Everlasting Light

by Shey Stahl

  “I’m not perfect.” I kissed her cheek, emotions scrambling through my chest, unable to process their meaning. “I can be selfish, like wanting you to give up your internship to be with me, and I make things harder than they need to be. I may know what to say, but I’m not perfect.”

  “So no one’s perfect and you’re a selfish, well-spoken jerk, aren’t you?”

  I scowled, rolling her so she was on my chest. “I never said I was a jerk, you added that.”

  She laughed. “I did, didn’t I?”

  Kissing her lips once more, I knew I was fucked. This girl who rambled on and smiled sweetly had just burned every idea I ever had that I should be alone in this life.

  A month had passed since that weekend at Lake Martin. A month of me falling for everything that was Beau Ryland. His heat, his intensity for living and singing, his charm, as he said before, he could get a lot with that charm and I knew that very well. He could.

  I still hadn’t told him he was charming, but there were some things Beau didn’t need to know. I didn’t want that pretty head of his getting any bigger.

  I felt increasingly comfortable around Beau since the concert and our relationship moved fast.

  My life felt boring before I met Beau, but now I was living life in the fast lane and dating a musician, and all the twisting curves of emotions that forced me to follow the journey with him.

  I started my internship with the hospital and hated it. I had always had no problem getting along with everyone, but there were two other interns with me who were making my life hell. And now I was questioning becoming an assisted living assistant all together.

  Did I really want this? Everything about the job, from what I was seeing, was so much more political than I thought it would be.

  A few days before Beau left for a two-night show in Jackson, he and I picked apples from his yard. I was giddy almost because it felt like a couple thing to do—clean up the yard. He was living in Mountain Brook still with Miles and Wade, and I was living in a tiny apartment about five minutes from him.

  Looking down at the apples in my hand, I smiled while setting them on the counter. “We should make apple pie out of these.”

  “Okay, we could take it to your mom.”

  “Uh, Beau, you don’t want to meet my mom.” My mother was the whole reason I wanted to be an assisted living assistant. She was in a car accident that resulted in a brain injury and couldn’t live on her own because she tried to burn the place down a few times. I believed the whole reason was because she had a crush on a local firefighter.

  She also had some dementia, but it hadn’t progressed enough that she didn’t remember me.

  Beau smiled, boyish and trouble. “Why is that?”

  “She’s crazy.”

  He leaned in, kissing the end of my nose. “I like crazy. I’m dating you, aren’t I?”

  “And you wonder why I keep telling you that you’re not charming.”

  Digging out a baking dish and ingredients he surprisingly had, I began to make the pie.

  “Prepare yourself. I’m an amazing cook,” I told him, peeling the apples.

  “My mom makes the best apple pie ever. That means nothing to me,” he turned slowly and smiled, measuring out flour and sugar for me. “So this better be impressive to me or else.”

  “Or else what?”

  Another coy smile, tugging at the edge of his lips as one hand ran down the scruff on his jaw. “You’ll see.”

  Part of me wanted to ruin the pie so I’d know exactly what he was talking about.

  When he was finished preparing the ingredients, he hoisted himself up on the counter, grinning wider, watching me peel the remaining apples.

  I told him about my mother and all her crazy stories, how this was the second assisted living home she had been in and that she was a klepto. He followed along with my every word, nodding in agreement, but I knew he was mocking me, teasing and torturing me like he enjoyed doing. And eating all the ingredients.

  He shoved apple slices in his mouth as soon as I chopped them, despite me swatting at his hand with a knife.

  “Beau, if you don’t stop, we won’t have anything for the pie.” I tried my best to sound irritated. “Either that or I will chop your fingers off.”

  He threw an apple slice at me. It bounced off my nose and into the bowl. “Score!”

  “Really, Beau?”

  He threw another.

  It became a war until his kitchen was covered in what would have been apple pie if not for the food war.

