At the slow curl of my fingers, Cayson rolled his eyes but went on. “You know that girl Hunter’s engaged to?”
I gave a slight nod.
I never could remember her name. I hadn’t bothered to try. Until the day Hunter called to say they were getting married, no one in the family had because we’d all known the girl was one thing: Madison’s rebound.
“They finally break up?” I asked tightly.
A laugh scraped up Cayson’s throat. “Mom would be throwing a party if they had. Anyway, uh, she called because apparently she does that now. Wanted to let you know they wouldn’t be coming for y’alls wedding.”
I worked my jaw a couple times before dipping my head in acceptance.
Cayson looked equally sad for me and ready to flee if I made one move in his direction. “Man, I’m sorry.”
“Why?” I asked gruffly. “I don’t give a fuck if he never comes back at all.” The comment was a lie twisted with truths and fell heavily from my tongue.
I wanted my brother back.
I wanted my best friend the same as Savannah wanted hers.
I wanted before.
Because God knew I couldn’t handle the aftermath. Couldn’t handle looking him in the eye, knowing what I’d done to him. How I’d hurt him. Hurt them.
A scoff of disbelief and annoyance burst from Cayson as he turned and left.
I didn’t react to it. I couldn’t when my mind was so weighed down with everything else.
The second I stepped inside, Mom was there. Looking ten shades of pissed and worried as hell.
“Beau, sweetheart. There’s something I need to tell you.”
“I already know about Hunter,” I murmured as I headed for the stairs.
A saddened noise left her as she hurried to keep up with my steps. “Can we sit in the kitchen and talk?”
I turned at the bottom step, head listing. “Mom, I haven’t slept—”
“Kitchen,” she snapped, voice slightly frantic as she headed that way.
I stood there for a moment before following after her. Jaw clenching tight when I rounded into the kitchen in time to see her brush at a tear.
The only two women in my life who mattered were crying because of the things I’d done and the way I was. Hadn’t known I could hate myself more until that moment.
She turned, storming toward the table with mugs and coffee pot in hand and refusing to look at me. But I saw the tears filling her reddened eyes. Saw the way she was pressing her mouth tightly together to keep from crying.
“Sit,” she demanded as she set the mugs and coffee on the table with loud thuds.
I started toward the table, watching as she shakily filled her mug and moved onto the second. “I’m good,” I said softly. “I don’t want—”
“Sit,” she yelled, seconds passing in silence before she continued pouring the coffee.
Once I’d sank to the bench opposite her, she slid a mug toward me and fell into her own chair.
“Thank you,” I muttered, curling the hot mug close to watch the steam rise.
For long minutes, neither of us spoke. Considering she’d given up doing anything more than giving me a disappointed shake of her head for years, I wasn’t sure what she planned to say then or if she expected me to start pouring out my goddamn heart and apologizing profusely.
Neither would happen.
Not with her.
I had a good mom. The four of us put her through hell—me especially. Still, she rolled with whatever we dealt. She publicly stood up for us and defended us to the death. But there was no denying that she was lost when it came to me. That the possibility of what I would do next had worried her since I was a little kid. There was no denying that if someone claimed I did something . . . she absolutely believed it.
Feared it.
Agonized over it.
I’d learned long before Savannah ever came into my life that there was no talking about my anger to her or anyone else. They didn’t understand, and they wouldn’t hear what I had to say anyway.
“Are you okay?” she asked as she grabbed the pot to pour a second cup for herself.
I lowered my chin. “Not the first time I’ve spent the night in a holding cell.”
She sucked in an exaggerated breath as if trying to gather her strength or peace and said, “With Hunter.”
“I don’t give a shit if he’s there or not.”
She slammed down the mug just as she’d begun lifting it, her devastated stare snapping to me. “That is the biggest crock of shit I have ever heard, and how dare you use that language in my kitchen.”
A smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth, but I fought it. “Yes, ma’am, I’m sorry.”
Her head shook as she studied me. “What happened?”
My amusement faded as the brief glimpses I could remember of the fight flashed through my mind. “I got arrest—”
“Not last night,” she said, voice softening. “With you. What has happened? These past few years, there’s been a change in you. More fighting, more arrests. You’re . . .” She glanced away, throat working furiously. “You’re so angry. More than ever, Beau, and everyone can see it. Savannah can see it.”
My jaw twitched at the sound of her name.
“Can’t you?” Mom nearly begged.
I didn’t respond even though I knew she was right—I’d known.
And I knew why.
That night with Madison had destroyed everything.
I’d been racked with guilt and fear for those months before deciding to tell Savannah. Before Madison had turned the tables and decided to leave.
Agreeing to that bullshit had been the second biggest mistake of my life.
These years of watching Savannah break over Madison’s leaving. The constant reminder that my fiancée wasn’t the same because of it—because of me—took its toll. All that anger and guilt building and building and unleashing on anyone who crossed my path.
“Beau, something’s gotta change,” she said when she realized I wasn’t going to answer.
