by Kally Ash
Published by Vixen Publishing
First Edition, 2020
Copyright © 2020 by Kally Ash
The right of Kally Ash to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000
E-book ISBN: 978-0-9876409-8-7
Print ISBN: 978-0-9876409-9-4
All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical or mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the author.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover Design by Sly Fox Cover Designs
Edited by Landers Editorial
Proofread by Judy’s Proofreading
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Other Books by Kally Ash
About the Author
1
"It’s over, Lisa." Beau watched the face of the woman sitting opposite him, searching her eyes for a clue as to how she was going to react. She wasn’t known for her level head when it came to emotional reactions.
“Excuse me? I thought you just said—”
"I think we should see other people." His tone was firm, leaving her with no other choice but to listen to him.
Lisa pressed her lips together in a tight line. "What?"
Squeezing his hands together in front of him, he added, "Things haven't been right for a while. I think you know this too."
"I don't understand." Her voice was strangely hard. "I thought things were going well."
If she thought them having sex once every two weeks was an indication of things going well, he pitied her. "I'm sorry." There was nothing else he could think to say. He didn't want to be the asshole in this situation, but he didn't believe in prolonging the inevitable.
Lisa's eyes narrowed on his face. "Is there someone else?"
"What? No."
Her nostrils flared. "If I find out you're lying to me—”
"There isn't anyone else," he said firmly, ensuring she could see the truth in his eyes. He may have been terrible at commitment, but he still believed in monogamy. "I wouldn't disrespect you like that."
Folding her arms, Lisa held his gaze and shook her head. "I thought things were going well," she repeated, more softly this time. He was relieved to see she was beginning to accept it.
"I am sorry," he murmured. “Let me walk you out.”
With a curt nod, she picked up her handbag and walked to the front door. Following her out, he held the door open for her. “Goodbye, Lisa.”
“Whatever,” she muttered, walking down the path to her car. He let out a deep sigh and shut the door.
"Beau?"
He spun around at the sound of his mom's voice. "I'm coming, Mom," he called back. Walking down the dim hall, he pushed into his mother's bedroom and found her trying to prop herself up in bed. He rushed to her side, taking her too thin arm and helping her into a sitting position. His fingers could fit around the entire circumference of her upper arm now, proof that the disease was slowly strangling her frail body.
"You need to take it easy," he told her gently, ensuring her pillow was providing enough support for her head. “The doctor said you had to rest.”
He settled the blankets more firmly around her waist and looked his mom over. The cancer had come out of nowhere nearly four years ago, blindsiding them both. One day she'd complained of feeling tired, and it seemed that the next she was bed-bound, fighting the cancer through a cocktail of drugs and an aggressive chemotherapy regime. About a month ago, she decided she didn’t want to keep doing this—the drugs, the nausea, the fatigue—and chose to stop all treatment. Beau could understand her decision and supported her one hundred percent. He’d watched how battered her body and soul had become.
Her warm, soft hand on his face jolted him from his thoughts. His eyes darted to hers. "Sorry. What did you say?"
She smiled gently. "I asked if that was Lisa I heard outside." Beau grimaced. "What? What was that face for?"
He smoothed his expression. "It was nothing. And yes, it was Lisa."
His mom's smile brightened. "How is she?"
"Fine, Mom." He tried not to sound terse.
"I do like her, Beau," she added, giving him a knowing smile. "I know it hasn’t been long, but do you think you might want to settle down soon? You know I'd love to have some grandchildren running around this old house."
He knew she wasn’t going to last that long, but still, he smiled gently. "Mom," he started, taking her hand in his. She looked at her paper-thin skin, at her veins raised and stark. "We broke up." He looked up as he said the words, seeing the disappointment in her eyes. "We weren't right together," he added softly.
She grunted softly, neither agreeing nor chastising him. She let out a sigh. "Beau—" she began, but he stopped her.
"I know, Mom. I just..." He blew out a sigh. "I just want to be sure."
"You were sure about Evangeline."
Hearing that name nearly knocked him off his feet. He lowered himself into the chair beside her bed. "What made you think of her?" he asked, brushing at the knee of his jeans, avoiding her eyes and her all-knowing stare.
"I think about her often, Beau."
His head jerked up. "You do?"
"Of course I do. She's like a daughter to me."
"Was," he corrected softly. "She's not part of my life anymore.”
She only smiled at him and smoothed down the blankets. "Well, I'd like some tea if you're making some."
