6. Two
Two
Beau
M y bag dropped with a thud in the entryway.
“He’s arrived!” my mom squealed. “Henry, get those buns over here! Our Beau-Bear is here!”
I hugged my mom tight. Six months felt too long between hugs.
“Only until the writer’s strike ends,” I mumbled against the top of her head. A touch above six feet, I towered over my mom. The lumbering six-foot-five grizzly behind her stood even taller.
“Dad.”
His hug was no less tight. A massive man with biceps more jacked than mine, even pushing seventy. My dad should have been a club bouncer instead of a mechanic. Still, that hulking giant was a gentle one.
“Missed you, kiddo,” he murmured, slapping me hard enough to make my mom wince.
“Promise I won’t stay long. As soon as this strike ends, I’ll head back. Might only be a couple of days.”
The tight pull around the lines of Sasha’s eyes when I suggested the same told me that wouldn’t be the case. Unhappy rumblings of discontent had echoed across sets for months.
“Things are crazy busy with demand for a solid stunt double. I can’t believe the calls. Got a lot to get back to.”
Like unpaid bills and crushed dreams. You know, the good stuff.
My mom smiled, one of those tiny sympathetic ones that hardly tugged up the corners of her mouth but shone in her eyes.
“You just landed the role of a lifetime. Well, everyone is disappointed for you, but we’re all praying for a quick resolution so you can resume filming.”
I swallowed down the unease. “Everyone?”
She hummed, curling around my dad as they took me in.
“The town, yes. It’s enormous news in little ol’ Windmere. Now we have a Hemsworth connection!”
My dad sighed.
She ignored him. “Let’s get you settled. You can tell me all about life in L.A. and the exciting things you’ve been up to since you never call anymore. Mr. Hollywood, too busy.”
She grabbed my bag, but my dad cut in with the rescue .
“Let’s grab a beer. You came home with your normal eyebrows, and I can take you out in public again,” he said, already lacing up his boots.
“Fuck.” I sputtered a laugh, my mom’s unhappy grimace cutting it off. “Fudge, I mean.”
My mom hated profanity—a direct contrast with my deep love for it.
I spent twelve weeks looking like a fool with blonde eyebrows. Thank god I could wear a wig over my chestnut hair, but those eyebrows required commitment to the cause.
“I looked damned good, though,” I argued.I didn’t. God, I didn’t.
With a firm nod, my mom said, “You’re such a handsome young man.”
My sister and I shared our mother’s sharp cheekbones and sloped nose. Mine rested slightly crooked after I broke it in the accident. Still a good-looking motherfucker, though, and thank heavens for it. Stunting was competitive work, and brawn, brain, or beauty won—ideally, all three.
The Stunt Strong Academy got me started on a wild dream that I voiced at six years old. Years of martial arts, acrobatics, parkour, and sports gave me a solid foundation of skills.
It took meeting a stunt coordinator who liked my background and my looks to land my first union job as a professional double.
“See?” I said to my dad. “Mom says I’m a hunky fella.”
He snorted. “She’s not wearing her glasses.”
“Henry,” she scolded. “I had LASIK four years ago. Good grief. Let the boy have his moment.” She lowered her voice to an angry whisper, as if I wouldn’t hear them. “He’s in demand. Fallon Campbell still asks about him, according to Kate.”
The bungalow where I grew up was dinky. Upstairs were three small and oddly shaped bedrooms and a shared bathroom. The downstairs fared no better, with its cozy kitchen and snug living room.But nothing made the house smaller than my mom’s focus.
“It wouldn’t kill you to consider settling down like your sister. I get it, ‘Good Time Beau’ is a man with choices, but your heart is so big, and you have so much to offer—”
I groaned, dropping my head back. “Bye, Mom.”
She opened her mouth to continue, but I was already out the front door, slamming it to cut off her pursuit.
I’d made excellent work of avoiding thoughts of Fallon or our time together at Christmas.Though I guess I should feel a little proud—landed her even with those blonde eyebrows.
But I wouldn’t think about that. Not while I followed my dad to his truck and passed the porch swing where I kissed her for the first time at sixteen. A kiss that sank into the marrow of my bones. Buried so deep, even the regret for what came after couldn’t excavate my fondness for her.
Not going to think about that as we drove the town corridor, passing her parents’ hat shop, where she often filled in. Shit, was she working today?Her folks moved to Arizona a few months back, handing over the shop for some cousin to run. Not that I kept up to date on Fallon’s life. But… was she working today?
Nope, not going to think about it.
Not as we parked at The Pub, entered the doors where I saw her six months ago, and fell just as hard as when we were teenagers.
“On me,” I told my dad, sitting at the bar and ignoring the memory of the goodbye I hadn’t wanted to say the night after Christmas.
“I don’t know what to do, Beau. I don’t want to say goodbye, but you’re leaving. He’s here, and he’s staying and—”
“We were just having fun, right, Fal? Was just for fun.”
Good Time Beau, with the fun. Good Time Beau, the asshole, diminishing his connection with the girl he wanted because it was easier than admitting it hurt not to be a contender in her life. Ever.
My dad waved me off, wiping sweat off his forehead.
The dry mountain heat may have been a reprieve from the concrete swelter, but it was still hot as balls.
“You drove two days to get here and make your mom happy. The least I can do is buy your beer, son.”
My parents loved and supported me through anything. Anything. I knew how rare that kind of unconditional love could be.
Yet the lump of shame held in my throat. I should have told him about my dire financial situation. How doubt nipped at every thought that I was too damaged to keep a steady career, one I wasn’t sure I wanted anymore.
The sinking worry that my physical therapy stalled and my shoulder maintained motion at best, but was no longer improving.
The aching loneliness in my chest from years filled with fun . An agonizing insecurity that I had nothing else to offer.
My dad would listen and help if he could. His repair shop barely broke even, and my mom’s administrative work at the church didn’t bring in much other than decent health insurance. He couldn’t even afford to retire.
Kate would gleefully tease, then shovel over some cash to float me. But god, that was like rock bottom type shit. Admitting the insignificance of my life felt a touch humiliating.
This proved a shitty start to my redemption.
Clearing my throat, I didn’t argue about the tab. “Pretty boring in town still, huh?” I hedged instead. “Not much to do. Do you need any help at the shop while I’m here?”
The pay wasn’t exceptional, but he was always fair.
Thanking the server, my dad slid me a beer. With a long sip, he took his time answering.
“Things are manageable with Adam,” he said carefully. A polite way of saying no without reminding me I knew nothing about automotive repair.
“Good.” I nodded, downing my drink to drown out the thoughts rattling in my head. “Glad you’re holding steady.”
He studied me with the same brown eyes as mine. The ones that saw through whatever I thought I could hide from him.
I loved and admired my dad. I hated what he might see if he looked too hard.
“It is good. Tough around here, but summer is always our busiest time. If I need extra hands, I’ll haul your ass in there.” His finger tapped against his glass. “But you know, Palmer needs all hands on deck.”
Laughing at his joke, he seemed pleased as punch.
“Palmer Construction, right,” I said with a weak smile. A master of dad jokes, my pops.
His broad shoulders continued to shake. Cracked himself right up. “Deck. All hands on deck. Construction.”
My smile grew wider. God, I loved him. “Nice one. I’ll reach out. Maybe he has something to keep me busy.”
“Bet you’ll nail the interview!” he crowed.
I drained my beer, signaling for another. Fucking great to be back.