Fire

by McAdams, Molly

  “One, of course I’m on your side. Two, I just fixed my hair.”

  “It still looked terrible.”

  “You’re such a jerk,” I said half-heartedly, but the words trailed off as I caught the tail end of what Mrs. Rowe was saying to my mom.

  “. . . everything that Beau has done to our Philip.”

  “Dana,” my mom said with a shake of her head. “I know, but you have to remember the Dixons are like family to us.”

  “And what about us?” Mrs. Rowe gently argued, looking offended that my mom would defend the Dixons. “After all we’ve been through, I would think our friendship would mean more.”

  My mom gave her a look as she set a stack of plates down. “Don’t say that. You know what your friendship means to me—what your family means to mine.”

  “Then you shouldn’t condone any type of relationship between y’alls families. And especially between Savannah”—she said my name on a whisper as though I hadn’t inched closer to hear every word—“and that beast of a boy when, just last week, Philip needed stitches on his head because of what Beau did to him.”

  “Excuse me?” I demanded, causing Mrs. Rowe to flinch as she turned to meet my enraged stare.

  “Savannah, why don’t you kids start getting your plates ready?” my mom suggested.

  “No, I wanna know what Mrs. Rowe was talking about.” I sought out Philip, sulking in a corner and looking like he’d just seen a ghost.

  Good.

  “Can we not do this right now?” Mom quietly begged.

  “It has to be done at some point,” Mrs. Rowe countered without ever looking away from me. “The fact that you continue dating that boy”—she sneered the word—“is a slap in the face to Philip and our family.”

  “I clearly don’t agree,” I said, voice quivering as I fought my anger and sorrow for Beau. “But about last week. Those stitches—I wanna know about that.”

  “It’s not a big deal,” Philip mumbled.

  “Of course it is,” Mrs. Rowe nearly yelled as I snapped over her, “I’m sure you don’t think so. Why don’t you tell your mom what really happened?”

  No one in the kitchen spoke.

  Philip stared straight at the floor, looking like he wanted to crawl into a hole.

  I wished he would.

  “You said Beau was the reason Philip needed stitches?” I asked Mrs. Rowe as I faced her again. At her firm nod, I forced myself to take a breath so I wouldn’t scream at Philip. “Last week, Philip ran up and sucker-punched the back of Beau’s head, trying to goad him into a fight—the way he always does,” I said loudly, sending a quick glare Philip’s way. “I stopped Beau from going after him, but Philip was running backward, taunting Beau, and tripped and fell into the corner of the lockers. That’s why he needed stitches.”

  “That’s outrageous,” Mrs. Rowe scoffed just as my dad and Mr. Rowe came in from the back door.

  “What’s outrageous?” Dad asked, still holding the tray of meat they’d been grilling.

  “Philip told his parents that Beau was the reason he needed stitches when Philip had been trying to get Beau to fight him and tripped into some lockers. I can give you a list of students that were in the hall at that time. I’m pretty sure a teacher even saw it happen!”

  Mr. Rowe cleared his throat and looked to his youngest son. “Philip?”

  When he didn’t respond, I turned on him. “I do not hide behind Beau Dixon. I can stand up for myself. I can defend myself. Out of respect for your family, I refrain from doing that most times. You are the one who hides behind Beau and what he has done, and you are even more disgusting for it.”

  “Savannah,” my mom whispered, disapproving.

  “No!” I cried out. “I’m always letting him get away with things because of his parents and what they mean to y’all, but I’ve had enough.” I took a step closer to Philip, loving and hating that he didn’t have the guts to look at me. “I am so tired of the way you get possessive over me even though I’ve never been and will never be yours because I cannot stand you. I am tired of the way you talk to me and touch me like the disgusting creep you are.”

  “Wait, you touched her?” Peter asked, voice harsh.

  “What are you talking about, Savannah?” Mom asked, concern now lining her words.

  “Are you gonna tell them, or should I?” I asked Philip, voice soft enough that it felt like the words were only for him, but I knew everyone else could hear with how silent the room had gotten.