  When he was out of ammunition, I had a bowl of apples covered in cinnamon and flour ready to pour on his head. “Don’t test me, charm boy.”

  His hands flew to the air, begging for mercy. “I’m sorry.”

  I let my guard down, set the bowl on the counter, and put my hand on my hip. “Chicken.”

  “Face it, you just said I was charming.” Beau tackled me to the floor where we laid flat on our backs, laughing, the kind of laughter that made you nearly pee your pants.

  “No I didn’t. I called you charm boy, there’s a difference.”

  He licked sugar off my arm, eyes on mine. “No, there’s not.”

  Wade came in, wanting to know what the hell we were doing on the floor.

  Beau stood and helped me up. “Making pie.”

  “Uh-huh, sure looks like you’re making pie.”

  After retrieving a beer, he left us to our apple mess.

  Surprisingly, we still had enough apples for pie. I gave Beau the first piece before we took it to my mom.

  “Pretty great, huh?” I stole a bite from his plate only to have him swat my hand away.

  “No,” he said, mouth full of sugar-sweet apples and fluffy dough. “It’s awful.”

  “See…” My hands wrapped around a cold glass of milk, drinking slowly before adding, “You may be a rock star, but now you’re just being rude.”

  His brow pulled together. “Don’t do that.”

  “What?” I sat back in the chair, unsure what it was I did wrong.

  “Act as if I’m not a regular person.”

  I waved him off. “Regular person, rock star, country-boy charmer, I don’t care. If you don’t tell me my pie is amazing, I will punch you.”

  He huffed out a breath, rolling his eyes while taking another bite. “Fine, but for the record, you said charming again.”

  I stole his pie plate from him. If he couldn’t admit it was good, he had no business eating it. “You are so single-minded. And I said country-boy charmer, as in you think you’re charming.”

  “I just don’t see why you can’t accept the fact that I’m charming.” He took the pie plate back. “It’s like you’re in denial.”

  “Kind of like you and how good my pie is.”

  His smirk took over. “Oh, I know your pie is the best in town. I keep eating it, don’t I?”

  “That was surprisingly really dirty sounding.”

  He burst out laughing. “I know.”

  As we sat around that table in his kitchen, laughing about simple things like making pie, I knew every single memory I had with him would hold some sort of meaning for the two of us.

  They were significant to me, mattered to me, and held me there with him.

  Standing, he reached for my hand. “Come on, let’s go give this pie to your mom. I bet she thinks I’m charming.”

  Knowing my mother, she probably would.

  Around seven, we loaded up the pie into Beau’s truck and headed out.

  She was living in Birmingham at a place called Greenbriar. It was only about a half an hour from Beau’s house and the pie was still warm when we arrived.

  Walking through the front doors, my favorite old man was there waiting.

  “Harry, what are you doing up this late?” Harry was a dirty old man, who used to fly fighter jets with the Air Force and now just dirty.

  A nice guy though, if you didn’t mind his naughty side. I paid him no attention.

  “Did you
bring me a pie, Legs?” He patted his lap. “Come sit with me, darlin’.”

  Beau glared at Harry and whispered in my ear, “If he wasn’t in a wheelchair, I’d kick his ass for saying that.”

  I pushed Beau’s face away with my free hand, ignoring him. “You’ll have to beg Mae for a piece, Harry.”

  “I’ve been begging Mae for a piece for years,” Harry mumbled, his head tipped forward, as if he was going to take another nap. “She never gives it to me.”

  I gave a tug on Beau’s arm when he stared at Harry, glaring.

  “I don’t understand what makes old men think just because they’re old, morals go out the window. You’re young enough to be his granddaughter and he was flirting with you.”

  “But I’m not his granddaughter.”

  “So?” He gave me the look that said I was crazy again, you know, the one where his pretty blue eyes widened and his lips turned down. I loved the look. “It’s not the point.”

  “Stop it and open the door.”

  “Which one?”

