Chapter 28
twenty-eight
HANNAH
Beau was not there in two minutes.
He was there in one.
He parked his truck on the curb, almost hitting a cruiser while he did so. He didn’t even close the door after he all but leapt out of the cab, jogging past the windows and into the bakery, eyes on me.
His face was carefully blank, but his jaw could’ve been wired shut for how tight it was, and his eyes were pools of fury.
I met him halfway inside the bakery, his hands settling on my hips as he laid a gentle kiss on my head. He inhaled deeply, staying there for three seconds. I counted.
He didn’t speak to me, just looked at Finn, still with a crying Lori.
“She made her statement?” Beau’s voice was foreign sounding. Forced.
Finn nodded. He had a mask of fury not too dissimilar to Beau’s, though he’d gentled his features somewhat to calm Lori.
“We’ll come to the station to press charges.”
There was no question as to whether I would press charges. I’d be happy to. Anything to ensure that this man was locked up and far away from Lori and her baby.
As worry spiked in me for my friend, I reminded myself of the dedication in Finn’s eyes as he looked at her. She was safe.
“I’m taking her home.”
Another nod from Finn.
Beau started to turn then paused. “You’re throwing the book at this guy, right?”
Finn’s posture tightened. From what I knew of the man, he was a straight arrow. Letter of the law type. But I guessed not that straight of an arrow since he issued Calliope a speeding ticket for the first time the other day, and she’d likely been speeding for as long as she’d lived here.
“Oh, I’m gonna find a couple of books,” Finn replied icily.
Beau nodded, keeping a hand on my hip and guiding me out.
“Let’s get you home,” Beau murmured.
And there I was. Safe.
Physically.
But I couldn’t wrench my mind out of the past.
Beau fussed over me for the rest of the afternoon, as did Clara. She’d been with her grandfather when I called Beau, so luckily, I was able to change out of a blood-soaked shirt before she arrived home.
I was worried about her reaction to seeing me. It surely must’ve been traumatic. Clara had never witnessed violence before. Although around for the aftermath when Calliope had almost drowned, had understood that something bad had happened l to her.
Her caretaking side and huge heart took over when she got home, insisting I rest on the sofa, checking on me every five minutes. She ordered her father to make hot chocolate with “extra marshmallows” and stayed close to me all night.
“The man who did this, he’s in trouble, right?” she’d asked me before Beau put her to bed.
“Yes, Blueberry, he’s in a lot of trouble,” I replied, glancing at Beau whose jaw was iron as his gaze darted between my bruised face and his concerned daughter.
“Men can’t do that to women without consequences,” Beau said. “And men who do that are not men.”
Clara tugged on her lip, considering this. All too much for a five-year-old brain, but there wasn’t a way around it, really.
“He won’t do it again to Hannah?” she asked Beau. “You’ll protect her, right, Daddy?” She asked with a confidence that only a five-year-old could have in a father who was a superhero in her eyes.
“I’ll protect her, Bug.” He kissed her head. “Both of you. Now let’s get you to bed.”
Clara hugged me good night, gingerly kissed my nose better, then made me promise to take my painkillers.
My book was sitting in front of me, the TV remote beside me. I decided my face hurt too much to concentrate on a book, but I didn’t pick up the remote either.
I just sat there, curled on the couch, staring into space. I hadn’t even realized how long it had been until Beau walked back into the room.
He stood in front of me, expression tense with his eyes focused on what I knew were rapidly developing bruises under both of my eyes.
It was clear Beau was furious. I could feel it in his every movement. But he forced himself to speak softly, touched me delicately.
He sat beside me, back straight.
“Today must’ve brought up some uncomfortable memories,” he murmured softly.
Ah. Not only was he stewing about the violence inflicted upon me in the present but ruminating over the past I hadn’t even entirely shared with him.
Had he seen? That I was only half there? That I was trying to wrench myself out of horrible memories?
I considered lying.
“Yeah,” I admitted. “It has.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, horrified that I had begun to cry. I wanted to be stronger than that. Handle this with grace. But as soon as the first tear fell, many followed.
Then I let out a broken sob.
Beau’s arms were around me in a split second. I buried myself in his chest, finally feeling safer. But still, the tears kept coming as I broke down completely, the pieces I’d been trying to hold together splitting apart in Beau’s embrace.
“I’ve got you, baby.” He kissed my head. “I’ve got you.”