  He glanced up at me from under his eyelashes, looking all kinds of pissed and promising a wrath that couldn’t scare me.

  I turned, my stare finding Mrs. Rowe. “Your perfect son harasses me on a near-daily basis. He has since middle school.”

  “That can’t be—”

  “It’s true,” I ground out, cutting her off. “He talks about how we’re gonna be together. How I’m gonna be screaming his name one day.”

  “Oh God,” my mom whispered as my dad slammed down the tray he’d been holding.

  “All of this while grabbing me and refusing to let me leave. No matter what I tell him, he somehow twists it around so that it means I love him, or has some hidden, sexual meaning. And on that topic,” I said, biting out each word as I glanced over my shoulder to cut a hard look at him, “Philip called the school anonymously and told them that mine and Beau’s relationship is abusive. That he rapes me.”

  “Well, does he?” Mrs. Rowe asked without missing a beat.

  “Are you kidding?” I yelled, not caring in the least bit about respect at that point.

  “Dana,” her husband said with an irritated sigh.

  “I’ve been called into the guidance counselor’s office twice a week since then because she still doesn’t believe me,” I informed them. “And Beau has been called in there a few times to talk with her and the sheriff about how to respect and treat women. Philip also wrote words like abuser and dangerous and savage all over Beau’s locker with a big Sharpie on the same day that first began. But even when Beau found out it was him, he didn’t do anything to Philip.”

  “That . . .” Mr. Rowe sighed, his head shaking. “That will be dealt with along with some other things. That doesn’t change that Beau has hurt our son and others in the past.”

  “I’m aware of that,” I conceded. “Clearly not as many times as Philip is making y’all believe, and he’s probably not telling y’all why. Beau’s only ever reacting to what Philip does to me . . . what Philip does to him. That day Philip punched him and tripped into the lockers? That isn’t the first time Philip has done something like that. He’s always trying to get Beau to fight because he knows Beau is the one who will get in trouble. Then there are the days Beau walks up on Philip holding me in place even though I’m trying to get away. Or when Philip grabs my butt or my boobs—”

  “What?” multiple people shouted at once.

  “—or runs up and tries to kiss me right in front of Beau. It kind of sets Beau off.”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Peter demanded.

  “I’ve been asking him that for years,” I said as I spared one last glance at the boy who was turning red with anger and embarrassment. Looking back at his mom, I tried to force back the emotion that sprang forward. “Y’all always have something bad to say about Beau. Now you’re questioning my parents’ friendship with the Dixons because of him? Because of what he’s done? What about what your son has done? A vile, spoiled brat who doesn’t understand when a girl says ‘no,’ thinks he can treat me like I’m a thing, and takes joy in ruining other peoples’ lives.”

  She folded her arms, then lifted her hand to cover the tremor in her mouth.

  “I know Beau has a problem with his anger. I’ve seen it, and I’ve seen how hard he tries to control it. But it’s jerks like your son who make Beau think all he’s capable of is anger, and it’s people like you who make him afraid of his anger. Who make him try so hard to suppress it until he just-just-just . . . explodes. But he’s—”
I choked back a cry of frustration. “God, he is good. His heart is so kind and beautiful, and for the life of me, I can’t understand why everyone else refuses to see that.”

  I hurried from the kitchen and through the house, ignoring the calls for me to stop.

  By the time I reached the front door, I was running, long past caring about dinner or respecting the people that had always been like a second family to ours. Off the porch and down our long driveway that never seemed to end. Across the little stretch of road that separated our house from the Dixons’ and up their graveled drive. My stare bouncing around the front of the property the closer I got.

  Sawyer running to catch a football Hunter had thrown.

  Cayson sitting across the porch steps, arms folded and back propped up against the railing.

  No Beau.

  Sawyer saw me first. His easy smile fell along with the football, bouncing awkwardly behind him as he raced over to meet me. “You already heard?” he asked, all worry and understanding.

  And it made my heart stop. Had ice splintering in my veins.

  “Heard what?”

  Sawyer’s light eyes went wide before he tried to cover his reaction by glancing away. He forced out a cough as he faced me again, all hints of his slip gone. “What’s going on?”