“I’m aware.”
“Savannah used to come here or stay at county until they released you, but she’s stopped doing that in the last year.”
I instinctively glanced toward the entryway at the news, every cell in my body responding. Needing to find Savannah to fix what I’d done.
“Instead, she’s been calling to let us know when it happens . . . but the call we received last night was from one of the deputies,” she said, her tone at once wary and frustrated. “The only reason we knew she was getting you this morning was because she’d just arrived when your dad called to get information on what was gonna happen to you. And now?” She looked around as if to remind me that Savannah wasn’t there. “Do you see what’s happening?”
“Yes,” I said gruffly.
“You’re going to lose her, son.”
My eyelids slowly closed and my fingers curled into fists so tight that my scabbed-over knuckles split. I lowered my hands from the table to my lap even though I was sure my mom had already seen them.
I felt weak, like my body was gonna give out beneath me even though I was sitting. Because what my mom was saying was too real of a possibility.
Too damn real.
“I think I already am,” I admitted on a strained breath.
I think I have been for two and a half years.
I shoved away from the table, stepping over the bench and stalking away as my mom called after me.
“Beau! Beau, come back here!”
I snatched the first pair of keys I saw near the door and continued outside, never slowing as I hit the fob for what ended up being Sawyer’s truck and headed that way. Climbing in and cranking the engine before pulling away from the house.
My stare drifted to the Rileys’ house as I passed it, but Savannah’s car wasn’t there. Or at the plantation house or the dance studio or anywhere else I thought she would’ve gone.
After making a lap around town, I pulled down
the side path of the plantation house and shut Sawyer’s truck off.
The action bringing a weird sense of déjà vu from the day before.
But the fear gripping my chest and making it impossible to breathe . . . that was new.
Grabbing my phone, I scrolled through the contacts until I found her name, then called the number there as I had every month for the past two and a half years.
But the familiar, automated alert that the number had been disconnected could be heard before I’d ever lifted my phone to my ear.
Not that I’d expected any different. At that point, I couldn’t even be sure if I’d still been hoping for different. But I’d needed to try one last time.
Ending the call, I opened up the messages and started one to her.
Thumbs tapping quickly and angrily on the screen as I forced myself to let everything go.
You’re out living your new life and pretending this shit didn’t happen. I’m here still picking up all the pieces of your leaving. Every day I’m reminded of that agreement. Of what we did and what I know and how I destroyed the love of my fucking life. Of how I’m still destroying my life with her because of you. And I can’t let that happen.
Fuck you for leaving, Madison. You trapped me in a life of guilt, and I hate you for it. We should’ve told them that first day. We should’ve told them that last night instead of agreeing you were gonna go because how the hell am I supposed to tell her now? YEARS LATER.
I would give anything to go back and change what we did, but we can’t, and you left. You refused to come back even when we helped Hunter go after you. So, I’m done. I’m done letting this guilt weigh me down and destroy everything important to me.
You ruined my life by leaving Amber. Now? I hope to God you never come back.
I pressed send, not bothering to wait for when it would tell me the message was undeliverable. I’d just needed to get it out at least once so I could let go. So Savannah and I could move on.
I got out of the truck and stormed through the back of the property, body agitated and mind racing too fast to hold on to any one thought. But Savannah was there—over and over and over again. Looking crushed and disappointed and at a loss.
And I couldn’t breathe.
I stopped near the far end of the property where Savannah had always pictured our wedding. One hand pressed to my heaving chest and gripping my hair with the other as everything pushed down on me.
Heavier and heavier.
Triggering a need in me that I hated. That made me sick. That could destroy so much more than I already had.
Muscles twitching.
Rage pounding in my veins until my thundering heart was all I could hear.
“Fuck!”
Dropping to a crouch, I dragged my fingers through my hair again and again before gripping at the strands.
Ten. Nine.
“Breathe,” I said through clenched teeth.
Eight. Seven.
I sat roughly on the ground and then fell to my back. Looking up at the overcast, winter sky that was tinged with red before closing my eyes.
Six. Five.
“Fucking breathe.”
Four. Three.
I forced my fingers from my hair and begged my body to stop trembling. To relax. Begged my chest to move regularly.
Two.
One.
* * *
My eyes opened sometime later, heavy and searching.
Searching out the night sky that didn’t seem right. That didn’t match the familiarity of waking up with the body pressed to my side and the intoxicating smell of sugar and vanilla surrounding me.
The combination disorienting me until I remembered coming to the plantation house. Until I realized that Savannah was actually there, asleep on the ground and curled up against my side with a thick blanket covering us both.
“Savannah,” I murmured as I twisted to look at her. Lifting my hand, I eased the hood of her sweatshirt back enough to trail my fingers along her jaw, my gaze taking in her relaxed features.
This girl who had been changing my world and stealing my heart since that first day.
