Chapter 32 #3
Every single gesture was thoughtful, injected with a kind of love I’d never felt before. He wasn’t doing it for anything in return. There were no expectations from him. He did it because he loved me.
And because he hated himself. For what he did. It was plain to see. And impossible not to forgive him.
The air had a bite to it as I opened the door, finding him on a chair on the back porch, staring at the lights illuminating the backyard. His head instantaneously snapped to me as I sat in the chair beside him.
“Are you okay?” He studied my features as if I might’ve gotten shot again on the walk from the bedroom.
“I’m fine.” I quickly assured him before he blew a vein. He sat on the edge of his chair, assessing my response before standing to grab the throw behind his chair, draping it carefully over me.
Only when he was satisfied that not an inch of the air could make it through did he sit again.
We lapsed into silence. There was so much for me to say. I didn’t know where to start.
“Did I lose you forever, Hannah?” Beau sounded broken, fractured, more hopeless than I’d ever heard him.
Oh, a petty, scared part of me wanted to say yes. Wanted to calcify my heart against him. But that was impossible.
Beau had done something stupid. He’d hurt me. But I’d forgiven him long ago. As he refilled my tea. Tucked blankets around Clara and I. Held Clara after nightmares. As he sat next to me, hand tight in mine while I gave my statement to Finn.
Before I could tell him yes, he spoke again.
“I was going to kill myself. If Clara didn’t…” He took an audible breath. It was ragged and physically hurt to hear. As if breathing could hurt. But I knew it could when that breath contained memories of the past, of a future that hopefully never came to pass.
“If she didn’t survive the leukemia,” he finished gruffly, rubbing his temples.
“I’ve never said it that plainly, though both my brother and father knew me well enough to connect the dots.
I’d see it when they looked at me. At Clara.
The fucking terror they felt at knowing half of our family was hanging on the immune system of a four-year-old.
“They were positive because they had to be.” He dragged his hand over his face as if he could rub away the years of trauma that I knew were embedded into his soul.
“Because neither of them could fathom the alternative. I didn’t have that luxury.
So I planned.” He looked up at me, and the urge to look away, to find relief from the pain on his face, was overwhelming.
But he was brave enough to look at me in his naked pain—something I knew he didn’t show to anyone—so I’d be brave enough to look back, to show him he had a place to share his pain. He had someone to witness it. To feel safe with.
“And I got to live. Because Clara lived. We got to live. With you. I’ll accept your choice.
Whatever it is. But I’ll do whatever it takes to get you back.
To repent for what I’ve done. Because I got a taste of the life I’ve dreamed of.
The woman I’ve dreamed of. I’ve tasted the remnants of it almost being taken away from me.
I’ll live with that. Without you. Even if it’s agony. But I’d rather not.”
He wasn’t sharing with me to manipulate me. That I knew of Beau. He was giving it one last shot. For himself, yes. For Clara too.
Instead of answering, I pulled the blanket off.
Slowly, I stood. I had healed well, but my body still ached. Was weaker than I expected it to be.
Beau tensed beside me. I knew he wanted to stand, to help me out of my chair. But the PT had scolded him for doing such things, telling him I needed to fight for my own strength.
And that was an act of great love from Beau. Watching me struggle for my own good, as it physically harmed him.
I knew he was bracing too, for me to walk away. I knew he was expecting it.
He inhaled sharply when I walked toward him, climbing onto his lap. His hands went to either side of my body, clinging to my hips with a featherlight touch.
I sighed at the contact. Not caregiving. Not detached.
Beau’s face was a picture of wonder. Surprise. Hunger.
I immediately felt him harden underneath me, and he looked sheepish. “I’m not pushing for that. It’s just … what you do to me.”
I let out a small giggle, leaning forward to press my forehead against his. Every tense muscle I didn’t know I’d been holding relaxed at the touch.
“You didn’t lose me,” I whispered. “I’ve always been yours. I’ll always be yours. I love you.”
Beau closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them a kaleidoscope of indecipherable emotions swirled in his irises. “I’ll never forget you saying those words after I’d fucked up so badly, after I broke us. The words I’d been waiting patiently to hear from you, and…” He sighed.
