Ruined (Beaumont Ridge #1)

Prologue

Grace

Then – Twelve Years Ago

Three words. Three tiny, otherwise insignificant words utterly broke me.

“Go without me.”

Several moments have passed since they were vocalized, but I can’t bring myself to acknowledge them; I can barely bring myself to acknowledge the person who uttered them so…

emotionlessly. It’s as though time is standing still, holding me prisoner in this moment.

A moment that, for as long as I live, will haunt me.

A moment that I so desperately want to claw my way out of, trying and failing to understand how we got here.

The mechanics of my jaw work overtime trying to keep up with my brain’s desire to speak, but it’s to no avail.

Words continue to escape me. Air in my lungs continues to dwindle.

“Wh-what?” The single word stumbles out between my lips.

“Go without me, Gracie.”

I heard him perfectly clearly the first time, causing the initial tear in the intricate threads of my heart. But the second time rips it wide open. It’s the addition of his nickname for me that sticks the final nail in the coffin of our future.

“No,” I whisper hoarsely, unsure if he even hears me. “No,” I repeat, unable to articulate anything more as my vision becomes hazy around the edges. The front porch and street beyond become nothing more than a faded background; the boy standing before me encased in the blurred frame.

He takes a small step toward me, reaching a hand toward my shoulder. I step back on instinct, and his arm drops to his side, his face falling. “I’m staying. With you.”

He sighs. “No, Gracie, you need to go. Get settled in, sort out your classes. I’ll meet you there, it’ll just be a little later than we planned.”

“No,” I respond defiantly. “I don’t care about that, not now. How could I leave you at a time like this? I’m staying.”

He just shakes his head, his eyes cast down. His expressionless face gives nothing away, and yet somehow says it all—he’s not coming, and he won’t let me stay.

I take a deep breath in, schooling my features to appear as stable as the boy across the threshold; the boy who currently holds my heart in his hand—his to keep or destroy.

“Okay.” The word feels like sandpaper grating against my throat as it’s uttered, but I keep up the appearance of someone far less affected.

“I’ll follow you, Gracie. It’ll be delayed, but I’ll be there.” The small smile he gives me makes me think that maybe everything will be okay. His reassurance is comforting, but shouldn’t I be the one comforting him right now?

“I can’t leave without you.” It takes everything I have to stop my voice from breaking as I speak. “I can’t.”

This time when he takes a step toward me, I don’t retreat. Instead, I let him wrap a gentle hand around the back of my bicep. “You can, Gracie. Please, do this for me.”

Tears pool in his lower lash line ever so slowly as he looks down at me.

His pleading tone is too much, and I avert my gaze, my chin lowering to my chest as I stare at the floor.

He’s right though—for him, I have to. Not a single ounce of me wants to, but if the boy I love is asking me to do this for him, how could I possibly deny him?

“It’ll be okay, right?” I feel my chin trembling, but I push on.

“You’ll just get there a little later, but that’s okay.

I can hold down the fort while I wait for you.

It’ll be okay.” I’ve said the word okay too many times; it’s now lost its meaning.

I’m trying to stay calm and keep my thoughts positive.

“We’ll be okay,” I add the last three words on a whispered exhale, for my own reassurance more than anything.

I’ve spent longer than I’d like to admit cataloguing the many expressions of the boy in front of me over the past several years, and in particular, his smiles.

There’s the polite, closed mouth one that he gives to passersby, the cheeky grin he gives his siblings when he’s riling them up, and then there’s the small, intimate one he reserves just for me.

The smile he gives me now, though… is one I don’t see often. It’s sad, and it steals away that small flicker of hope I’ve been desperately clutching.

My whole body feels heavy with defeat, and yet there’s a sensation of complete emptiness inside.

“We’ll be okay, I promise.” But his words feel empty. There’s a distinct lack of emotion behind them which, coupled with the sad expression on his face, does nothing to improve my feeling of hopelessness.

His hand remains on my arm, but I barely feel his touch.

“Okay, I’ll go.”

There's the faintest tic in his jaw. I blink, and it’s gone.

He's gone; the light in those gorgeous bourbon eyes dimming. Where they normally resemble a deep caramel, there's nothing but endless mud. With each word out of my mouth, my heart only breaks a little more. But when I look at him, I see only that sad, pitiful smile. I wonder if he believes what he’s saying. I want to, more than anything, but I’m so scared.

People make promises all the time, but that doesn’t mean they don’t get broken.

I know he loves me, perhaps even more than I love him, but will that be enough?

In order to get to Chicago, to get through this, I have to believe it will be.

“I should go. I’m sure you’ve got packing to finish, but I’ll see you soon.”

There’s a painful, constricting feeling in my throat at the thought of responding, so I stay silent. My eyes don’t leave his, finding ourselves in a game of chicken—who will break first? As though reading my thoughts, he drops his gaze to the floor and slowly turns his back on me.

The strong facade I have going on only has to last a little longer; a few steps and he’ll be gone.

I keep my eye-line straight ahead as he retreats down the porch steps, the echo of his boots like gun shots piercing the silence and my heart.

It takes everything I have not to slam the door shut as he reaches his truck without a single backwards glance.

Instead, I close it softly, tears silently streaming down my face.

I hear his truck start up, then roll away.

My knees hit the timber floor, my legs unable to hold me up any longer. Only then do I let myself fall apart.