Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 107673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Beau had been through hell. The grim reality showed in the set of his brow, the frown he wore more often than not, and in the way he kept looking down at his feet. His broad shoulders rolled as he took everything in around him.
The university insignia on his jacket confirmed my other suspicions. He’d been playing football. Was it forced, or something he’d grown to enjoy?
“Take a left,” I instructed, following him.
“The first left of the night,” Beau said, his tone held humor, washing over me like a gentle, reassuring caress, tempering the hysteria rising inside me.
As Beau entered my bedroom, the lamp lights and fans flickered on. He went to the middle of the room, the same move as in the foyer then again in the living room, and took it all in. “Who lives like this?”
“What?” I asked, shutting the door behind us. My eyes rolled involuntarily. I couldn’t even pretend like I didn’t understand the question. The bedroom was akin to a mini home in itself, complete with matching window panels in the same style as the rest of the house. When the lights initiated inside the room, so did the ones in the backyard, and swimming pool area. “Remember, I planned this house for you to live in too. Let me get your coat.” I approached Beau from behind, encouraging his jacket off his shoulders. The T-shirt beneath clung to him with static, not purpose. The cotton was well worn, with a small hole near the hem. It didn’t appear to be a fashion choice.
“Yup, I don’t believe you.” As I always imagined, Beau headed for the windows again. He was an outdoorsman at heart. Being cooped up in a city like Dallas might mess with something essential inside him. That was why I chose such openness both inside and outside of the property.
“You should.” I tossed the jacket over the sofa near the window and went to the bar on the other side of the room. “Do you want a drink? I have assorted beers. I can mix a cocktail…”
“I don’t drink.” The firmness in his voice had my head rising from the refrigerator underneath the granite countertop.
“Not at all?” I asked surprised, having never heard anyone say those words before.
“No, but you go ahead.” Beau took a seat on the sofa directly opposite from me. Elbows resting close to his knees, his stare fixed on me. It seemed a pivotal moment, but I had no idea why. As much as I might need a shot of liquid courage, I grabbed two water bottles and shut the refrigerator drawer.
“What made you think about deciding not to drink?” I asked, shaking my head at the confusion of my words while passing him a bottle. I circled around the coffee table to sit near him on the sofa. Both bottles went unopened, mine placed close to his on the coffee table.
“My father was an alcoholic,” he said, and I angled my position, bending a leg onto the sofa to better see him. The confession caused pain, or perhaps shame, by the way he lowered his head, staring at his shoes.
“I’m sorry.” Except I wasn’t. Not in the least. The image of Beau being dragged away by his father was seared into my memory. The worst day of my life. I had no care for that man.
“Don’t be,” Beau said and tilted his head toward me. “He endangered a lot of people and died a pretty horrific death. He lived a rotten, self-centered life.”
I nodded, unsure of the situation, but relieved that I didn’t have to pretend sorrow. “He was cruel to you?”
Beau’s head tilted down again. He did that more than I liked. “He could’ve done worse, but it’s hard to imagine.”
“What was it like?” I asked.
“I spent all of my free time trainin’ or conditionin’. Durin’ the down time, he kept me handcuffed to the furniture to prevent me from sneakin’ out. He drunkenly read from the Bible most nights until he found it on tape. It played in my room around the clock. He had countless girlfriends there keepin’ an eye on me, barely dressed. I think that was probably done on purpose too.” Beau shook his head as if dispelling some memory. “He kept my mother from me. My grandparents both died. But the worst of it all was the number he did to my head. I’m not right.”
“I’m sorry. Your father destroyed my life too,” I added. “I emotionally couldn’t let you go. I refused to pare us down to first love and let you be a side note in my life. My parents sent me to numerous counselors. I was diagnosed with everything from OCD to PTSD to narcissistic personality disorder for my control issues. The only thing that sustained me was my unwavering belief that you’d be back.”