Chapter 27
twenty-seven
HANNAH
Calliope, as promised, arrived for a “hangover breakfast” the next day.
Although I was not hungover. After Beau had fucked me into oblivion—damn near unconsciousness—he’d brought me water and insisted I drink it all. Then he made me a grilled cheese sandwich I hadn’t known I was craving.
The best grilled cheese sandwich of my life.
The carbs and the creamy cheese, coupled with the satisfied heaviness of my limbs chased away any kind of negative reaction the alcohol might’ve given me.
Beau had taken care of all the dishes, and by the time I’d washed off my makeup and used the bathroom, I damn near fell into bed.
He woke me with kisses to the neck and promises of champagne nights every week with a low chuckle.
Then came Clara. Calliope. Elliot. The chaos of the day that wasn’t chaos at all. It was perfection. Easy.
I didn’t want to ruin it. I wanted to bask in the joy that had settled over me like a warm blanket with the chill in the air biting sharper than ever.
But I couldn’t.
“Your ex-wife,” I said to Beau.
We were sitting on the sofa, reading. Beau drinking tea, me drinking the opulent hot chocolate he now made me every night.
The fire was roaring. Soft music played from the speakers. He leaned over to kiss my neck every five or so minutes.
It might’ve been criminal to interrupt the moment had it not been imperative to get this conversation done with.
Beau ogled me, the slight tightness around his eyes the only sign that the conversation made him tense.
He put down his Kindle then took off his reading glasses. Again, it should’ve been a crime to divest him of those, since he looked so handsome.
I slipped my library card into my book, placing it aside.
“I wondered when this was going to come up,” he sighed.
There was no resentment in his tone, nor irritation. He expected me to bring it up because … well, who wouldn’t?
“She’s dead,” I prompted.
He nodded.
“And you found out the first night we…”
“Had the best sex of our lives?” Beau offered dryly. Though the subject matter was heavy, and he was appropriately serious, I didn’t feel that same underlying strain he’d been carrying around for so long.
I winced at the oxymoron of the two and the tender spot it hit, hearing it out loud.
“And the reason why you decided that was the night for us to…”
“Have the best sex of our lives?” he repeated.
“This is not funny.” I scowled at him, wanting to shrink into myself. It was as though he didn’t understand how delicate, fragile I felt right then.
His mouth immediately flattened, then he pulled me onto his lap. “I don’t think this is funny, Hannah.” He brushed my bottom lip with his thumb. “And I don’t want you to think that I was using you in any way.” He exhaled, long and heavy, resting his forehead against mine.
“I was eventually going to break,” he admitted.
“As noble or whatever the fuck as I was trying to be with you, I couldn’t resist you.
And when I found out Naomi was dead, I thought of her.
Remembered our life together. How she was with Clara.
” He winced. Actually, winced, remembering his ex-wife, the mother of his child, now dead.
“I don’t mourn her,” he continued. “As shameful as that is to say. I’ll never forgive her.
Not for how she treated me, I couldn’t give a fuck about that.
But how could she abandon our daughter?” A cloud of rage covered his features.
“And when she came back offering bone marrow, knowing Clara was sick. But not even asking to visit her, not even one question about her…” He trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut.
“I mourned the mother that Clara would never have. I did that a long time ago.” He stroked my face.
“Then came you. Even when I was a horrible prick to you, you’d tell me about things Clara did.
You’d send me photos. I want you greedily for myself, Hannah.
Fuck, do I want you. But I want you for Clara too.
Hearing that Naomi was gone … it made it impossible for me to deny it any longer.
I don’t know what kind of man that makes me. ”
I could feel it then. Beau’s doubt. His shame. In himself. For his lack of grief over his ex-wife, for his lack of willpower when it came to me, or whatever other hundreds of things he could find a way to put on his shoulders.
I cupped his cheeks, my palms scratching under the rough bristles of his beard.
“My man,” I told him with glassy eyes. “It makes you my man.”
Then what else could I do? I kissed him.
“So … you’re with Beau,” Lori said with a smirk.
I smirked back, unable not to. Smiles were beyond my control then. My happiness was so all-encompassing that I couldn’t physically contain it. It had to come out. With smiles. Me humming without knowing I was doing it.
When I sat down, I didn’t have any tension in my hips, didn’t hold myself like I might have to run at a moment’s notice, didn’t fear that I might have to curl into a ball to protect myself.
