I go from almost laughing to rubbing my sternum, trying to push away the heavy ache that’s taken up residence in my chest.
“Like, no one even knows the shit I’ve done. The importance of the things I was doing. My missions? They saved lives, they changed the world. And now? Now I’m supposed to … fix fences?” He sighs, his tall frame shifting down incrementally. “It makes me … ”
“Angry?” I provide, because I can feel it. I know the way the air tastes when someone is angry, can feel the surrounding oxygen thicken with it.
I know an angry man. I grew up in a house full of them. But with Beau, even when he’s angry, I feel safe.
“Yeah.” His hands link behind his head and he watches me, gray eyes almost shrink-wrapped in tears. “And it’s fucking depressing.”
My tongue darts out over my lips as I consider his outburst, try to put myself in his shoes—his head. I don’t know a single thing about what it’s like to feel that way. And who am I to tell him he’s wrong?
“It is,” I agree, slapping my bare thighs as I push to standing. He seems startled, either by my sudden motion or my words. I’m not sure which. “I know all about living a depressing life, so, like, high five on that. Now let’s go do something fun.”
“Fun like what?” His suspicious expression almost makes me laugh out loud.
I give him a once-over, from head to toe. My gaze catches on his bright white Adidas Superstars, now smudged with dirt and grass.
“Like getting you some shoes that don’t rub you raw.” I wave a finger back and forth between his feet. “And maybe not so white. Doesn’t suit you.”
“What suits me?” He asks me like he doesn’t know. In fact, I get the sense that part of Beau’s problem these days is that he hasn’t reconciled the before version of himself with the after version.
It turns out, going missing in the desert for days on end changes a person. I’m not sure why this surprises anyone. And I’m not sure why anyone expects him to be the way he was before it happened.
I guess that’s why I shrug and say, “I don’t know. Let’s go find out.”
14
Beau
Beau: Hi. Bailey said you were looking for me.
Cade: At least you talk to someone.
Beau: Probably because she isn’t up my ass like the rest of you.
Cade: Must be terrible having a family who cares about you. I feel just awful.
Beau: Care a little less.
Cade: Okay, no problem. Keep cutting out on work to do god knows what and I’ll fire you.
Beau: You can’t fire me. I’m your brother.
Cade: Yeah, and I sign your paycheck. I think you’re gonna need it to pay off that ring. Or did you skip work to go mine it yourself?
Beau: Worth it. Looks good on her.
The minute we open the door to the shoe store, Bailey changes. The girl who chatted away in the car, hands gesturing around as she explained her plan to become a chiropractor, evaporates like a splash of water on a hot griddle.
The bell chimes on the door as I hold it open, but she stalls. “You go first.” Her teeth worry her bottom lip.
“Bailey, I’m not walking through a door ahead of you. That’s just rude. I’m pretty sure it would summon Harvey. He’d pop out from behind a shelf and cuff me in the head.”
“I went to high school with her,” she hisses, subtly nodding toward a girl chatting with another customer.
“Okay, and?”
“And she was awful to me. Let’s just … ” Bailey’s head swivels, and she glances back at Rosewood Street as if she’s considering taking a running leap into a getaway vehicle.
It hits me hard that she’s scared. This poor fucking girl.
She’s dreading walking into a store because someone was so mean to her several years ago that she still can’t face them.
I slide an arm around Bailey’s rigid figure and lean down over her again. She curls into my body the same way she did the other night, like she can hide behind me.
Like she feels safe with me.
I rub her back as I whisper against her ear, “You’re walking in here with me. That was the deal, yeah? Let’s give them something to talk about, sugar tits.”
She snorts a totally unladylike laugh, head tilting in toward my chest, her long hair falling over her beautiful face. Hiding herself when she shouldn’t.
I tug her against my side and drape a possessive arm over her shoulder, pressing her tiny frame next to mine.
She stiffens as we walk, rigid as a plank of wood.