Chapter Forty-Two What the Hell
Chapter Forty-Two
What the Hell
Beverly
What.
The.
Hell.
I clack across the cobblestone driveway, past the bird-shaped topiary in the center of Finch’s roundabout, and toward the tinted car now pulling past the gate and parking in Finch’s driveway.
The back door opens, and Beau steps out.
And honestly? Everything he’s wearing feels wrong. The corduroy pants. The professorial blazer. The wire-rimmed glasses from a prescription I know he doesn’t have. It’s all so wrong.
Beau tucks his palms into his pockets and leans back on his brogues. “Hey, Bev.”
My mind can’t process this. My fingers fiddle with the lace on my draped sleeve, and it’s the only thing that feels real right now.
“What are you doing here?” spills out of me, quickly followed by, “How do you know where I live?”
“You think I don’t have connections?” He chuckles, but it’s not cute, and it’s not clever, and I don’t understand what is so funny.
My stomach is coiling, and my heart is in overdrive. I need to be somewhere other than here. I have a very specific place to be, in fact.
He sighs, clicking his tongue and looking off. “I wanna talk.”
“Talk,” I echo. “You want to talk.” The venue. I need to be at the venue. “Beau, I don’t have time for this. I’m leaving to—”
“—go to Griffin’s concert?”
I freeze, blinking at him. “Yes.”
He tilts his head to the side. “Figured.” His eyes trail my outfit—from the lace sleeves down to my ankles. “I like your dress.”
“You never liked how I dressed.”
“This is nice, though.” He reaches out and trails a single finger along the lace.
I jerk back. “What are you doing? Why are you here?”
“Figured. Y’know, I”—he kicks an errant rock—“I listened to his album today.” I narrow my eyes, making him continue without acknowledgment. “Lots of bird stuff, huh?”
“Maybe he just likes birds,” I deadpan.
He dips his chin. “Or he likes the girl that made a bird show.”
I don’t know what to say. I’m standing here with the sun sinking, casting large haunting shadows over the cobblestone driveway, and all the time I have is being wasted on the person across from me.
“I’ve got to go.”
Beau takes a quick step closer. “Wait.” He reaches for my hand, and it feels like I’m in some dream—some nightmare. For the split second that his fingers brush mine, I recoil from the sizzling spark it gives. It’s the type of spark you get from static on your clothing. Irritating.
“I was wrong,” he says.
“Wrong about what?” I snap. I can feel my chest rising and falling, trying to sort through the nerves trickling up my arms.
He sighs, letting his palms fall by his side. He gives me a half smile, a pitying smile, a you’re being naive right now smile. I don’t give him the satisfaction of asking again.
“About us breaking up,” he says. “Not seeing what I had when I had it.”
The words hit me like a ton of bricks. I’m almost knocked over, catching myself on a toppling step back. And when they land on my chest, the sentiment bubbles like lava, popping and boiling, sinking into my chest and down my spine.
He looks pained. “I love you, Bev.”
I shut my eyes, shaking my head and gritting my teeth. Those three words mean nothing. They don’t sound like crooning songs and gentle piano. They’re selfish.
“No,” I say. “Don’t do that. Don’t say that.”
“I mean it, though,” he counters.
My chest is aching. The space behind my eyes stings, and my chest heaves.
“No, you don’t.”
He scoffs. “You’re gonna look at me and say that?”
“Yes. Yes, I will,” I say, opening my eyes, leveling him with a glare. “I am.”
He sighs, rolling his head on his neck. “What happened out in Elk Grove? Huh, Bev? Did you spend a lot of time with him? Did it ‘change you as a person’?” I don’t know why the bunny ears around the last sentence felt necessary for him, because he’s right. It did.
Then he smiles, and it feels oddly sinister. “Or was it his daughter that got you?”
Suddenly, I find that the anger I felt before has nothing on the inferno I feel now.
I shove a finger at him. “Don’t you dare mention Ava. How did you even know about her before?”
He sniffs. “I overheard him talking at the Grammys. Taylor reached out after.”
I shake my head. “Taylor? And you just…let it happen? You could have told her not to post them. You could have denied it.”
“But it was true.”
“Oh, screw you,” I sneer. “What do you care about truth?”
“I’m telling you truths right now, aren’t I?”
“Well, good for you. So happy you found a conscience.” The sarcasm oozes from me, and I can’t stop it. I don’t want to.
“Beverly…”
“No. You know what? Screw you.” My breathing picks up, and I swallow.
“Yeah. Screw you. For never defending me. Screw you for…for abandoning me when every single one of your fans came after me. Screw you for cheating on me. I mean, how dare you come here now? When you know someone else feels for me. When someone other than you might actually make me happy.”
“We both know I’m the only reason you’re even dating Griffin. It’s all for show.”
“Maybe it was. But you know what? Thank you.”
“What?”
“I said thank you. You gave me Griffin. He’s the best gift you’ve ever given me.”
He throws his hands in the air with a laughing scoff. “Wow. I don’t even know why I bothered to come here. You’re so far gone from reality that—”
“Your ego can’t take that someone else might actually want me.”
“C’mon—”
“You don’t love me. And I don’t think you like me either.
But Griffin likes me for me. For only being myself.
He wrote”—I laugh, and it’s definitely unhinged, but buddy, I feel unhinged—“he wrote music for my show. For my silly little show that you couldn’t stand.
I wasted so many years—so much time—on someone who doesn’t even like me. ”
“Beverly.”
“You know what? I’m not finished. You cheated on me right when Flock Workshop lost funding.
You knew it was hard for me, and you still left.
” I start to count each point on my fingers.
“You never respected my career. You never respected my family—not even my grandfather. You didn’t even talk to me when you were on tour. And I somehow thought that was normal.”
“Bev—”
“If it weren’t for Griffin, Birds on the Block wouldn’t exist right now. And I wouldn’t realize just how it feels to be liked just for being me. He wrote an album for me, Beau. What have you ever done?”
And it dawns on me in that moment that not every musician is like Beau. Because there are some musicians who actually talk to you while they’re on tour. Some musicians bring you to award shows because they’re proud to be next to you. Some dedicate entire albums to you.
A door opens and closes behind me. Rob’s sneakers hit the ground in long strides before he appears next to me. “We gotta go.”
Beau sighs, holding up a dismissive hand. “Rob, we’re still talking. So if you can just…”
Rob pushes the palm down. “Enough, man. Fuck off.”
My head jerks back, and for the first time, I see Rob not as a kid but as an adult, towering over both me and Beau with clenched fists and a tight jaw.
Beau stares at me. My eyes sting, but I’m not letting any tears fall.
“I blocked you for a reason,” I say. “Don’t ever talk to me again.”
Rob and I turn around and walk to Finch’s idling car. The driver’s window rolls down, and Finch leans out. “Can you move your car, Beau? I need to close my gate, and I don’t want you here anymore. Thanks!”
Scowling, Beau turns on his heel and stomps back to his tinted car. The door slams with a forceful bang that cracks part of the window. And after Beau’s driver curls around the driveway and leaves, we finally head out.
As we merge into the never-ending LA traffic, I sit there hoping we make it to the concert in time to talk to Griffin.
If we don’t, I’m not sure what I’ll do.