“Jason,” both Mr. and Mrs. Rowe said, sounding horrified.
When he only continued toward me, curling his arm around my shoulders to lead me toward the front door, Mrs. Rowe said, “Christi, please.”
“You heard my husband. We’ll see you at county.”
I wasn’t sure I’d ever been so shocked by my parents in my life. I also wasn’t sure if there would ever be another time where they were on Beau’s side for any reason—even if only slightly.
But I would take it.
I would take it and be so grateful.
“Thank you,” I whispered as my dad led me outside.
“You should’ve told us,” he said in response. “Doesn’t matter who the person or their family is. You tell us what’s happening.”
“Understood.”
We watched the Rowes leave the house with my mom trailing behind, then started heading for our car.
“Anything you need to tell us about Beau?” my dad asked as I reached for the handle of my door, sounding far too curious and expectant.
I rolled my eyes and released a deep sigh. “Dad.”
“Needed to check,” he said unapologetically as he ducked into the car.
“Wendy must be a wreck,” my mom muttered as she sank into the passenger seat and shut the door behind her.
“She is.” I looked out the window as I bit at my thumb nail and tried not to think about how long it took to get to the county jail as I added, “Mr. Dixon’s super mad. And that was before Hunter and I told them that Philip lied.”
She sighed and released her seatbelt before it could click shut. “The two of you go on ahead. I’m gonna check on her.” Glancing behind her, she pointed at me. “Stop.”
I forced my hand into my lap. “I’m not biting it.”
Her face softened. “I’m sorry about this. I really am, Savannah.”
I watched as she got out of the car and began walking down the drive, then crawled across the center console to sit up front as my dad began reversing. “How fast can we get there?”
“It won’t make a difference. He won’t be released until they drop everything.”
I nodded, already knowing that even though my heart couldn’t understand it.
Getting there meant getting to him. Simple as that.
“I’m so mad,” I whispered a few minutes later.
Dad released a slow breath. “I know.”
“And I think I might be mad at Beau . . .”
He shifted in his seat. Knowing my dad the way I did, I had a feeling he was trying not to jump for joy at the idea of me being mad enough to want to break up with Beau.
As if that would ever happen.
“Yeah?”
“He just let them take him,” I explained. “He didn’t say anything. He never does. Beau figures if someone thinks something about him, then it either must be true, or he isn’t going to change their mind about him anyway, so why try? And it hurts my heart because I want him to see himself the way I do.” I gestured to my dad before letting my hand fall. “Just like I want you and mom and everyone else to see him the way I do. There’s this guy apart from the anger that is so incredible—he just refuses to show anyone else because they already have their minds made up about him.”
A hum sounded in my dad’s throat. “But he shows you?”
“Yeah,” I said as if that should’ve been obvious.
“And why do you think that is?”
“Because I looked at him that first day and saw him around all that anger he was trying to get away from.”
My dad shrugged. “Or maybe it’s because the boy loves you.”
“It’s because I saw him,” I said resolutely. “It’s because I always see him.” Before he could argue, I said, “You know he fights with his brothers all the time. Physically. But Beau and Hunter are best friends despite that because Hunter sees him too. He knows.”
He didn’t respond, and for a long time, we drove in silence until Dad finally said, “I can’t figure out why you want to be with someone like him.”
“Dad—”
“Someone you always have to defend. Someone who is always putting you in dangerous situations because he can’t control himself. Someone you have to beg people to give a chance to when he’s had more than enough.”
“He has not,” I said quietly, angrily. “It’s like with Philip—he has always started fights with Beau, knowing Beau will finish them. Knowing only Beau will get in trouble because he’s known for his anger. Because it’s so easy for everyone to believe that Beau snapped just because. How is that giving him a chance?”
“He has snapped just because, Savannah.”
“You’re wrong.” I started biting at my thumb nail but forced my hand into my lap as I thought of how to explain Beau to my dad in the first real conversation we’d ever had about him.
Usually, my parents just yelled or tossed out the reminder Utah, and that was the end of it.
“When he loses it, it’s big—I know,” I said carefully. “But he just . . . everything is bigger to Beau. He hurts deeper. Loves harder. Rages stronger. He feels everything on such a massive level, and he spends nearly every minute of every day trying to suppress all of it. So, when he’s pushed, it explodes from him.”
“Tell me how that isn’t dangerous for you,” he said gruffly, doubt weaving through his tone.
The corners of my mouth twitched into a ghost of a smile. “Because he likes being pushed by me.” I turned in my seat to face my dad and reminded him, “And he shows me those sides of him that he’s usually trying to suppress. I’m good for him.”
“He isn’t your responsibility to fix, Savannah.”
I jerked against the door at the assumption. “I don’t wanna fix him,” I said firmly. “He doesn’t need to be fixed or changed or-or-or . . . anything. He’s fine. He’s perfect, Dad.”
He shot me a glance, some horrible mixture of disbelief and an apology as I continued.