“No more.” I trailed my fingers across his mouth. It felt electrifying and comforting to be able to touch him like that again. “If we’re doing this—”
He clutched the back of my neck. “We’re fucking doing this.” The obvious hunger he felt leeched from his words.
My body responded viscerally, my pussy tingling. I’d had snatches of want—seeing Beau coming out of the shower. Feeling his lips brush my forehead when I was sleeping. But the pain, the memories, had made me worry that maybe that side of me had died in the snow.
It absolutely had not.
“I was content to be honorable, deal with the consequences of my actions.” His eyes blazed as they bounced between mine. “I restrained every urge to hold you in my arms, to kiss you, to fuck you when your body allowed…” His grip tightened as my sock-clad toes curled with need.
Beau took a visible breath, the cloud of desire disappearing from his eyes. “Because I thought it’s what you wanted. You, in my lap, are saying it’s not what you wanted, so there is no if we’re doing this.” He laid his lips on mine in a delicate, airy kiss. “We’re doing this, Hannah.”
“We are,” I agreed breathlessly, grinding against his cock. “But that means you’re not torturing yourself, trying to make up for the past. Me forgiving you means I forgive you. Fresh start.”
Beau’s fingers dipped beneath the buttons of the sleep shirt I was wearing, grazing the red puckered skin, only just recently freed of the bandage.
I gasped. The touch didn’t hurt, but the skin was sensitive. I was self-conscious of this new, ugly part of me.
“I want to give you everything you ask for.” His hands ghosted over my breasts, eliciting a moan from me. “But I cannot give you that. There are no fresh starts when there are scars here.” He slid his fingertips over my chest again. “Inside and out.”
I knew it was a big ask to expect Beau not to punish himself. He was so well practiced at it. I resolved to wear him down. Eventually.
“Okay,” I relented. “I have another request.”
“Anything.”
I pressed my lips to his. “Fuck me now, please.”
Beau didn’t reply, just stood up with me in his arms, out of the chair in a move that made me intensely impressed by his quad strength.
Our mouths pressed together. Finally meeting in a kiss I’d been waiting for. Aching for. It wasn’t as passionate as I wanted it to be. It was slow. Careful.
He paused only to open the door. I didn’t ask where he was going, still lost in the kiss, but our destination shouldn’t have been a surprise since our bed was currently occupied.
“I wish I could take my time,” he murmured, gingerly placing me down on my old bed. “But we don’t have that luxury right now.”
Clara no longer slept deeply through every noise. Her sleep was light. Troubled. It had been getting better, but there was a risk she’d wake up. And neither one of us wanted her to wake alone, no matter how much we wanted each other.
“I know,” I replied, hands going to my sleep pants to get them down as quickly as possible. “We’ve got a lifetime to take our time. I just need you.”
Beau’s hands replaced mine, then he rolled my panties and pants off before making quick work of his own.
“Let me savor you.” Beau let out a rough growl when he bent his head between my legs, inhaling. “Just for a moment.”
What could I say?
I let him. His mouth worked quickly, expertly, hungrily. Until I was right at the edge, until he was about to split me apart.
Then he stopped, quickly moving up my body. My heart beat furiously, with urgency as I pulled him down on top of me, needing his heat, his weight. I chose to ignore the dull ache in my chest that came from my rapid heartbeat, leftover bruising. From the shooting or the heartbreak, who could know.
Beau carefully hovered over me.
“I’m not going to break,” I moaned, clawing at his back as his cock pressed into my entrance.
“I know how strong you are,” he murmured. “I know what you can take.”
He pushed inside, slow at first, testing, stretching, driving me wild. Then it was quick. Both of us were unable to go slow, both of us worried for Clara, desperate for each other.
It was a hungry, rushed reconciling. But I came fast, hard, filled with Beau.
I meant what I’d said. We had a lifetime. It’d be complicated, to be sure. There were things to hammer out. But it was us. We were back.
Despite the haste of moments before, Beau lingered inside me afterward, his eyes exploring every inch of my face.
“I’ll never hurt you again,” he promised.
I smiled sadly. “You might. Because love is messy. But never give up on us again?”
Agony stretched across his face. “Never.”