“Okay,” she said with an exhale when she finally sat, her seat pulled around her desk so she was near me. “Well, I’ve looked at your transcripts, Savannah, and I have to say . . . you’re a fantastic student. Your GPA has remained solid and, honestly, terrific. Your SAT and ACT results were also pretty wonderful. I think we should talk about you considering something more along the lines of a private university than what you mentioned. However, that can maybe wait for another meeting.”
I didn’t tell her I wasn’t interested in those things. That I already knew what I was going to college for, and I was firm on going somewhere close by so I could continue living in Amber to save as much as possible for the plantation house.
I just sat there, waiting for the real reason why I’d been brought in there. My stomach getting all tangled up with nerves and my heart beating like crazy as if I’d done something wrong.
She offered me a kind smile as she leaned forward, elbows on her legs and hands clasped together. “I was kind of hoping we could just talk, Savannah.”
“About?” I asked when she didn’t elaborate, voice thick with worry.
“Just talk. I just wanted to see how you’re doing with school, cheer, life . . .”
“Oh,” I said awkwardly and shifted on the couch as I tried to orient my thoughts while wondering if she was pulling all the students for chats like this. “Well, I’m . . . I’m good. I’m really good. I also dance outside of school, so I’m busy.”
“Oh, wow.”
“Yeah,” I said, a breath of a laugh bubbling up my throat. “But I like being busy. I like moving. If I don’t have anything to do, I bake.”
“Do you feel restless if you aren’t moving?” she asked, a crease forming between her eyebrows.
“No.” I lifted a shoulder, trying to think of anything I might feel when I’m not moving. “No, I just really like being busy. I mean, I read. But only in bed because it’s the only time that I’m still.”
“You don’t think there’s a reason for you wanting to be busy?”
“Like . . .” My eyes darted around the office as those warning bells sounded again, louder than before. “Like what?”
“Nothing,” she said, waving a hand through the air before clasping them again. “I was just curious. So, what do you like to bake? I’m a terrible baker. Then again, I’m a terrible cook. I can stir the heck out of some boxed potatoes though.”
A startled laugh burst from me before I relented and told her about my favorite desserts, which led to me explaining all about the bed and breakfast Beau and I wanted to have one day.
By the time I finished, she was leaning back in her chair, travel mug in hand and excitement dancing in her eyes. “That’s some dream, Savannah. And I’ll tell you, Amber could sure use something like that.”
“We think so too,” I agreed.
Her smile dimmed a little as she nodded toward me with her chin. “I keep wondering if there’s a particular reason you’re wearing your jacket today.”
I glanced down at my bare legs and cheer skirt before self-consciously touching my cheer jacket. “Well, it’s . . . it’s almost the end of October.”
“Oh, I know. But this is Texas after all, and a little warm front blew in.” She lifted her mug placatingly. “I like being comfy, so I’m with you on wanting jacket weather to get here.”
I played with the bottom of my skirt before placing my hands on my legs. “I feel like there’s something you want to ask me, so you should probably just ask.”
“I’m just wondering if you decided to wear your jacket on a day that isn’t exactly cool because you’re maybe trying to hide something.”
“Like wha—” My hands went to my stomach a split second before my gaze followed. Something close to horror washed over me as I wondered if I was getting fat, and my focus snapped back to her. “I’m not pregnant.”
“No, no,” she said quickly. “Never thought that, and you don’t look it one bit, I promise.”
“Okay. Well, then, what would I be hiding?” I demanded, voice frantic and offended.
“It’s—” She blew out a harsh breath through her nose and set her mug down before leaning forward in her chair. “I want you to know, I’m here,” she continued. “I’m a safe space. You can talk to me without worrying about what will happen, and I’m going to do everything I can to help you.”
Unease moved through me, slow and thick. “I . . . I don’t—help me with what?”
She took a moment as if she needed to collect herself. When she began, her voice was soft and gentle. “Savannah, it has been brought to my attention that you’ve been seen with bruises this week. And that this isn’t the first time.”
Long seconds came and went as I waited for her to realize she was talking to the wrong person. But when her tone and declaration added up with all those previous warning bells, a disbelieving scoff burst from me. Because I knew exactly what she was insinuating.
Except she was wrong.
I got bruises all the time, sure. I was one of the smallest girls on the squad next to Madison, so I got tossed in the air a lot. If stunts didn’t go right—which, let’s face it, they didn’t always—I was caught in any way the girls were able to catch me. Sometimes, I fell flat on my butt. Not to mention, dance.
Bruises just happened in my life. Not once before then had I thought anything about them, though. Also, I was pretty positive I didn’t have any concerning bruises at that moment.
But I could see on Mrs. Warin’s face that this was a big deal to her in a Beau-Dixon kinda way, and it made me want to cry for him and scream at the people who didn’t understand him.
Instead, I pulled my bag close to my side and tried to keep my voice polite when I said, “I’m sorry, I think you’ve been misinformed.”
“Savannah, Beau has a history—”
“I’m aware,” I said tightly, that politeness replaced with ice in an instant.