  “Where’s Beau?”

  “It’s uh, you know, not really a good time.”

  “You okay?” Hunter asked as he came up behind him with Cayson on his heels.

  “No,” I said tightly. “Where’s Beau?”

  Cayson scratched at his jaw before pointing absently behind him as Hunter started to speak, but Sawyer forced out another cough and roughly shook his head.

  I looked from him to Hunter and demanded, “What is going on?”

  Hunter studied the ground for a moment before meeting my stare, his face creased with apology when he said, “Probably not the best time, yeah? What can we do? You look mad, are you okay?”

  “What? I—no, I need to see Beau.”

  “Want me to call Mads?” he offered.

  I took a step back to look them each in the eye. “I want you to tell me what is going on and why I can’t see him.” When none of them offered anything, I folded my arms over my chest and lifted my chin. “Now.”

  Cayson slid his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “I wasn’t there.”

  “Yeah, where were you?” Sawyer demanded.

  A sly smirk stole across Cayson’s face. “I had things to set up.”

  “Idiot,” Sawyer murmured.

  “Beau,” I snapped. “Tell me about Beau.”

  Silence.

  Just when I was about to scream from the unknown and the aggravation whipping through me from the past few minutes, Hunter sighed.

  “Y’all were out . . . yeah?”

  I nodded, my head bobbing shakily. “Yeah. Why?”

  “Two . . . maybe three minutes before he got back, this guy shows up with the sheriff right behind him, asking for Beau.”

  My stomach clenched as I thought about our spot at the plantation house—all the times we’d snuck into the back and inside.

  I gripped at my stomach and prayed the churning would ease, my voice light and breathless when I asked, “Why?”

  Hunter’s mouth formed a tight line as he studied me, his hand reaching out to gently grip my upper arm as he said, “Why don’t you sit.”

  “No, just tell me!” I shouted.

  “Savannah—”

  “Hunter, I swear to God, if you don’t tell me, I’m going inside and finding out—”

  “He isn’t here,” he said softly, bringing me up short.

  I blinked quickly, causing tears to fall as I looked from him to the house and back again. Dread bloomed in my chest as I asked the question I feared I already knew the answer to. “Where is he?”

  “County,” he finally answered, the word nothing more than a shamed apology.

  As if it were Hunter’s fault his brother had been arrested.

  A strangled sob climbed up my throat before I was able to force it all back. The tears. The devastation. The sorrow for Beau.

  I’d let it out later.

  Right then, I needed to be strong for him.

  With a steadying breath, I asked, “Why? He hasn’t done anything.”

  “I dunno. I came in as the sheriff was putting him in cuffs. All I heard was the other guy say the family had decided to press charges and file a civil suit against Beau for what he had done.”

  Oh God.

  “But he hasn’t done anything,” I maintained.

  Hunter shrugged, and we all looked when a car turned into the drive, the headlights softly glowing in the early evening sky.

  Hope swirled in my chest as I watched Mrs. Dixon’s car get closer and closer, only to shatter when I realized Beau wasn’t with his parents.

  I took thin, shallow breaths. Refusing to break down. Refusing to be anything but strong right then.

  “Oh, Savannah, honey,” Mrs. Dixon said as she exited the passenger side, face a mess and voice thick from tears. “Now isn’t a good time. I’m sorry, sweet girl.”

  “Please, I want to know what happened.”

  “Bullshit is what happened,” Mr. Dixon snapped as he slammed the driver’s door shut behind him.

  “Mike,” Mrs. Dixon said, sounding too exhausted to argue.

  “It is,” he continued. “You know damn well Beau wouldn’t do that shit.”

  “We can’t—” Mrs. Dixon’s glassy gaze met mine and her lips formed a thin line before lifting into a pained smile. “We’ll let Beau know you stopped by.”

  “He hasn’t done anything,” I said confidently. “He’s been trying so hard to keep calm. He is keeping himself calm.”

  “Yeah, well,” Mr. Dixon said with an irritated huff, “that ain’t what your little friend is sayin’, and Beau ain’t sayin’ a damn thing to defend himself.”

