8. Beau
Beau
For a guy in his mid-thirties, I thought I was in decent shape. That was until I went swimming with a bunch of teenagers. I swear, those kids were gonna be the death of me.
The first hour of pool time went beautifully. Everybody remembered their sunscreen and nobody drowned; it was great. Then we started playing water volleyball, which was fun until a couple of the local high school football players decided to make it competitive.
One of them hit the ball so hard that it smashed Cynthia in the face. The hit didn’t break her nose, thankfully, but she had a pretty good nosebleed from it, and now I’m going to have to explain to her parents why she’s got two black eyes after a day of swimming.
To his credit, the football player immediately apologized and brought Cynthia fresh ice for the rest of our time at the pool. Something told me I’d need to watch out for those two.
Speaking of needing to watch out, River and Miguel disappeared for a good twenty minutes before I saw them picking their way out of the wooded area, sneaking back into the pool.
Clark had certainly clocked the interest between the two boys right away, but explaining the hickeys on River’s neck was going to get awkward, fast.
I mean, I was pretty sure Clark was accepting of his son’s sexuality, but then that led down a rabbit hole of wondering whether Clark had ever considered his own sexuality.
Stop fantasizing about the hot dad, Beau.
Unrelated to my unruly hormones, Clark and River had been on my mind the last two nights.
That accident had blown up their entire lives.
River was still at the very beginning of his grief and had a lot to work through.
I suspected that Clark, even though he seemed to be at peace with his divorce, wasn’t the kind of asshole who hated his ex so much that he was happy she was dead.
His was a different kind of grief. He grieved for what his son had lost.
I felt like an absolute shithead for this, but I found Clark’s deep empathy and decidedly uncool desire to genuinely connect with his son so fucking hot.
I swear to God. Clark’s cute little shorts and yearning eyes were killing me. I was not a good person.
Jake’d teased me about it at breakfast. He’d caught me looking for them, and when I asked him if they were joining us, he couldn’t help but chirp at me.
“I know you were hoping to ogle Clark’s calves, but they’re eating breakfast in their cabin.”
I mean, yes. I liked Clark’s wiry calves. Definitely a runner’s calves. They also made me wonder if he’d ever been rimmed.
He had to have had a college experience. At least a hand job, right?
Wow, Beau. Super, super inappropriate.
Those had been the thoughts swirling in my head as I’d walked to the barn this morning and … Jesus.
Clark and River were standing by the barn, chatting with Miguel. Clark looked like he’d just come from an activewear model shoot. The long-sleeved rash guard highlighted his trim, strong figure, and those shorts were a gift from the gods.
His ass was a work of art.
The hiking boots and calves situation was straight up pornographic as far as I was concerned.
Jake, in the meantime, had sidled up next to me like a silent assassin. “You are ridiculous.”
“I haven’t done anything.”
“Yeah, well. Tell that to your face.”
He’d then acted like he was wiping invisible drool from the corner of my mouth. Bastard.
Focus, Beau.
I’d elbowed Jake and watched as Clark pulled a massive T-shirt over all that perfection.
While sad, it’d cleared the fog of lust enough for me to see that the energy between father and son was already so much better than it had been earlier.
Actually, it looked like they’d been laughing, and River was twirling his walking stick like a baton. I was relieved to see it.
Returning to the poolside tragedy unfolding before me, I wasn’t so sure of this River and Miguel pairing. I was guessing it’d end in heartbreak, but it wasn’t my job to prevent legal adults—albeit teenagers—from exploring their sexuality.
I just needed to make sure they got back home in one piece. And I should probably warn them that poison ivy gets everywhere.
After lunch and a rousing game of Marco Polo, we piled everyone back onto the bus, and they dropped us off at the main barn before taking off for Fort Collins.
Just as Miguel, River, and the twins were gathering their things, Clark walked out of the barn with his painting in hand, the ratty T-shirt from this morning hanging over the crook of his elbow.
Fucking hell, even his knees were sexy. The light dusting of hair on his thighs was…
“Dad? Did you just finish your painting?” River asked, interrupting my thoughts.
Clark seemed a little caught out. “Not all of us are award-winning artists, son. It took me a while. Also, I let it dry while I rode Betty.”
“You rode Betty without me?” I asked, unreasonably jealous.
Clark turned to me, hand going to his perfect abs. “Your horse guy, Jake, said it was okay.”
“Well, as long as Jake was okay with it,” I said, plucking his painting from his hands.
Clark seemed to wanna grab it back from me, but I held it over his head, playing keep away. Spending the day with teenagers had done wonders for my maturity.
Still holding it above my head, I flipped it so I could see the painting.
It was an improvement on yesterday’s blob horse, but now—even though Clark’s color theory was a little rough, and the eyes weren’t quite even—it was good enough that I recognized the scene from the other day. River, cheek to cheek with Betty, a small smile on his face.
A painting of the photograph I’d texted to him.
“Clark, this is actually pretty good,” I said, finally bringing it down and handing it back to him. He took it from me with a huff, his cheeks adorably red.
He said to River, “I know it’s super bad, but—”
Clark stopped speaking mid-sentence, as though someone had flipped a switch.
I turned to see what had interrupted his speech.
River had taken the painting from his father and was staring at it. Tears streamed down his face, down his neck, past the hickeys, into the collar of his T-shirt. His eyes were rimmed red, his face contorted in pain.
