Chapter 13 #2
“She was so cold,” he sighed. “Not breathing. But we got her back. I think I got her back for Elliot.” He sounded so lost, so much younger than he was.
So afraid. I realized I’d relied on Beau’s surety, even when it came with arrogance and sometimes cruelty.
He was something to rely on. Someone to rely on.
And in that moment, he needed that from me.
“You did.” I sounded more confident than I had a right to be since I didn’t know a single thing. “You got her back.”
I chewed my lip, wondering what I should do. He was cold. Shivering. He’d been out in the rain, at the very least. There was a faint scent of salt that hinted at the ocean. Why would he have been in the ocean during a thunderstorm…? Calliope.
My brain put together details, and even if they didn’t entirely fit or make sense, I recognized that nothing was good.
“I have to go. Calliope, Elliot—” Beau jolted as if he were going to turn around to get back into his truck.
Which I didn’t doubt he would do. I’d learned a few things about Beau over the months. Not just that he could be a massive dick, and that he was a good father. He was stoic. Would do anything for his family. He wanted to fix things. Control them.
“I’ll bet Calliope has lots of people helping her right now.” I took an educated guess, assuming that Beau wouldn’t have come home unless Calliope was either recovering from whatever happened or in the hospital.
“Who doesn’t have someone helping them right now is you, Beau,” I added softly. “Will you let me help you?”
When his chin jerked up and his eyes clouded, I braced.
“I don’t need help.” He spoke more harshly, except it was nowhere near as menacing as he was capable of, nor did he let go of my hand.
“Humor me.” I forced a smile.
After staring at me, searching my face for a long moment, he nodded once.
My breath caught for just a second, a shifting of tectonic plates under me. Beau surrendered. Agreeing to let me help him. It was an honor, even if a rational person might not have thought so, given his prior behavior toward me.
“Okay. I’m going to get the shower running.” I said the words, but I didn’t move. I was so close to him. Our bodies were almost pressed together. My hand was still on his cheek, his on my wrist.
But then something dripped on my bare toe.
Water. From him. He was soaking. And though I felt scalding-hot from touching him, I knew he needed to get out of the wet clothes, and he very much seemed to be in shock.
Why else would he have let me touch him?
“You need to get into a hot shower,” I tried again. I held my breath, imprinting the feeling of Beau’s rough beard on my memory, the angles of his jaw under my palm, the closeness of our bodies.
Then I stepped back.
For a split second, Beau leaned forward, as if he were toppling toward me. But then he caught himself. He still had that glazed-over expression in his eyes.
Concern wrapped around my lungs, stifling my breath.
“You go get your wet clothes off,” I instructed. “Then … shower. I’ll make you some tea. And toast.”
He was still standing there, staring at me. He looked lost. Seeing such a strong, stubborn, infuriating man like that made me want to cry.
But this was not my moment to fall apart. It was Beau’s.
“Beau, you’re dripping on the floor, potentially giving yourself a nasty cold, if not hypothermia,” I spoke sternly.
“And I know you probably think your beard, muscles, and general disposition make you invincible, but I assure you, you can succumb to illness just like us mere mortals. And Clara doesn’t need to catch a cold. ”
I was babbling to compensate for his scary energy, to help douse both of our panic. He needed someone to take control right then. That could be me. That would be me.
“Take your boots off here.” I motioned to the floor. “Clothes in the laundry room, I’ll take care of them.”
He opened his mouth, but I didn’t give him a chance to speak. “We’ll talk when you’re dry.” I pointed to the hall. I was very proud of myself for the way I was taking charge.
And I was proud of Beau for doing nothing but toeing off his boots and heeding my orders without so much as a scowl or muttered curse.
Things must’ve been really bad if he was letting me take control. I didn’t let my worry for Calliope creep in as I made the tea and toast, setting them on the coffee table. I had an order of operations: get Beau warm, dry, fed. Take care of him. That’s what I needed to focus on.
Beau emerged from the hallway, hair damp but no longer dripping.
He was wearing sweats and a white tee. I’d never seen him in sweats.
Living with the man all this time, yet I hadn’t seen him in anything beyond jeans or the slacks he wore in the kitchen.
I’d never seen him … at ease. Comfortable.
Unless he was with Clara, of course. Then he was relaxed.
