I stared at her, heart racing, denial flooding me, rising so fast it drowned out any other emotion trying to surface, and God help me, I shoved them deeper for good measure. “I can’t give you what you want,” I said, voice far from steady. “I told you that. I told you from the start.”
“I know.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I hoped that you’d…that maybe…”
“I’d change my mind?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
I needed her to understand, for both our sakes, and it tore me to sheds to say the words, to hurt her, but I had to make her understand. “I’m not capable of that kind of love. It doesn’t exist.”
Fire shot through her eyes. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. Deep down you know it. You felt it, with me. You may be too stubborn to let yourself acknowledge it, but it’s there.”
What I felt for her wasn’t love. It couldn’t be. I started shaking my head.
Freya shot out of bed and snatched up her clothes. “I’m sorry for lying to you, Beau. I am. You have no idea how sorry, but you’re lying to yourself as well. One day you’ll realize that, and it’ll be too late.” She grabbed one of her bags and stormed out of the room. The spare room door slammed shut a few seconds later.
I lay there unable to move, my brain having trouble catching up with what had just happened and how it all fell apart so fast.
The awful feeling in my stomach didn’t ease over time; it increased. The closer we got to morning and the drive back to town, to me dropping Freya off, the worse it got.
It felt wrong, so wrong. The urge to go to her was almost impossible to ignore.
But I did my best to shut it down. What I felt for her wasn’t love. It couldn’t be.
So, I stayed where I was until the sun started to rise, painting my room in an orange wash, until I heard Freya get up and start moving around.
It was time to take her back.
Freya
The drive back to Eaglewood was awful.
Beau didn’t seem to know how to act or what to say, and neither did I. I just wanted to get to my car that Beau had had towed back to town, and go home, forget this ever happened. Unfortunately, I knew it wasn’t going to be that easy.
On the way to Beau’s two weeks ago, I envisioned a very different end to my trip. It was unrealistic and crazy, but I’d imagined us driving to the city together to collect my things, that he would be as in love with me as I was with him and we’d move in together immediately.
I was starting to think that maybe I’d wanted things to work out with Beau so much because I wasn’t happy in my own life, that I’d made him out to be this ideal, perfect man, when no one was perfect. He couldn’t make my life better. Only I could do that.
Oh, I loved Beau—I had no doubt about that—but I’d come into this with unrealistic expectations. I’d disregarded his thoughts and wishes, so desperate to fill the hole in my own life. The empty spot I’d had since I was a little girl, desperate for my parents’ love and attention.
I’d done this to myself, and now I had to face up to it and live with the consequences.
Life without Beau.
Finally, we pulled up to the garage. I climbed out, and Beau helped me carry my bags to my car. When it was loaded and I was ready to go, I wasn’t sure what to do. We stood there for a few long seconds, staring at each other, until finally Beau tugged me to him and wrapped his strong arms around me. One of his hands cupped the back of my head and he kissed my hair.
“Freya, I—”
I shook my head. “It’s fine. You don’t need to say anything.”
I can’t give you what you want, Freya.
He’d already said it. I didn’t need or want to hear it again.
I went to pull out of his arms, but they held me tighter for a moment before he finally released me and stepped back.
I didn’t want it to end like this—awkward, full of regret—so when I pulled my car door open, I turned to him and forced a smile. “This may not have ended the way I’d hoped, but I’m glad I came,” I said. “I’m glad I met you.” I knew my smile had turned sad, but I pressed on. “You’re a good man, Beau, and I wish you all the best. Just because I wasn’t, I didn’t…” I cleared my throat. Not going there. “I think you struggle with the fact you left Hank alone to take care of your grandfather, and I don’t think you know how to deal with the guilt you feel over it. You run around helping everyone, trying so hard to make up for it. And in the process, you’ve bottled up your feelings, so you don’t have to face them.” I held his blue gaze and forced myself to finish. “You don’t think you deserve love, so you’re punishing yourself and not letting yourself have it. But you’re wrong, Beau. Love does exist, and maybe one day…one day you’ll meet the right woman, and you’ll know that, too.”
Ignoring his expression that could only be described as shell-shocked, I climbed in my car before he could respond, started it up—and drove away.
And I didn’t once look in the rearview mirror.
12
Beau
“There’s something wrong with me,” I said to my brother before glancing down at Beth, who was cradled in my arms. I still couldn’t get over how tiny my nieces were.
“I’ve been telling you that for years,” Hank said.
I looked up at him. He held Beth’s tiny twin sister, Emmy, her head resting on his massive shoulder.
I turned to Birdie, and my sister-in-law smirked.
“This is your fault,” I said to her. “The more time he spends with you, the more of a smartass he’s becoming.”
“Don’t worry,” she said, patting me on the shoulder as she headed back in the house. “No one is a bigger smartass than you.”
Hank chuckled and watched his wife disappear inside. He turned back to me. “See, nothing to worry about.”
I frowned at the big bastard. “No, I’m serious. There’s something seriously wrong with me.”
The grin dropped off Hank’s face. “What’s going on?”