“I’m sorry for everything,” I whispered, voice thick and rough with emotion. “I . . .” My throat worked as I struggled to voice my greatest shame. Choking over the words when they finally escaped. “I slept with Madison. She left because I wanted to tell you. Everything—all of your pain—is because of me, and I’m so sorry.”
The backs of my eyes burned, and my hand trembled against her skin as my chest wrenched open wide.
“I’ve hurt you in ways I swore I never would. I don’t deserve you . . . I never have. But for the rest of our lives, I’m gonna try like hell to be worthy of you,” I promised. “No more arrests. No more fighting—nothing. Never again, I swear.”
I dropped my head against hers and closed my eyes tight when the tears built, savoring the way her body moved against mine as she burrowed closer and let out a contented sigh in her sleep.
“I love you, Savannah Riley,” I said softly. “With every last breath.”
I’d just started gathering everything from the kids’ rooms and the room my parents had stayed in to clean them when Emberly and Rae walked into the house the way everyone always did. Announcing themselves much the same way they had a couple days before.
“This house always smells like heaven,” Rae moaned.
“If it’s those muffins again, I’m stealing them,” Emberly added, their voices drifting up the stairs before they started climbing them.
I started coming out of the hall just as they reached the top, both wearing identical, expectant and determined looks on their faces before Rae gestured to Emberly. “This is all her idea, but I won’t apologize for it.”
“The kids are already gone, yes?” Emberly asked, looking like she was ready to start delivering instructions. Before I had the chance to answer, she looked pointedly at the sheets in my arms. “What needs to be done?”
“Excuse me?”
“Put us to work,” she said, nodding quickly like she was in a hurry.
A startled laugh left me. “I’m . . . no. This is nothing. This is what I do, Emberly.”
“Right, but we have things to do, and we can’t get to them until you’re done with all this. So, let’s go.”
When I just stared at her for too long, Rae released a sigh. “Try to remember who we’re dealing with. She got her new place completely fixed up in a week and a half.”
Emberly nodded and lifted a brow, her plum-painted lips lifting in a victorious smirk.
“Um . . .” I used the big bundle of sheets in my arms to gesture toward the room just behind me. “This bathroom and the kids’ bathroom need to be cleaned—and the kitchen. I’m starting the laundry and then I’ll put new bedding on and clean their rooms. I did all the other rooms yesterday.”
Emberly let out an amused huff and turned, descending the stairs as she called out, “Bathrooms.”
Rae’s eyes went wide with panic as she turned to follow. “What if I burn down the kitchen?”
“It’s cleaning,” Emberly yelled back, “not cooking.”
I stood there for another second, trying to wrap my head around what was happening before trailing after.
* * *
When Rae and I were finishing putting the laundry away in the linen closet a few hours later, Emberly came in, forehead creased in confusion.
“How do you make this work?”
“What?”
She held up the phone in her hand. “Your speakers. The ones that are always playing music in your kitchen.”
“Oh, you have to—” My head jerked back. “Is that my phone?”
Her stare drifted to the side for a moment before sliding back to me. “Possibly. I had to put a new playlist on there.”
Rae held up a hand. “Remember who you’re dealing with. She’s a force.”
A stuttered laugh left me because I knew that, I’d just never had it directed at me. “You just�
��”
“Em?”
I lifted my hands at the sound of Cayson’s voice. “What exactly are we doing today?”
Emberly just backed out of the closet, smile all kinds of giddy. “One second.”
“Force,” Rae repeated as we followed her out, but her tone was pure adoration.
We rounded into the entryway just as Emberly slipped up to Cayson, already pressing up on her toes to steal a kiss.
“How you feeling?” he asked, voice soft as he pulled her closer with one hand while keeping the other outstretched. Grasping a coffee and bag that boasted the Brewed logo. His stare flickered to us as she answered before his head lifted, his brows pulling tight. “Now I really feel like I picked up the wrong order.”
Emberly laughed as she pressed another kiss to his mouth before reaching for the drink and bag. “Nope, this is it, and I appreciate it.”
“There’s three of you,” he said slowly when she started backing away.
“Yeah, but this is an emotional intervention,” she explained as if it should’ve been obvious.
“A what?” I asked dully.
The corner of Cayson’s lips slowly lifted in a smirk. “Dixie Chicks?”
Emberly lifted a shoulder, her face all wry amusement. “Of course.”
“I love you,” he said simply, then looked to her sister, his head dipping in a nod. “Rae.” His stare shifted to me, his shoulders shaking as he fought a laugh. “Savannah . . . just let it happen.”
“Let what happen?” I asked, but he turned to leave, glancing over his shoulder at Emberly one last time as he slipped out the door.
She sighed when she faced us, eyes and smile dreamy.
“This is a what?” I asked.
“Right,” she said, snapping out of it and pointing toward the kitchen with my phone. “Let’s go.”
“What is an emotional intervention?” I hissed at Rae as we followed.
“Told you, you need to let your world implode.”
“I thought that’s what we did the other day on the floor with coffee and muffins.”
Fire Page 27