But I woke in a cold sweat every night, despite Beau’s arms around me, the evidence of his touch on my body and in my body. I woke every night, terrified, anxious, and certain that the next day would be the one when everything was taken away.
Some nights, Beau would wake with me. He’d ask me what was wrong, I’d tell him it was a nightmare. He’d kiss me, murmur sweet nothings and usually made me forget the worst of my terror with his hands, mouth, or cock.
Other nights, he wouldn’t wake, and I’d lay there, still, staring at the ceiling, counting the ways this could go wrong.
I’d already contacted the closest university that offered nursing degrees, and although it was going to be more complicated than I had thought, I could transfer there. It might mean one more semester, if all my credits didn’t transfer, but it also meant I would be able to live here. With my family.
I’d set the plans in motion, everything close to being finalized. I’d already paid for the upcoming semester. The amount going out of my bank account had made me feel a little ill, but I wouldn’t have to pay for housing. Beau and I had already had that argument.
It went like this…
“When I start school, I’ll need to know the cost of half of the mortgage and utilities,” I said to Beau as we sat on the sofa together, reading. Different books this time. Beau told me he’d read the same books as me to be closer to me. We were pretty damn close at that point.
“No way in fuck.” Beau didn’t even look up from his book.
I put my own book down. “Excuse me?”
Beau looked at me over the top of his glasses. “I said, no way are you paying for half of the mortgage and utilities. That’s my job.”
I glared at him. “I’m contributing to this household if you want me to be a part of it.”
He rubbed my thigh. “You contribute to this household, Hannah. You fill it with laughter and magic. You burn candles, you bake brownies, you plant flowers. What you contribute is worth a fuck of a lot more than any mortgage or utilities. I’ll cover it. I’ve got you.”
Though the sentiment was nice, my irritation grew.
“I can get myself,” I replied through gritted teeth.
Beau tilted his head, scanning my features, his own face softening. “Me wanting to take care of you is not the same as me wanting to control you.”
He rubbed my hands, which I hadn’t realized were clenched into fists.
Though I hadn’t consciously thought that’s what Beau was doing, I understood that ingrained intuitions had started ringing alarm bells. Though I didn’t want to admit it, I carried plenty of scars from my childhood, my marriage.
“If you feel like you need to contribute financially, we’ll work something out. Though I would like it if you could consider that after you’ve finished school and have your dream job.”
He was relenting. He was giving me what I wanted. Because he understood that I needed it. I blinked in confusion. “My dream job?” I repeated, frowning.
He paused rubbing, frowning at me. “Being a nurse?”
Oh, that. I’d been in such a relentless pursuit of my future, I hadn’t considered nursing a “dream.” I’d always viewed it as a compromise. A way out. My real professional dream was utterly unattainable.
I wasn’t about to tell Beau about that.
“Yes,” I agreed. “We’ll discuss it then. And by discuss it, I mean we’ll settle on a number.”
Beau grinned, putting his Kindle down and settling his hands on my hips.
“I like it when you’re bossy, baby,” he murmured, his lips brushing mine.
“I like it when you sometimes let me be the boss,” I admitted. It was ultra masculine for a man to be comfortable taking orders from a woman.
“I know.” He caressed my ribs.
“And I sometimes like it when you’re the boss of me,” I added, kneading between his legs where he was hard as steel.
He let out a rough hiss. “Oh, I can be the boss of you, Hannah Morgan.”
And that was the end of that conversation. Not a clean win, but a nice compromise.
“You’re happy.” Lori’s deduction hauled me out of my memory, probably with a stupid grin on my face.
“I am.” I focused on her. It was a pivotal thing for me to say out loud since I’d never truly been happy.
“What about you?” I asked. She’d only just gotten back from her retreat.
I thought the purpose of retreats was to return looking relaxed, at peace.
There were dark circles under her eyes, and though she looked stunning while pregnant, there was a strain in her posture that shouldn’t have been there.
“Are you happy?” I asked, worry leaking into my tone.
She smiled tightly, looking down at her stomach. It had become rounded and much more pronounced in the short time she’d been away. “I’m excited about the baby.”
I raised my brow. “That’s not an answer to my question. Does this have something to do with Finn giving Calliope Derrick, of all people, a speeding ticket?”