"Sure." He stood up and walked to the door. Stopping there, he looked over his shoulder at her. "I love you, Mom."
"And I love you, Beau."
2
Two months later…
"I appreciate you coming." Beau said the words in a flat voice. Inside, he was waiting for everyone to get the hell out of his mom's house. His skin felt like it was too tight for his body, compressing his muscles and making him fidget. She’d passed away three days ago, and even though he’d known this was coming, that death was inevitable, somehow it still took him by surprise. His mom had been a fighter, but she'd lost this final battle.
He shook the last proffered hand and showed his mom's college friend out. Once he shut the door, he leaned forward and rested his head on the frosted glass panel dissecting the door. Those had been the longest three hours of his life. At least with his mom finally at peace, he could get on with life. It had been put on hold when she'd been diagnosed, which included him dropping out of college three years into his four-year degree, taking a night job at the local gym, cleaning equipment and generally coming to terms with his new, not-quite-so-perfect life. He had to watch all his buddies from col
lege go on, graduate, get well-paying jobs. They progressed. He stagnated.
He would’ve done it all again though. After his father died when he was ten, it had been just him and his mom. She'd had to take on a second job to keep a roof over their heads—him dropping out of college to look after her was the least he could do.
"How are you doing? Okay?"
He stiffened at the sound of Lisa's voice. He didn’t expect her to come to the wake. The funeral? Maybe, but even then, it was a fifty/fifty split.
He turned around to face her. “Lisa…”
“I know we only dated for a short time, but I liked your mom. I’m sorry she’s gone.” Her expression turned suddenly pensive. “How are you doing?”
With a shrug, he said, "I'll be okay." Another rote response—hell, he'd had four years to perfect it. It fit right in with "it was a long time coming" and "she's not suffering anymore."
When it was clear she had nothing else to say to him, he walked into the kitchen to start tidying up. There were paper plates of half-eaten food strewn on the counter alongside a large pan of baked ziti and two dishes of deviled eggs. He heard Lisa follow him in.
“I can hang around for a while if you want a hand clearing up.”
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “I’m good. Thanks.”
What he really wanted was to be alone in his own head for a while.
“Are you sure?” she pressed. “I mean, you just lost your mom—”
Whirling around, he snarled, “Do you think I’ve forgotten? I’ve spent the last four years caring for her, cleaning up her vomit, taking her to the hospital to get that... that... poison pumped into her!” Turning back to the counter, he added more softly, “No, I haven’t forgotten that she’s gone.”
He didn’t turn back to see Lisa retreating but knew she was gone when the sound of the front door opened and closed nearly soundlessly. He hadn’t meant to snap at her, but grief was making him irrational and far shorter-tempered than usual. The last few days had been a blur. He couldn't seem to think straight; his head was too messed up. He'd known his mother was going to die. He thought he'd mentally prepared himself, but facing the reality of things had been completely different to how he'd pictured it.
He cleared away everything, refrigerating the leftover food. Just as he shut the fridge door, the doorbell rang. Beau frowned. He wasn't expecting anyone. As he walked through the house, he glanced around for anything that may have been left behind. When he opened up the door, he found his best friend, John, on the porch.
Beau reached out to shake his hand. "John."
"Sorry I couldn't make it," he said in lieu of a greeting. "I couldn't get out of that god-awful meeting."
"It's alright."
"Well, I'm sorry anyway. Your mom was a fantastic woman. I wanted to be there to pay my respects."
Beau shrugged. What was he going to say, “maybe next time”? He cleared his throat. "What's up?"
"I thought we could go out for a beer."
"Yeah, a beer would be good."
John nodded. “It’ll take your mind off things for a while.”
Yeah, that did sound good. Grabbing the keys off the hook by the door, he locked the house and followed his best friend to his car.
"Please don't tell me you got back together with Lisa," John said as he started up the car.
Beau jerked his head around to look at his friend. “What? No. Why would you say that?”
"Well thank fuck for that,” John replied under his breath. More loudly he said, “I saw her leaving just as I pulled up.”
Oh. “She came to the funeral, which I expected. What I didn’t expect was for her to make an appearance here.”
John started the car and pulled away from the curb. “Well, let's go and get that drink.” Beau was thankful there weren’t any other follow-on questions. He didn't know what to say. Instead, he watched the buildings pass them by, cursing every stoplight because it was a whole thirty seconds more before he could have a beer bottle in his hand.