I sat down in one of the rocking chairs on Hank’s porch and rocked back and forth, since Beth had finally closed her eyes, and looked back up at my brother. “I’m not sleeping. I’ve got no appetite. I haven’t been fishing or hunting in weeks. My stomach feels weird, and there’s this”—I pressed my palm to the middle of my chest—“ache, right here.”
“So besides coming here for dinner, you haven’t left your house in three weeks.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Pretty much.”
“And the last time you went fishing was when Freya was here?” Hank said.
I sat straighter in my seat. I hadn’t said her name out loud since she left. I’d thought it a lot. I’d thought of her a lot. As a matter of fact, I hadn’t really stopped thinking about her.
I also hadn’t heard from her, and I understood why, but I…shit, I missed her. I missed talking to her. “Yeah, so?” I said to Hank.
“And you started getting these symptoms, what? Just after she left?” he asked.
I frowned. “I suppose so.”
Hank shook his head, a look of disgust on his face.
I frowned harder. “What the hell’s that look for?”
“You’re an idiot,” Hank said.
I scowled at him. “Well, thanks so much for your professional diagnosis.”
He stared at me in disbelief. “You really can’t figure it out?”
“Figure what out?” I barked at him. Beth stirred so I rocked faster.
“You’re either about to have a massive heart attack,” he said. “Or…”
“Or what?”
“You’re in love.”
I shot out of the chair. “No.” I shook my head. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Beth screwed up her face, letting out a tiny cry.
Hank scowled at me and I started rocking her again.
“Okay fine,” he said. “You’re not, but can I ask you this? When you’re sitting around your house or lying awake in bed, doing all this nothing, what are y
ou thinking about…or should I say who?”
I froze like a startled rabbit looking down the barrel of a gun. “No,” I said again, but with a hell of a lot less conviction this time. I looked at my brother. “She can’t hunt or fish.”
“So?” Hank said. “Neither could Birdie when we first met.”
“She can’t cook,” I said dumbly.
“You can.”
“Well, yeah.”
Hank shrugged. “So, what’s your point?”
I couldn’t think of one.
“You once told me not to let Mom keep on hurting me, but Beau, you’re doing the same thing. We lost people we loved, and it hurt a fuck of a lot, but don’t let what happened in your past stop you from being with the woman you love.” Hank glanced through the window at Birdie who was quilting at the kitchen table. “I almost did what you are now because of that shit in my head. Don’t do the same thing. You need to talk to her, Beau. Tell her how you feel.”
I woke with a jolt, Freya’s name exploding past my lips and my hand flying to the other side of the bed. Empty. I shot up to a sitting position, looking around the room, mind fuzzy, still half in the dream I’d just had, half in my shadowed room.
My mouth opened again, her name forming on my tongue, about to call out for her again when I remembered. She wasn’t there.
She was gone.
The soul-deep ache that realization caused could have knocked me on my ass if I’d been standing.
It was only a dream. But it seemed so real. We’d been on the couch downstairs together, kissing, laughing, happy…Christ, we’d been in love. And for the first time in a long time, the thought of that, the feel of it, didn’t send me into a panic.
And not just in the dream.
I shoved the covers aside.
Hank was right. I was in love with Freya.
It didn’t terrify me. In fact, it felt right, so damn right.
And I’d let her go. I’d let her walk out of there, out of my life, like a dumb fuck.
I flew out of bed and jogged down the stairs, the sense of urgency in my gut gnawing at me. I had to tell her, this second. My phone was in the kitchen, and I snatched it up, shoved the door open, strode out onto the deck, and punched in her phone number.
The phone rang and rang until I was asked to leave a message.
I didn’t want to leave a damn message. I needed to talk to her. I hung up and tried again.
She had to be there. I had to tell her how I felt.
“Hello,” Freya’s sleepy, soft voice hit my ear, and I had to grab for the porch railing.
I’d missed the sound of her voice so much. I hadn’t realized how much until I heard that sweet, husky tone. I mean, I heard her in my head all damn day, but finally hearing it for real, Jesus, it hit me with force.
“Is anyone there?” she said.
I snapped out of it and forced my mouth to move. “Freya?” I croaked.
Silence.
I waited, my breath choppy, my heart pounding. Please don’t hang up.
“Beau?” she finally whispered.
I gripped the phone tighter. “Yeah, it’s me.”
More silence, then she said, “It’s four in the morning.”
Shit. Was it? “Sorry, I…” I gripped the railing tighter. “I just, I needed to talk to you.”
Her sigh came at me before she said, “I don’t think…Beau, there’s nothing left to talk about.”
I shoved my fingers through my hair. “There is. There’s a lot to talk about, starting with the fact that I was wrong, that I shouldn’t have let you go.”
I heard her suck in a breath. “What?”
“I made a mistake, honey. I messed up. I—”
“No,” she said. “You didn’t. You were right. I wanted something from you that you can’t give me. And we both know there are things I can’t give you.”
“You’re wrong,” I said.