“And he’s good for me too. But you wouldn’t know that because you don’t want to know. You and Mom don’t care about the things he does for me or how he cares for me or how he loves me in a way that continues to steal my heart all over again.”
“We care about you,” Dad interjected over me.
“Instead, you want me with some horrible excuse for a guy who has assaulted and harassed me more times than I can remember just because he isn’t known to have an anger problem. How does that make sense?”
My dad scrubbed his palm over his face before placing it on the steering wheel again but didn’t respond otherwise, and I didn’t say anything else.
I didn’t want to push him further, not after everything he’d already done for Beau and me tonight.
When we pulled into the parking area for the county jail a few minutes later, I whispered, “Thank you again. I’m sure this must have been really hard for you and Mom.”
My dad sighed as he put the car in park and faced me. “What’s hard is what we missed. What’s hard is what you went through and felt like you couldn’t tell us. I’m sorry.” His mouth fell into a shaky frown as he studied me for a moment longer before getting out of the car.
I followed, eager to get inside. Wanting to run into the small station and get to where my heart was calling me and feeling trapped when we had to wait.
And wait.
And wait.
“Dad,” I groaned sometime later.
He grabbed my arm and pulled me into the seat beside him to stop my pacing. “He’ll be out soon.”
“You said that forever ago.” My stare went to the clock, and I dropped my head against the wall. “You said that over forty minutes ago.”
And we’d arrived long before that.
The deputy on duty—who knew quite well who I was to Beau Dixon—wanted to make sure we weren’t making the Rowes drop the charges by force or threat. Especially since the Dixons had been there not long before. And once the Rowes realized that admitting Beau hadn’t actually done
anything also meant that Philip had intentionally filed a false police report, they’d wanted their lawyer present before they went ahead with anything.
“He’s been in there for hours for nothing,” I whispered, my gaze narrowing on the corner the Rowes had remained huddled in with their lawyer ever since coming out of the back room where they’d discussed who-knew-what. “They already know they’re dropping the charges against Beau. Why can’t they just release him?”
“I don’t know, pumpkin,” he muttered, then released an exhausted sigh. “Savannah.”
I ignored his hushed calls as I pushed from the chair and hurried over to the front desk, intent on at least finding out something.
The deputy took a breath when he saw me coming as if he was preparing for a verbal attack. “Yes, Miss Riley?”
“Has he said anything?”
The deputy’s brows rose in surprise. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
“Beau. Has he said anything since the sheriff arrested him and brought him in?”
His head slanted to the side. “Not a word, ma’am.”
I nodded as I glanced toward the hall I knew he would come down when he was released. “Does he know we’re here?”
“No, ma’am. There’s no point in tellin’ him about all this when nothin’ might come from it.”
Surprise and frustration slammed into me. I looked back at him and then over to the Rowes as I wondered what was holding them up. “Can I . . . can I go talk to him?”
Sympathy swept across the deputy’s face when I met his stare again. “You know you can’t.”
“Yes, sir,” I said softly, then turned and headed back to where my dad was talking to Peter. “Are your parents not dropping the charges?”
My dad gestured to Peter and then over to the cluster of Rowes as if in response.
“They are,” Peter assured me on a sigh. “They are, this is just . . . stupid. This whole thing is stupid, and I’ll say I’m sorry for all of it because I know they won’t. They were trying to figure out a way to make a deal for Philip first, and it’s just . . .” He dragged his hands over his face and gave me an apologetic look. “Fucked up.” He held out a hand toward my dad. “Sorry.”
“That isn’t fair,” I said probably a little too loudly. “It isn’t Beau’s fault that Philip made a false report. He shouldn’t have to wait because of him.”
“Trust me, I know.” Peter lifted his hands in a way like he was trying to remind me he wasn’t on their side. “You wonder why I’ve stayed gone as long as I have,” he tried to tease, but it fell flat.
“I hate your brother.”
“Savannah,” my dad mumbled in disapproval.
Peter just smiled. “What else is new?” His stare shifted over my head and his smile grew. “Hey, Anna-Hannah . . . you should look behind you.”
Before he even finished speaking, I turned. A sound of joy and sorrow climbing up my throat when I saw Beau walking down the hall and shrugging into his jacket.
Face fiercely unreadable to anyone else, but I knew him.
I understood the set of his brows and the tenseness of his jaw. I saw the anger swirling within his apology and embarrassment as his eyes locked on me.
As if he had done something when we both knew he hadn’t.
I waited until he passed the faded, red and white Do Not Cross line before taking off across the lobby to meet him. Crashing against him and reveling in the feel of his hard body against mine. In the way one of his arms automatically curled around my waist to hold me close as his other hand lifted to my face. His fingers trailing along my jaw as his eyes searched mine, saying all the things he wouldn’t when others were near.
I love you. I love you. I’m sorry. Forgive me.
“Stop,” I begged, curling my fingers into his shirt. “You didn’t do anything.”