  I pointed to the red door. “The one with the wooden M on the front.”

  Mom was in her room with Shep on her lap, petting him. “Oh, Shep, you hush,” Mom scolded, setting him on the floor.

  Beau leaned in and I had to laugh. I knew exactly what he was going to say. “Uh, that’s a fake dog.”

  Placing my finger to my lip, I winked at him. “Shhh, it’s real to her.”

  He nodded. “Gotcha.”

  “Hey, Mama, how are you feeling tonight?”

  “I’m good, sweet girl,” and then she noticed Beau standing beside me. Probably because I’d never brought anyone with me to visit her besides something stuffed. “Who’s that?”

  “Mama, this is Beau Ryland. Beau, this is my mother, Mabel, but most call her Mae for short.”

  Beau reached out to shake her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.”

  “Oh, dear boy, have a seat.” She offered him a seat on the couch beside her, which he took. “Are you her boyfriend?”

  Beau grinned, stretching his arm across the back of the couch like he was completely relaxed around my family. “I am,” he said proudly, the words ringing in my ears like music.

  Boyfriend.

  I had a boyfriend.

  The next thing I knew, Beau and my mother were watching Jeopardy together and he had Shep on his lap, petting a stuffed dog and listening intently to Mom tell him about me as a kid.

  Watching him with her made me fall for him even harder and I knew she liked him too by the way her eyes lit up with his southern drawl and charm.

  “How did you two meet?” Mom asked him, looking to the both of us for an answer.

  Beau grinned. “She fell in my lap.”

  Mom burst out laughing. “She’s so clumsy.”

  “You got that right, but I’m glad she is, gives me a chance to rescue her like prince charming.”

  “I like him.” Mom sighed, about the same as she did when the firefighters would carry her out of her house because she told them she couldn’t walk.

  “Okay, Mama, we should probably get going.” I was practically pushing Beau out the door. “I have to work in the morning.”

  She leaned into Beau and kissed his cheek. “Come back soon.”

  The look on his face was priceless when she did that, a mixture of pride and nerves. I knew exactly what he was going to say to me. She thought he was charming.

  Focusing on the red mark on his cheek, I smiled. “Well, you won her over.”

  “She thinks I’m charming.”

  “Shut up.” I punched his stomach, reaching for the door handle.

  “So what’s the story behind the stuffed dog?” Beau asked when we were outside the door, wiping bright red lipstick from his cheek.

  “I found she was happier having him there. Gives her something to do during the day.”

  “Why not get her a real one?”

  “Because she’d kill it.” I giggled, tucking my arm in his. “I once gave her a doll and she thought she was babysitting for the weekend. I’d never seen her so happy.”

  Beau breathed in deep and kissed my temple. “You’re a good person, Bentley.”

  “Thanks, I try to be.”

  At the end of the hall, he steered me the other way. “Is there a backdoor?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Because if I see that dirty old bastard again, I’ll hit him.”

  I knew him well enough to know he wasn’t jealous, but it was still cute seeing him be a little possessive.

  “Some people would call that charming.”

  “What? Being jealous of an old man?” Beau nodded and I had to laugh. “Some people would, yes, but I’m not some people.”

  “Hmmm.” He kissed my forehead. “You’re right. I’ll try harder.”

  I had no doubt he would.

  EVERY MOMENT Beau and I were away from one another, we were texting and calling, and falling.

  By the end of July, Beau told me he loved me.

  And I was sure I fell too.

  It was easy to do, country boy charm with a rock star style.

  I remember the day he said it. Exactly four weeks to the day I fell in his lap, and maybe that was too soon for what society thought, or anyone else, but it was perfect for us.

  We were in his truck, clothes coming off just about as fast as the song playing on the radio.

  “I love you, Bentley,” Beau said, cupping my cheek like he finally understood the meaning behind the words and the impact they’d have on me.