But even then, there was a tenseness to his shoulders, a sharpness in his jaw that showed he was waiting.
Expecting something bad to happen. Walking on eggshells.
As if tragedy was always just a heartbeat away.
I guessed that’s what happened after spending so long waiting for worse and worse news.
Not for the first time, I felt a pang of sympathy for him.
“Come.” I gestured at the sofa, pointing to the steaming cup and the toast.
Strangely, Beau obeyed me. His eyes were clearer, seeming to be less in shock than he had been when he first walked in the door.
I was standing awkwardly by the coffee table where I’d placed the items. I hadn’t thought ahead about what I was going to do once he obeyed my command. I hadn’t really thought he would obey my command. I shifted uncomfortably, steeling myself.
Steeling myself for him to snap back like an elastic band, stinging my skin.
But he didn’t. Snap back. Hurt me.
“No,” he barked. He walked across the living room to sit on the sofa. Out of instinct, I moved too. In the dance we’d choreographed for so long. As if we were opposing magnets that couldn’t be close to each other because of physics.
But we’d been close. Around fifteen minutes ago, I’d been cupping his cheek, and he had been holding on to my wrist for dear life. It was still throbbing faintly.
“Stay with me.” His raspy request made him sound wild. Rough. Then he peered up at me, and he looked nothing but soft and vulnerable. “Please.”
How could I say no to that? Technically, I could say no to him. That was the prime moment for me to get him back for all the pain he’d caused me. Show him the consequences of his actions. If you were a complete asshole to someone, you couldn’t expect them to be there for you in your time of need.
Leave him out in the cold, the cruel voice in the back of my mind told me.
But I looked into those icy eyes, recognizing how much it took for him to make that request, one I didn’t think he made even in the midst of Clara’s illness. He never asked anyone for anything.
He was too busy giving everything to his daughter.
Which resulted in a husk of a man unable to muster basic human kindness for his nanny. Yet able to exude sex appeal to her at the same time.
My butt found the soft cushion of the sofa before I consciously made a decision.
My thigh brushed up against Beau’s. It was warm, strong, solid. Too close for employer and employee to sit. Too close for even platonic friends to sit.
I should’ve moved. But I didn’t.
Beau was staring at my profile, I knew he was. I could feel the weight of his gaze, my skin tingling with every passing second, my breath heavy.
I stared at the coffee table. “Tea. Toast.” The words were solid, strong, and I willed myself to be those things too.
Beau didn’t respond, but I did see his large form move forward and heard the clatter of porcelain signifying he was doing as I told him.
We didn’t make conversation as he drank and chewed, though I was desperate to know what happened. It must’ve been bad to get him in this state.
My mind skated over every interaction I’d had with Calliope. Her sharp wit, her confidence, her kindness.
More importantly, my mind catalogued every interaction she’d had with Clara.
The way she spoke to her, saw her. She made Clara feel smart, strong, and intelligent.
She didn’t treat her like she was sick or weak.
I knew how much that meant to Clara, I’d seen her entire being light up in Calliope’s presence.
I wanted to vomit at the thought of anything happening to Calliope, of the pain it would cause Elliot, Beau, and Clara.
Beau leaned back on the sofa, letting out a ragged sigh that tore through the air like a serrated blade.
“She wasn’t breathing,” he murmured.
I finally found the courage to look at him.
He was staring straight ahead, into nothing, his posture rigid.
“When I pulled her out of the water. And…” He rolled his lips.
“And I’ve been preparing. Planning to hold a body, a smaller one, but a lifeless body in my arms. And…
fuck.” He ran his hand through his hair as if he wanted to tear it out at the roots.
“I was glad,” he whispered. “That I wasn’t holding my daughter’s lifeless body. Just that of a woman I have come to think of as a sister. Who my brother loves with everything he is. And…” he trailed off again. He couldn’t seem to form a complete sentence.
The pain in his words, the shame painting his expression, was too much for me to bear. I feared I didn’t have a sophisticated enough internal dictionary to say anything that would help him.
So I didn’t try. Instead, I acted on instinct.
Slowly, I reached out and pulled him into me. I expected resistance. I was ready for the rubber band to snap back, Beau realizing that this kind of intimacy didn’t belong here, with me.