“Look where we are,” he said, his voice nothing more than a dejected breath.
“Because Philip’s a prick. But I told them—I told both my parents and his everything. What happened last week, what’s been happening all these years. They’re dropping the charges and suit.”
His head moved, the slightest shift of a nod before he said, “Savannah, your dad’s here.”
The unknown and worry and question in those few words had a smile breaking free because I still couldn’t believe it myself. “He drove me.” I stepped even closer and lowered my voice as I excitedly told him, “When my parents found out about Philip and what happened tonight, they told the Rowes they would follow them here to make sure the Rowes dropped everything against you. But my mom ended up going to check on your mom instead.”
All the tension in Beau’s face disappeared as his stare snapped behind me, conveying his shock.
“I know.” I took a step back, tugging him with me before releasing my grip on his shirt. “Let’s get you home,” I murmured and easily fell into his side as we headed toward the doors where my dad and Peter waited.
“I’ll let y’all get out of here,” Peter said, looking at Beau, “I just wanted to apologize for my family.”
Beau shrugged. “Not necessary.”
“Seriously, Peter,” I added, “stop apologizing for something they did.”
He nodded. “Again . . . they won’t. Someone has to.” He grabbed the handle of the door and opened it up for us. “Y’all have a good Christmas.”
We returned the sentiment, but I caught his eye before slipping out the door. “You stay safe.”
He mock-saluted me. “Will do.”
“Beau,” my dad called out as we stepped into the winter air. Jerking his head to the side, he started that way without another word.
Beau tensed but followed without hesitation, quickly catching up to where my dad waited for him. Looking all kinds of terrifying as he listened to my dad speak when I knew he was actually terrified.
And after what had to be the longest thirty seconds of my life, my dad turned away from Beau and started for the car. Another handful of seconds later, Beau finally moved from where he’d seemed to be carved out of stone and walked toward me.
Head down.
Hands in his jacket pockets.
Not giving me any clues as to what had just happened.
“What’d my dad say?” I begged when he neared me.
He lifted his head, his dark eyes dancing in the light from the station as he fought a smile. “He said he still has some reservations . . . but that I have his permission to date you.”
A startled laugh bubbled free. “Doesn’t he know we’ve been dating for almost four years?”
The smile broke free. Just a small flash of bright, white teeth and deep, Dixon dimples before it was gone, but it melted me all the same. “Yeah,” he rumbled as he slid his hand into mine. “He knows.”
My steps were slow as I moved through the large living area to one of the closets just off the entryway to put Levi’s toys away, holding them awkwardly in my arms with my head slanted. Ear trained to the second floor to catch whispers of the kids’ laughter as Beau put them to bed the next night.
The new routine tearing at my chest because everything about it was wrong.
I couldn’t remember a night where we hadn’t put the kids to bed together, and I missed that time. Even more, I hated that my older kids could feel what was happening between Beau and me.
That they knew something was wrong with their dad not being there in the mornings and him being the only one to put them to bed. With us not speaking to each other during the hours he was there.
Most of all, I hated that I couldn’t talk to my best friend and the man who held my heart without wanting to scream at him. That he couldn’t pull me into his arms, and I couldn’t curl up against him in our bed. That every part of us felt like a lie.
I hated that I didn’t know how to stop this destructive path we were on even though every part of my soul screamed at me to find a way. But our relationship felt like a runaway train, and we were nearing the end of the track.
I looked up at the sound of his heavy steps on the stairs, hummingbirds taking flight in my stomach at the sight of him even as my fraying heart wrenched. Turning back to the opened closet, I dropped Levi’s toys into the designated basket and tried to pretend I wasn’t listening as his steps sounded on the entryway floor . . . and stopped.
My chest rising and falling faster and faster as I silently prayed he would just go while every part of me was crying out for him to stay.
I closed the closet door, my breaths turning shallow as I faced where he was waiting.
Arms folded.
Head slanted.
Jaw straining and body twitching like he was getting restless.
And then he looked at me, and I thought I might crumple under all that captivating intensity and unreserved pain.
“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” he mumbled, voice pure gravel.
“I know.”
“The kids know I don’t work,” he said meaningfully.
“Oh, um . . .” I blinked quickly, trying desperately to think through the emotions crashing through me at having to have this type of conversation with him. At the crushing pain that came from having him speaking to me and looking at me for the first time that day. “Right.”
“I’ll be here first thing.”
I just nodded, unable to form words when it felt like my throat was being crushed under the weight of my grief and my anger.
I forced myself to turn when he started for the door, stopping when he asked, “When does the last guest leave?”
“My parents,” I managed to say, the words coming out strained. “Monday morning.”
There was a long pause before he spoke. Voice soft and full of regret. “After the kids go to bed that night, I’ll start moving out.”
My hand shot out in front of me, gripping the wall when it felt like the floor was ripped out from beneath me and the world went dark for a moment. The air rushing from my lungs so fast and so forcefully, I felt dizzy.
Fire Page 18