She gave me a look as if to remind me that she was there for me. “The school has been informed that your relationship is abusive.”
“The school?” I asked, choking over the word. “As in, multiple people? More than just you?”
“This is very serious,” she confirmed calmly.
“Who? Who is saying this?” I bit out, my anger making my throat thick and my eyes burn with tears I refused to shed because I was too busy being pissed. “Because not once in the years that I’ve known Beau has he ever done anything but love and protect me.”
“Okay, let’s maybe just take a second and take a breath,” Mrs. Warin said. “I’m not your enemy, Savannah. I’m here for you. Remember, you can tell me anything.”
“If you’re waiting for my answer to change about him, it won’t.”
“Okay.” She lifted her hands in a calming motion. “There’s something else we need to address.”
“Fantastic,” I said through clenched teeth. “Let’s do that.”
A sigh left her before she said, “Within the information we received about your relationship, it was said that this abuse—”
“Which isn’t happening,” I said bitterly.
She paused for a moment before continuing. “This abuse might also be sexual in nature.”
I was so caught off guard that I sat there, too stunned to fully process what she was saying. I wasn’t sure I could process what she was saying.
My mind raced as I thought of the times when Beau and I were together.
His breath fanned my lips as he demanded, “Rough or easy?”
“I don’t care. I just want you.”
The slight sting of pain as he bit down on my lip had heat unfurling in my stomach and was enough to let me know what he needed before he said, “Rough then.”
But that . . . that was different. That wasn’t anything like what Mrs. Warin was hinting at. It was always my choice, and rough only meant he wasn’t gentle with me. That it wasn’t slow and tender. But it was still full of love. It was just passion and need and, well, rough.
It was Beau.
It was us.
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered. “Who even said this, and why is my relationship any of their business?”
“People who are very concerned about you.”
“Bullshit,” I snapped, then rolled my eyes when hers widened in surprise. “Sorry for cursing.”
Mrs. Warin just waved a hand through the air again. “Safe space.”
“Beau would destroy anyone who hurt me,” I said bluntly. Angrily. “He would destroy himself before hurting me . . . emotionally, physically, in any form. This is just someone being an asshole because they got bored . . . one . . . day.” My words slowed and softened, and my stomach bottomed out as a very real possibility came to mind. When I continued, my voice was nothing more than a distracted mumble. “Or maybe they’re trying to get a rise out of Beau for one reason or another. And when he hears this, that’s exactly what they’ll get. Did you ever consider the timing of when you were told all this? Right before a game against our biggest rival when we’re undefeated? What if someone is trying to make sure Beau doesn’t play because they know he’ll get himself kicked out of school before the game?”
“Savannah, these are very serious accusations against—”
“And they’re bullshit,” I repeated. “I don’t even have any bruises that I’m aware of. Look.” I grabbed the zipper of my jacket and roughly yanked it down, shrugging my arms free and shoving them out for Mrs. Warin to inspect since my legs were already mostly bared to her. “Let’s be real, my parents would love a solid reason to have Beau and me separated because of that history you mentioned, but even they know he would never touch me.”
She gave a slow sigh, her voice the same unnerving calm it had been since we’d begun that part of our discussion. “That only gives me a small relief, Savannah. Bruises fade—”
“Oh my God,” I groaned, standing and shrugging back into my jacket.
“There is the other side of the accusations,” she continued as she stood with me, understanding practically pouring from her as her eyes begged me to come clean to something that wasn’t happening. “Abuse can be emotional. I’ve seen the way he keeps you close.”
“There is no abuse, Mrs. Warin,” I nearly shouted, unable to take anymore. “God, if this town would just give him a chance. He is . . . he is . . .” A sound of aggravation rose in my throat as I tried and failed to explain that boy.
No one had ever understood Beau except me. Even still, I couldn’t begin to figure out how to make someone truly see him. Because for me, it’d been immediate. The sense that he was important. The feeling that flowed through my veins and whispered to my soul everything I needed to know about Beau Dixon.
I knew how he raged and lost all control. Knew how he hated himself and broke for those he hurt. I saw it. I felt it all the same as I felt how deeply he loved me.
“Beau is good and beautiful and cares more passionately than anyone I know,” I finally said. “But no one else has ever seen him as anything other than destructive, so he’s grown up thinking they’re right.” My head shook as I snatched my bag off the couch. “Give him a chance.”
She called my name when I headed for the door, but I continued out into the hall without slowing. Eyes catching on the stares of the front office ladies as I hurried through. Their gazes concerned and discerning, as if they were trying to find whatever Mrs. Warin had expected to see.
I tossed a saccharine smile their way as I pressed my back to the door leading to the school’s main hall, my voice like honey. “Don’t you know it’s rude to stare?”
Their heads fell in sync. Their shamed eyes shifting, looking anywhere else as their lips moved, whispering words to each other that were far too low for me to hear as the door slowly fell open behind me.
I whirled around into the empty hall, my expression slipping and jaw wavering as I fought back the tears that threatened to spill over. As I wondered why this was happening to us—to him.