And I believed him. Believed that Beau wouldn’t let me break. That he’d help hold me together until I was strong enough to stand alone.
I was wrong, not realizing he’d eventually leave me in pieces too.
BEAU
I wished I smoked.
If only so I’d have something tangible to do with my hands while I was sitting out in the cold, staring at the lights in my backyard. Whisky helped to warm me up, but I’d stuck to a single glass. Tea, I supposed would work, but I didn’t want to risk waking Hannah.
I’d stayed with her a long time after she’d fallen asleep, hand on her chest, measuring her heavy breaths. My eyes had traced lines over her face, swollen, bruised, tearstained.
Rage was a physical thing inside of my chest, pulsing, twitching, demanding retribution. Demanding blood on my knuckles.
A man had laid hands on my woman. Almost broken her fucking nose. It was not the first time a man had laid hands on her either.
I clenched and unclenched my fists, hating how powerless I felt. How guilty.
Was I another man destined to hurt Hannah? I’d never lay a hand on her. Fucking never. But I loved her. Violently. Possessively.
I wanted her in my home forever. Wanted her to have my last name. I wanted to plant a baby in her before I got too fucking old.
I’d never considered giving Clara a sister. I’d never considered a woman being worthy of being Clara’s stepmother. I’d never let myself think too far in the future, in case there was a future where Clara didn’t exist.
Now, the future was all I could think about. Clara growing up. Watching that. With Hannah.
And yes. I wanted another child. I loved being a father, even if the prospect of loss was terrifying.
But Hannah was too young to get pregnant. She wanted to be a nurse, pave her own life. She deserved that. I wanted to give her that, fuck did I want that.
But I didn’t trust myself. Not completely.
Because I feared that my love took things from her too.
A whole fucking future.
HANNAH
ONE WEEK LATER
Second to Waylon, my brother was the most unexpected visitor on Beau’s doorstep. Beau said it was now my doorstep too, but I couldn’t trust it. Not yet.
Not when I was so fragile, still healing emotionally and physically from last week.
“Jack?” I gasped, staring at the man on the stoop.
My brother smiled weakly, waving. “Hey, sis.”
I stared at the man I hadn’t seen in years. He’d invited me to his place for Christmas my first year after leaving Waylon. It had been clear that he’d had to argue my case to his wife.
She didn’t like reminders of his upbringing. She came from money. My brother made a good salary, but only because he worked for her father. Was under his thumb. I was happy that my brother no longer went hungry, though I didn’t entirely like who he became in order to get there.
But we all had to survive the best way we knew how.
His was to cut himself off from his past. Me.
It hurt, most especially when I was almost destitute with nowhere to go. But I managed.
My brother’s weak smile disappeared when I took off the glasses that had been part of my “costume” while dressing up with Clara.
“What the fuck?” he hissed with a fury he wasn’t entitled to.
The bruising around my eyes was the worst the first few days after.
Beau hadn’t been able to look at me without clenching his fists and muttering curses under his breath.
But then he’d shaken himself off, put on his brave face.
For me. He was militant about taking care of me, ensuring that I had painkillers every four hours. Ice. Rest.
Luckily, rest didn’t mean all kinds of physical rest. That first night, after I cried more tears than I ever had in my life, I’d reached up for him, pulling our lips together.
Beau had kissed me back until my intention for more than kissing was made clear.
“Baby,” he protested meekly. Well, as meekly as was possible for Beau. “You’ve been through enough today.”
“Yes,” I agreed against his mouth. “And now I need you.”
His eyes were strained with hesitation. Worry.
I gripped his beard. “Please?”
Beau’s arms banded around me. Then he gave me what I wanted. Gently. Lovingly, worshipping me.
His touch didn’t heal me, but it helped me drift away. For a time, at least.
There were practical things that needed doing to ensure that Jacob was punished as he deserved.
Beau held my hand as I gave my statement against Jacob, pressed charges.
It didn’t look good for him. He had assaulted me. Threatened a pregnant woman who the police chief happened to be madly in love with and vehemently overprotective of. Then there were the two wives of some serious badass alpha males who were out for blood.
In a normal situation, it would’ve been safe to say Lori’s asshole baby daddy was going away for a long time. Except he, apparently, had wealthy, powerful parents. So it was more complicated, which was why Finn had moved into Lori’s house. Temporarily, according to her.