“I’m not.” Her rough exhale echoed down the line. “You saw me out there. I can’t do any of the things you wanted from a partner. God, I can’t even cook.”
“None of that matters,” I said. “None of it, Freya. Please, listen to me—”
“I can’t,” she said. “Beau, I came from a family that had a warped idea of love. Their love came with conditions, was withheld. Starting this thing with you, I was repeating history. I didn’t believe I was worthy of love. So, I fell for a man who couldn’t give it to me, whose affection came with conditions. That’s not your fault, Beau. You want what you want. But I need more than that. I deserve it.”
“No, Freya, please—”
“I need to get over you, Beau. I’m trying really hard to get over you, and that’s going to be so much harder if you start calling me. Please…please don’t call again.”
“Freya, don’t hang up—”
“Goodbye, Beau.”
“Christ…I love you. I fucking love you.”
But it was too late. The line was already dead.
I tried to call back, but it went straight to voice mail.
What the hell was I going to do now?
13
Freya
Leaning against the kitchen counter, I skimmed the roommate wanted section. Sally’s boyfriend was well and truly there to stay, and I couldn’t deal with being around the loved-up couple much longer. Thankfully, they’d both left for work, which meant I had a moment to myself without all the lovey-dovey looks and whispers that were usually followed by groping and giggles.
I finished my coffee, put the mug in the sink, and headed to my room. I needed to get dressed. I had a job interview this morning and I had to ace it. I planned to knock their socks off. Staying at home with nothing to do but think was not helping me get over Beau.
I was standing in front of my closet, still in one of Beau’s oversized shirts—yes, I’d stolen it, and okay, maybe my dedication to getting over Beau wasn’t as strong as it should be—trying to decide what to wear, when someone knocked at the door.
I ignored it. I wasn’t in the mood for visitors. I also didn’t have time for whoever that was. I shoved aside my collection of LBDs and decided to go for color. For this interview, I wanted to stand out from the crowd, be remembered.
Another knock, this time more insistent.
What the hell?
Three more loud bangs had me rushing from my bedroom, positive something terrible must have happened. What if it was Sally? What if she’d been hurt?
By the time I reached my door, nerves were flapping around in my belly. I yanked it open…and froze.
Standing at my door, intense but wary eyes on me, was Beau.
“What are you doing here?” I choked out, and at the same time, unable to stop myself from taking him in, eating up every honed, muscled inch.
Somehow in the last few weeks I’d forgotten how big he was. God, he was beautiful. Burly and rough and beautiful. He was wearing jeans and a blue flannel shirt rolled up his muscled forearms. His beard looked a little scruffier and his hair looked like he’d been running his fingers through it repeatedly. It took everything in me not to throw myself into his arms.
“Christ, it’s so good to see you,” he said, his eyes, still wary but even more intense looking over my face.
His low, gritty voice snapped me out of my stupor. “You shouldn’t be here.”
I saw something flicker in his eyes, something like hurt. It hurt me to see it, even though I didn’t understand it.
“Can I come in?” he said instead. “Please, I need to talk to you.”
I bit my lip. Letting him in was a terrible idea. I was in love with this man, and I knew he didn’t feel the same way. What could he possibly have to say to me?
I stared into his eyes and no matter how hard I tried to work up the words, I couldn’t ask him to leave. “You came all this way just to talk to me?”
“Yes.” His eyes dropped to the shirt I was wearing, his shirt, and he sucked in a sharp breath.
My face heated but I didn�
�t comment. What could I say? I wear it and pretend your arms are around me?
I stepped back quickly, letting him into my apartment. After the way I’d lied to him about who I was, the least I could do was hear him out.
He walked in and I noticed he had a duffel bag with him. “You’re staying in the city?”
He dropped it and dipped his chin—then he strode toward me, a determined look on his face that had self-preservation kicking in with force. If he touched me, I’d fall to pieces.
I stumbled back, lifting up my hands to ward him off. He stopped an inch from my palms. His eyes were a little wild, his nostrils flaring.
“Don’t do that,” he rasped. “Please, don’t do that.”
I shook my head. “This is a bad idea, Beau, and you know it. You know why.”
“I thought I did, but I was wrong,” he said. “I was blind and foolish, so deep in denial I missed what was right in front of me.” He took a step forward, closing that last inch so my hands pressed against his hard chest.
“Beau…” I whispered.
“I don’t have that problem anymore.”
I stilled, swallowing hard. “No?”
He shook his head.
“And how did you come to this sudden realization?” I asked, heart racing so hard I was light-headed.
“I spent three weeks without you.” His jaw clenched. “They were the worst three weeks of my life. I don’t ever want to go through that again.”
I jolted, pulling back, but his hands shot up, wrapping around mine and holding them to the warmth of his body. I shook my head. “Don’t,” I said, starting to freak out. I couldn’t put myself through this again.
“Don’t?” he repeated. “Don’t tell you how much of a mess I am without you? That I barely left my place in three weeks. That I haven’t slept, that your face is all I see when I close my eyes, that your voice is constantly in my head.”
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