As I wondered if it would ever stop . . .
“It has to,” I mumbled under my breath as I headed to class. “There has to be a day where this stops for us.”
I nodded resolutely and forced an extra bounce in my step as if my positivity alone might make it so. But that positive outlook came crashing down around me when I rounded the corner to the long hall that held mine and Beau’s first-period class and the seniors’ lockers. Mainly, Beau’s locker.
I knew it as well as my own because I decorated it before games and left little treats in there for him. I’d decorated it late yesterday afternoon—every football player had his locker decorated.
But I hadn’t done that . . .
At least a dozen strips of red barricade tape were spilling to the floor from the slots on his locker, displaying one word over and over again.
DANGER.
I passed one of the other classrooms as I slowly moved to his locker, my heart cracking with each step closer as my eyes darted over the addition. I tried to take comfort in knowing Beau hadn’t seen it—that he wouldn’t see it. Because it had to have been done after class began. Otherwise, someone would’ve torn it down.
A teacher, at least.
But like everything else that morning, that comfort died, and the tears I’d been fighting broke free as I carefully tore strip after strip away, revealing the large words scrawled in permanent ink across his locker.
SAVAGE.
DANGEROUS.
HEARTLESS.
All written throughout one, repeated word: ABUSER.
I let the barricade tape fall to my feet, my fingers trembling as I lifted them to touch Beau’s locker. As if the words, the tape, Mrs. Warin . . . everything . . . might disappear once I did.
But it was real.
And the sob that burst from me echoed down the hall like a siren.
My blurry stare went everywhere as I tried to figure out what to do. As my heart broke for the boy I loved.
The sound of my bag hitting the floor was lost beneath the reverberating sound of my pounding feet as I tore through the empty hallways of the school. My heart beating faster and my tears falling harder with each second that passed. As if my soul was mentally counting down the minutes and knew there wasn’t enough time.
Relief barreled through me when I found the large storage closet where we kept our decorating supplies unlocked. Grabbing a paintbrush and the small can of Eagle-blue paint I’d used the night before, I ran out of the closet and back the way I came. The entire time, whispering prayers that the bell wouldn’t ring anytime soon.
That I would have time.
A cry of sorrow and disappointment scraped up my throat when I rounded the last corner and saw him there.
Leaning up against his locker. Arms folded. My backpack hanging from his fingers.
His head shifted my way, the look on his handsome face slaying me until I was sure I would do anything to take this moment and this pain from Beau.
Give my life.
Sell my soul.
Beg God until He agreed to turn back time.
Anything.
Because that pain and shame radiating from Beau were real and soul deep. That question in his eyes was the most dangerous thing about him because he was wondering if they were right—just as he always did. He agonized over their words until he feared what he was capable of. Until he exploded with it.
And that apology creasing his forehead? I wanted to erase it. I wanted to kiss it away. He had absolutely nothing to apologize to me for—not when it came to who he was.
Not now.
Not ever.
“I’m sorry.” The words were a whisper when I reached him, wrapped in regret and my tears.
His head slanted and his face twisted with humiliation and lightly concealed rage. “Savannah, I—”
“Don’t,” I said quickly as I set down the paint. “Don’t go there.” Placing my hands on his face, I felt the way his strained jaw tensed and twitched beneath my fingers for a moment be
fore softly continuing. “You don’t deserve this. None of this is you.”
Doubt rumbled deep in his chest.
“It isn’t,” I maintained. “This is someone trying to get in your head. This is someone trying to make you do something—like with what they said to Mrs. Warin.”
“What?”
Ice-cold fingers tore at my chest and gripped my throat as soon as I realized what I’d done.
Oh God.
No. No, no, no . . .
He needed to know, but not right then. Not in the middle of a school hallway next to a locker full of cruelties.
“Savannah.” Beau’s tone was low and careful as he pressed his fingers below my chin to lift my head. Eyes searching and studying mine, looking ready for whatever else I might throw at him. “What did Mrs. Warin say?”
I swallowed thickly, my eyelids slowly closing as I sucked in a deep breath. “Beau, the school was informed that our relationship is abusive.”
His body went still against mine.
His jaw tightened so forcefully it felt like granite beneath my fingertips.
“They were also told that it . . .” When my eyes opened, I was staring at Beau’s jersey. Unable to continue. Still struggling to fully digest what Mrs. Warin had said—what it meant.
“What?” he demanded, the question like whispered poison.
My head moved in small, harsh shakes as I repeated what the counselor had said like a dirty confession. “They were told the abuse was also sexual.” I tried to swallow, but my throat was suddenly too dry. Too thick. “I think . . .” I met Beau’s blank stare and wanted to curl into a ball and die. “I think someone’s saying you’re raping me.”
Seconds passed before Beau reacted. Head bobbing as he carefully moved out from between me and the locker.
“Beau—”
He held up a hand as he backed away, a silent plea for a minute alone.
Except he never needed minutes when he was with me. I calmed him. Always.
Fire Page 15
