“A restraining order is a bullshit piece of paper that won’t do any good if he really wants to hurt you, but it’s something.
It’s something that will help your case in finally getting you divorced.
” His steely eyes returned to mine. “We’ll get a lawyer to work on that when we’re done with the restraining order.
I’ve got a friend, he’s good. We’ll work on the credit card shit too. ”
My palms grew sweaty as I stood from the bed. It only then occurred to me that we should’ve been on equal footing. I shouldn’t have been sitting on my bed with Beau standing there spouting orders at me like I was a child.
I was a capable, independent woman. One who’d had to take a live-in nanny job to get money for school and one who couldn’t extricate herself from a sad and bitter man, but a capable, independent woman, nonetheless. And although it was my secret wish to be taken care of, I still had my pride.
“I can get myself a lawyer,” I told him stubbornly.
Although he continued regarding me evenly, without judgment, anger simmered beneath his surface.
I was pretty sure he wasn’t angry at me.
He was maybe angry about the situation. Fuck, perhaps he was angry at me for taking him out of his comfortable little bubble which was the restaurant, his family, and Clara.
“You can,” he nodded. “If you dip into savings I’m betting is earmarked for school. He’s not taking that from you. I’m not letting him. Like I said, Marty is a friend of mine. Owes me a favor.”
I folded my own arms. “A friend. Of yours?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “There are a few people who can tolerate my company.”
I stifled a grin, finding bantering with him immensely enjoyable. “Well, as much as I’m interested in meeting that person, I’ll have to politely decline both offers.” I tilted my chin up in defiance.
Beau looked at me for a long moment before he took one step forward.
Then another. Until he was not only in my room but in my space.
He’d never set foot in here before, and he certainly had never willingly stepped that close to me.
Unless you counted last night when his front was plastered to my back, when he protectively moved me behind his body.
Unless you counted the night when I slept encased in his arms. Unless you counted when he fell asleep with his head in my lap.
Which I didn’t. I did my best not to think of those scenarios.
When Beau’s eyes blazed into mine, my lungs forgot how to function. His scent assaulted my senses, and his size dwarfed me in a way that made me feel small and delicate but not in danger.
“They weren’t offers, Hannah,” he rasped. “They were orders. You’re going to follow them. You’re going to put on a fucking sweater, jacket, and shoes, then you’re going to come down to the police station with me to get that restraining order.”
The organ in my chest felt like it was trying to escape.
“Then we’ll meet Marty. After that, we’re going to pick Clara up from my dad’s house, get a pizza, and watch a movie.” He stared at my lips, which were parted and rapidly trying to expel air so I didn’t faint.
I was annoyed. At the list of demands. Or so I told myself.
Except I wasn’t. Not even a little bit.
“You gonna do as I say, Hannah?” He leaned forward. My nerve endings trembled, and my pussy clenched in arousal.
Slowly, I nodded, unable to believe what was happening.
“Good girl,” Beau murmured into my ear as he tucked a wayward strand of hair behind it. My mouth pooled with saliva as he lingered there for half a second, then he was gone.
How getting a restraining order against my husband could become one of the best days of my life was a mystery for the ages.
The experience at the police station was nothing like I’d expected.
Unfortunately, I’d had more than one experience at a police station.
I’d been there a few times when I was a child, sitting beneath fluorescent lights, scared, cold, hungry, and needing to use the bathroom.
My mother had been picked up for drunk driving, disturbing the peace, and on one occasion, solicitation.
I was never put in foster care, aside from a couple of overnight placements.
I’d always wondered how that had happened.
I’d imagined my mother had fought for me, because I meant something to her, because she wanted to be better. But she never was.
Yet I kept hoping.
Because I was a little girl, desperate for her mother to love her. Save her.
Then there were the times I’d picked up Waylon from the drunk tank. He’d always gotten off easy because, for all his shortcomings, he was charismatic when he needed to be. Amenable. Friends with half the people at the police station. One of the benefits of living in a small town.
They’d roll their eyes, give him half-hearted reprimands, then let him off with no more than a slap on the wrist.
In every one of those experiences, I’d felt invisible. Like I didn’t really matter. Like I was a side character to the main story.
The experience with Beau was entirely different.
Finn was waiting for us when we came in.
The station itself was bathed in light, cluttered with thriving house plants and a view of the ocean, for heaven’s sake.
It didn’t smell like stale coffee and leftover booze from the current residents; it was filled with the aroma of coffee and pastries. People were warm and friendly.
Finn did not take me to a cold interrogation room. He took me to his personal office. It was noticeably more sparse and militantly organized and clean than the rest of the station, but it was no less warm.
Beau had obviously called Finn ahead of our arrival and given him the lowdown on the situation. That should’ve irritated me, Beau taking charge, all my nasty skeletons, still decomposing, being exposed to the sweet-smelling air.
But it didn’t.