He leaned into the walking stick he’d been playing with all day long.
I gestured to Miguel and the twins. “Hey, can y’all give us a moment?”
Concerned for their new friend, Connor and Cynthia murmured their agreement, quietly making their way to the path that led to their cabin, while Miguel headed into the barn after a worried glance at River.
I checked around, grateful that not many people were milling about.
I directed us to the relative privacy of the side of the barn, where we could stand in the shade.
“I’m sorry,” River choked out, dashing at his tears. “I don’t know what’s happening.”
“I didn’t realize the painting was that bad,” Clark said, going for the joke.
Every muscle in River’s face, neck, and shoulders tensed. Then the trickle of tears turned into a flood. Sobs wracked his chest.
Clark cringed, likely judging himself for misreading the moment as badly as I had. He opened his arms to his son, and River stumbled forward, burying his face in his dad’s neck.
“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I tried. I really tried, Dad.”
Tears sprang to Clark’s eyes. “What could you possibly be sorry for, son?”
“Mom,” he choked out. “I tried to stop her, but I couldn’t. It’s all my fault.”
Clark stared at me, impossibly confused.
“Riv? Are you talking about the accident?”
River nodded, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
Clark tightened his grip. “None of that is your fault, Riv. There was ice under the snow. It was just a really bad intersection.”
“No, Dad,” River said between sobs. “Something was wrong with Mom.”
Clark exchanged a look with me. More confusion and concern.
“River, son. What was wrong with your mom?” he asked softly.
“I know you think she was proud of me, but she hated that I was gay,” he said, his voice wrecked. “Hated it.”
“Son, your mother loved you.”
“No, she didn’t, Dad,” River insisted. “You never saw it. You never saw how bad she got.”
“What didn’t I see?” Clark asked, so fucking brave.
River sniffled and stepped back, hanging his head, unable to look Clark in his eyes.
We waited.
River used the edge of his palm to roughly wipe at his tears. “You know how Mom started dating that guy at the beginning of the school year?”
“Yeah, he seemed pretty nice. It didn’t last long, though.”
“He broke it off because he couldn’t date someone who supported having a gay kid in the house.”
Clark’s face went from concerned and saddened to red. “He what?”
“Mom started going to church with him. She was already not super comfortable with me being gay.” He sniffled again. “Not like you were. But when she started going to church with him, it got worse.”
“Worse, how?”
“She started saying things, like,”—he gripped his stick—“like she was worried? For my future in heaven?”
Clark’s jaw tightened, but he kept his composure. “And he broke up with her because she didn’t, what? Disown you?”
River nodded, snot dripping from his nose. He made an attempt to wipe it away with his sleeve. “He said that he loved her, but that unless I went to live with you full time, he … he couldn’t be in her life.”
“Did he ever hurt you?” Clark asked carefully. “Or her?”
Staring at the ground, River was quick to answer, “No. No. But Mom was so sad afterward. Devastated. She kept trying to get him back, and he just kept asking, ‘What about your son? What about your son?’ And then she was, like, ‘Do you have to be gay? Are you sure you’ve never been interested in girls?’”
He looked up, his eyes so green against the redness. “I tried, Dad. I tried really hard. I even went on a date with this girl from school, but it didn’t work. It was … I didn’t like it. And then Mom got really bad.”
“In what way, son?”
“She started taking antidepressants, and … I don’t know.” He seemed to search for the words. “She just wasn’t like Mom anymore. And I wanted to tell you, but I knew it would make her feel bad, so I didn’t. And I should’ve, ’cause if I had told you, you would’ve helped.”
“Of course I would have helped if I could,” Clark said softly. “But she might not have been willing to receive my help.”
River considered his father’s words. “You’re right. Probably not.”
“I gotta know, Riv. Why would you think the accident is your fault?”
More tears. River opened and closed his mouth a few times before he could make the words.
“Because when we got into the car to come visit you for Christmas, I told her I was really proud of the present I was gonna give her.” He stopped, palming his forehead, breathing so hard I thought he’d hyperventilate.
“And she said that the only thing that would make her proud of me is if I helped her get Serg back.”
Clark pressed his fingertips to his lips. “It wasn’t fair of her to ask you that.”
“She just wasn’t in her right mind, you know? She wasn’t in her right mind.” River shook out his hands. “And then we got to the hill, and I told her to slow down, but she wouldn’t.”
Clark inhaled sharply, his eyes wide. “River…”
“And I tried to get the wheel from her. I tried to turn the car, but I couldn’t reach the brake.” He rubbed his hip. “I was twisting, trying to get my foot onto the driver’s side. That’s how my ankle and hip got fucked up.”
He folded in on himself, and the tears returned. I knew he was trying to say more, but he couldn’t seem to form the words.
“Riv, whatever you have to tell me, it will be okay. I will still love you, and it will be okay.”
“You don’t get it, Dad.” He bit his lip, shaking his head. “Turning the wheel made us lose control. It’s my fault we ran into the tree. I kept grabbing for the wheel. And I killed her because I couldn’t … I couldn’t…”
River’s words devolved into sobs, and Clark wrapped his son up like a precious thing.
I was watching father and son fall apart before my very eyes, and in that moment, my degree and all my years of experience felt entirely useless.