  Of course he wasn’t.

  “Wait . . . what friend?”

  “Mike, please,” Mrs. Dixon whispered.

  “No, she deserves to know what’s goin’ on,” he said, then jerked his head in the direction of town. “That Rowe kid. The younger one.”

  Disbelief and anger consumed me so quickly that it stole my breath. “Excuse me?”

  “Wait, Philip?” Hunter asked, sounding nearly as pissed as I was. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “Language,” Mrs. Dixon chastised.

  Hunter scoffed. “Anything Beau did to him, that jackass deserved.”

  “Well, apparently your brother put him in the hospital last week—the poor boy only needed stitches, thank God,” his mom went on.

  I rocked back a step, my hands balling into fists as I struggled to say anything and only managed something that resembled an enraged scream.

  “Bullshit,” Hunter barked.

  “Exactly,” Mr. Dixon said, waving a hand in Hunter’s direction.

  “Again,” Mrs. Dixon seethed, “language.”

  “Philip tripped into the lockers last week—Beau wasn’t even near him,” Hunter said, explaining what I had just minutes before. “We were all there.”

  “I’m gonna kill him,” I whispered, sounding all kinds of hysterical.

  “Didn’t he hit Beau?” Hunter asked.

  “He did,” I confirmed as I started backing away. “Then he took off, trying to antagonize Beau into going after him. But Beau never left my side.”

  “See?” Hunter said, then looked to where I was leaving. “Where are you going?”

  “Taking care of it,” was all I said as I hurried back the way I’d come, the run home seeming to take a fraction of the time.

  I was both relieved and pissed off as I ran up my driveway and passed the Rowes’ car. Because I didn’t have to go to them, but it meant they were there.

  “You’re still here?” I yelled as I shut the front door behind me, my eyes locked on where the Rowes and my parents were standing halfway between the kitchen and entryway.r />
  “Savannah,” my mom reprimanded in a low tone. “I know you’re upset, but you need to remember your manners.”

  My head shook fiercely. “No. No, no, no. You’re still here,” I repeated, my voice cracking as I pointed at the door behind me. “You know you were wrong—that Philip lied to you—and you’re here when my boyfriend is sitting in jail because of you.”

  Shock covered my parents’ faces as they turned to Mr. and Mrs. Rowe, both wearing twin expressions of shame.

  “Jesus,” Peter sighed before making his way through everyone. He set his hands on my shoulders, eyebrows drawn together in apology. “I’m sorry for my family. Love you, Anna-Hannah.”

  “You too.”

  He gave my shoulders a squeeze and moved past me, the door opening and closing as my dad asked, “What’s happening now?”

  “Beau was arrested tonight. They’re suing him and pressing charges for what he did to Philip—also known as what Philip did to himself,” I answered for the Rowes before focusing on them. “And even after I told y’all what really happened, you stayed here. You knew what was happening to him tonight, and you didn’t care to fix your mistakes. Mistakes that Beau accepted even though he knew he had no fault in them. He let them arrest him without saying a word.” I looked at where Philip was trying to blend into a wall. “If you even make it that far, you are going to be the worst lawyer. How did you think this would end when there were dozens of witnesses?”

  “Well,” my dad murmured, then cleared his throat. Everything about his expression and tone dismissive when he continued. “I don’t think there’s anything else to say other than we’ll follow you to the county jail to make sure you drop the charges and suit.”

  “Come on, Jason, don’t be like that,” Mr. Rowe said, trying to laugh. “We’ll take care of this, and it can all be forgotten.”

  My dad grabbed the keys to his car off the hook in the entryway, his head bobbing slightly. “We have our reservations about Beau and Savannah as a couple, you know that. It’s never been a secret. But he has never once treated her the way your son has apparently been treating our daughter for years.” He held up a hand when Mr. Rowe started speaking. “Years. And that was only the few things she said. What about all the others she still hasn’t told us? And you have the nerve to come in and question our friendship to that family all while you were having one of their kids arrested for something you weren’t even positive happened?” A humorless laugh left him. “I’m questioning our friendship with you.”