When they finally arrived at the bar, they were served quickly and found a place at a booth. "Tell me what's going on." John's words were final, leaving no place for Beau to run and hide.
"My head is a fucking mess."
John sucked back some of his beer. "Understandable. Your mom just died. Your entire world changed in an instant."
"I knew it was coming," he replied, fingering the label on his beer bottle. "I knew she was dying. I don't know how to explain it... I feel as if there's been this fundamental shift in my life, but it hasn't just happened because of my mom. It was before that."
They were both quiet for a moment.
John said, "I really am sorry I missed the funeral today."
Beau shrugged. "You came and visited her a lot. She knew you loved her."
"She was like a second mom to me," he replied with a shrug. He blew out a breath and sank farther into his chair. "How was it anyway?"
Beau mirrored his posture and relaxed back, bringing his beer with him. "I didn't fuck up the eulogy."
John raised his bottle. "To not fucking up the eulogy."
Beau felt his mouth pull up into a small smile—the first he’d managed in three days. "All of Mom's old work colleagues from the bank were there. I think there were at least a hundred and fifty at the service and maybe half that again at the wake."
"Your mom was a special lady," John murmured softly, staring at the bottle in his hands. "I'm going to miss her."
"Me, too," Beau replied, draining the rest of his beer. "You want another?"
"Sure, but then I'll have to go. I've got an early dinner with a client."
Beau picked up the bottles and wandered to the bar. A pretty Latina was busy pouring a drink down at the opposite end when he approached, but she gave him a nod to let him know he'd been seen. He leaned his hip up against the bar as he waited.
"What can I get you?"
"Two Buds, please." With a confident smile, she turned away but stopped when he added hastily, "And a double shot of bourbon—whatever bottle you grab first."
"You got it."
As he waited for his drink, he looked around the bar. Considering the time, it was strangely full. Who would’ve thought three o'clock in the afternoon on a Friday would be a peak time for drinking? Maybe people were starting the weekend early. Maybe they'd all just had a shit week like he had and decided to drink their sorrows away.
The beers and his bourbon were placed on the scarred bartop, but as he dug out his wallet, the bartender waved him away. "On the house."
Beau frowned, still holding his wallet out and open. "I don't..."
"Justine, the other girl who works here, told me it was your mom's funeral today."
He glanced up to see Justine Harris—a girl he'd gone to elementary school with—wave at him from the other side of the bar. He waved back absently and put away his money.
"I'm sorry for your loss," the young woman said, sliding the drinks closer to him.
Beau took them with a nod and moved back toward John.
"What's up with you? You look like someone just took a piss in your beer," John said, taking the drinks from Beau's hands.
"Sometimes I hate living in a small town," he muttered.
With the bottle already at his lips, John asked, "What?"
Beau looked back toward the bar briefly. "Nothing." He took a sip of his bourbon, eyeing his friend over the rim. "Did you really think I got back together with Lisa?”
John stilled and stared at him. “No, but if you had, I would’ve told you you were a fucking idiot. She wasn't right for you.”
One of Beau’s brows lifted. "And who is?"
John took a sip of his beer. "Do I really need to answer that for you?"
He got busy looking at the table. He thought about her all the time—Evangeline—but he would never see her again. "That's never going to happen," he said, feeling the sting of his words in the center of his chest. He rubbed at his sternum.
"What's to tell? I left college to look after my mom. I tried to contact her, but she never answered any of my calls.” The lie rolled off his tongue easily; the truth, however, was much more difficult to say out loud.
“I still find that really strange," John replied. "Something must have happened to her."
Beau shrugged, absently sketching out the shape of a house in the condensation on the table. "I don't know, but it doesn't change the fact that I haven't seen or heard from her in four years." He drained the rest of his bourbon and placed the glass on the table. "We should go, otherwise I'm not going to stop."
John placed his own drink down and stood up. He dug around in his pocket for his keys then spun them around on his finger. "I'm ready when you are."
As they walked out of the bar, John asked, "So, what are you going to do now?"
"About what?" he replied, thinking about everything he had on his plate right now.
"Everything, I guess."
Beau ran a hand through his hair. "Starting tomorrow, I'll clear out Mom's house and put it on the market."
"Let me know if you want some help.”
Beau nodded. “Help would be good.”
“Deal. Do you have some place to stay after that?"
"Yeah, your place."
A smile eased its way onto John's face. "As long as you cook every meal."
Beau laughed. John had always been a terrible cook in college. It seemed things hadn't changed. "You got a deal."