Love Song(106)

“You head back first. I’ll wait a few minutes.”

Before she can go, something thuds inside the boathouse. We both freeze. That sounded like footsteps.

Her hand closes around mine. “Did you hear that?”

I nod warily. “Raccoon maybe?”

“Raccoons don’t sound like human footsteps.” Blake creeps along the wall. “I think someone’s in there.”

It’s one in the morning. There’s no reason for anyone to be inside the boathouse. On the roof, maybe, if you’re smoking a late-night joint. In the apartment, sure, if you need somewhere to crash. But among the boat slips? No.

I move ahead of her and quietly round the side of the boathouse. I wince when the wooden planks creak under my shoes.

“Stay behind me,” I murmur. “Could be someone breaking in.”

I reach the door, my hand hovering over the handle. Before I can ease it open, there’s another muffled sound. A giggle.

I turn to Blake, whose lips have twisted into a frown. “There’s a girl in there,” she whispers.

She comes up beside me as I open the door just a tiny crack for us to peer inside.

At first, all I see are shadows. The cruiser is tied off on the pier, but the bowrider and motorboat bob gently in their wells, and I don’t see anybody on them. My gaze travels across the huge space toward the old workbench against the back wall. I glimpse another shadow. No, two shadows. The bench jostles and a coil of rope falls to the ground, the soft thud reverberating through the boathouse.

As my eyes adjust to the darkness, the two shadows become two figures. A woman falling back on her elbows while pulling up her shirt. Platinum-blond hair catches in the moonlight slicing in from the small window.

“For God’s sake, get inside me already.” A female voice, soft and breathless.

There’s another flash of blond hair. Beau is undoing his pants. He shoves the zipper down and reaches inside. I close the door before I see the rest.

Blake and I back up, eyeing each other in shock.

“That was Tara,” she hisses.

I nod grimly. Yes. Yes, it was.

From inside the boathouse, we hear a low moan, followed by a higher-pitched one and then the unmistakable sound of the workbench rattling as Beau pounds into his best friend’s girlfriend.





Chapter 39


BLAKE





BREAKFAST IS TENSE.

For me anyway.

Everyone else is living their lives in blissful oblivion while I steal glances at Beau, wishing I could see his expression behind those dark glasses. What the hell was he thinking last night? AJ is his best friend.

This is bad. Very, very, very bad.

The parents attribute his sunglasses and surly demeanor to his hangover, which I’m sure is also bad—he looked beyond wasted last night—but I don’t think that’s the only reason he’s shielding his eyes from the table.

Dean is clearly trying not to laugh as he glances at his son. “Doing okay there, kid?”

Beau grunts. He shoves some bacon into his mouth and chews fast. He once told me his go-to cure for hangovers is piles and piles of bacon, and he’s already eaten an entire tray to himself this morning.

Tara and AJ are both conspicuously absent. They haven’t missed a single breakfast since they got here, so this doesn’t bode well.

I feel like that psychic in the thriller I read this summer. The heroine could see all these horrific accidents coming and couldn’t do a damn thing to stop them. Yet the one thing she couldn’t see was her husband’s affair with her mother. The irony.

It doesn’t take long for my premonition to come to fruition. Less than ten minutes later, the french doors fly open. One of them hits the frame with a crash, startling everyone.

“Hey,” Allie chides. “Go easy on the door, AJ.”

He doesn’t pay her any attention. He stomps toward the table.

“You fucking asshole.”

As everyone watches, stunned, AJ hauls Beau out of his chair, gripping him by the collar.

“AJ,” Garrett warns, while Dean’s shoulders square up at seeing his son manhandled.

“You want to tell them?” AJ’s voice thickens with rage. “Or should I?”

Beau doesn’t answer. He just stands there, shame carved into every line of his face. Even hungover, with his eyes bloodshot and features gaunt with pain, he’s still one of the most attractive people at this table.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” my dad mutters. “What’s going on now?”

AJ’s lips curl into a sneer. “He fucked my girlfriend last night. In the goddamn boathouse while I was asleep upstairs. He fucked my girlfriend.” AJ spits out the words like they’re burning his tongue.

“Ah, hell,” I hear Dean murmur.

Beau finally speaks. “AJ—”

AJ’s fist connects with Beau’s jaw, the resulting crack echoing like a gunshot on the deck. Beau’s head rears back, but he doesn’t defend himself. He staggers backward, grunting. He doesn’t try to block the second punch or the third. He locks his stance and takes it, flinching with every hit but making no move to fight back.

“Garrett,” Hannah orders. “Stop this.”

But none of the men at the table move to stop this.