  Everything went cloudy when those words left his lips. They were words I always wanted to hear, but convinced myself I never would, not from someone like Beau.

  I couldn’t move, let alone breathe in fear if I did anything, he’d take back the words.

  But he didn’t.

  He wasn’t going to.

  Staring back at me, he waited, nervously.

  The weight of their meaning settled over me, sinking way down deep. And then I felt the sudden pang of insecurity they held me to. I wanted to believe those three words would change my life and I could have Beau in all the ways I wanted, but my future was unknown.

  “I love you too,” I told him, finally saying the words out loud to him. “But you already knew that.”

  “I did…know.” He smiled, and I believed him, though our future was unknown, there was some confidence in that smile.

  You couldn’t resist Beau if you tried. I didn’t want to be that girl who fell immediately, but I fell for Beau a long time ago, long before I knew what it was like to find myself within him. That statement may not make a lot of sense, but it did to me because of what I was learning about myself, while I was with him.

  A few weeks after the concert in Nashville, Beau was approached by Colt Records, the same company who signed Sam Shaver. They wanted Beau to start recording an album when the tour was over. It seemed everything was happening for him all at once.

  And then came the surprise in late August. I knew when it happened too, the only time we ever forgot a condom, caught up in the adrenaline of his show in Nashville. The same night he told me he loved me.

  On the bench seat of his truck and foggy windows on an old country road, I got pregnant.

  In the bathroom at work, right before sneaking out early on Thursday to catch his show in Atlanta, I took a pregnancy test.

  Damn thing turned positive before I finished peeing on it.

  The news wasn’t exactly exciting for me with the internship and Beau still on tour. Not only would he start recording his first album, but the tension was already in the air because it would mean weeks apart. And the last thing I wanted to do was cause more stress for Beau.

  The idea that I was going to have a baby with Beau, a part of me and him together, was exciting.

  For a while, as I drove to Atlanta with Blaine talking my ear off, I went back to my coma theory. Had I hit my head again?

  “What’s going on with you?” Blaine
asked an hour into the two-hour drive. “You’re quiet and I’m doing all the talking.”

  “I’m pregnant and I have no idea how to tell Beau.” It was surprisingly easy to blurt the words out to Blaine.

  Blaine’s eyes about bugged out. “I’m going to be an auntie?”

  “Uh, yeah, but what do I say to Beau? You know him pretty well, will he be mad?”

  “I doubt it.” I wished I believed her confidence. “You should see him with our nephews when he gets to see them. He’s great.”

  When I didn’t say anything, she turned down the radio. “Are you going to tell him tonight?”

  My stomach dropped at the thought. “Should I?”

  “Yes, I’m telling you, he’ll be excited.”

  I drew in a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves, my heart beating so fast. “I’m just nervous. So much is changing for him with recording an album, I just don’t know where I stand.”

  “You stand with him.”

  Okay, well, she had a point, didn’t she?

  “Do I tell him before the show or after?”

  “After. I don’t think we’re going have time beforehand and you’ll want him alone, not surrounded by fans and his band.”

  Another excellent point.

  A half an hour outside of Atlanta, Beau sent me a message saying he missed me and couldn’t wait for us to get there.

  Smiling at the screen, Blaine noticed my excitement. “Is that my brother?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Ask him if Miles and Gavin are with him?”

  I did and then laughed at his message. Yes, but I got us a hotel room. Alone.

  “He said they’re with him.”

  “Ugh.” She groaned, slumping against the steering wheel but, thankfully, staying on the highway.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t want Miles there.”

  “Why?” I tucked my phone back in my bag, setting it on the floorboard again.

  “Gavin and I are…you know…and Miles is being weird about it.”

  “What?” I gasped, shifting in the seat to face her a little more. I needed some details on this one. Over the last month, Blaine had definitely become my best friend. We were working at the same hospital together, and anytime I wasn’t with Beau, I was with Blaine. “When did that happen?”