What in the hell?
“Free of you?” he exploded. “What if I don’t want to be free of you?”
“But you do. And it’s best.”
He opened his mouth to tell her it wasn’t what he wanted and it was anything but best; it was unthinkable, and to stop trying to save him.
Then the truth of it all hit him. Trying to save him. “Christian, when did you find the journal? Where was it?” But he knew.
“This morning,” she said. “It was in the attic.”
He nodded. “It was right before you fell, wasn’t it? You were hurrying to find me, to tell me.”
She didn’t say anything. She only looked at him.
It was so clear. Again, she’d been trying to save him. Because of him, the baby was lost and Christian could have died.
“I don’t know what happened to the journal,” Christian said. “It’s somewhere. I dropped it. You’ll want to read—”
“I don’t care about that damned journal,” he said. And he didn’t. So what if his parents’ and sister’s deaths weren’t his fault, after all? How could that matter when he’d done everything in his power to ruin Christian’s life? That was stopping now.
“Well, your call,” Christian said. “Will you do me a favor?”
Yes, of course I will. I’ll do anything—I’ll even stay with you and love you, though that’s the worst thing for you. But ask me, because if you ask, I can’t say no. What kind of man would say no?
“Yes, of course. What can I do?”
“They said I can leave. Will you ask Noel if I can go home with her for a while?”
He stood for a long moment, trying to think of something to say. But there was nothing.
So he walked away.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Three days. An eternity.
Christian stood in Noel’s guest room, packing the small suitcase Emory had brought for her the day she left the hospital—three days ago. Three days without Beau, three days since living with the loss of a lifetime.
She placed her hand over her empty womb. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I didn’t take good enough care of you. I’m sorry I didn’t think about you enough. I was beginning to, but I thought there would be plenty of time to think of your name, of what your room would be like, of how much I would love you. I didn’t plan you, but I wanted you.”
Noel came into the room and laid a stack of clean, neatly folded clothes on the bed.
“Thank you.” Christian transferred it to her bag. “I told you that you didn’t have to do my laundry.”
“I wish you wouldn’t go yet.” Noel sat on the edge of the bed.
“There’s no reason I shouldn’t go home. I’m fine. Allie says they have everything handled at Firefly Hall, but it’s my business and I should be there.”
“Still. It wouldn’t hurt if you took a few more days to rest.”
“You’ve already missed seeing Nickolai play once because of me. And I’m rested.” At least, her body was rested; there wasn’t enough downtime in the world to restore her heart and soul.
“Christian, are you sure you won’t see Beau? I know I haven’t been his biggest fan in all this, and I was pretty steamed when he left the hospital that day. But you really didn’t leave him any choice.”
“I didn’t give him any choice, because there aren’t any choices left.” And she hadn’t wanted him to have the choice. She couldn’t have lived with that final rejection. The decision, without question, had to be hers.
“He’s been here four times,” Noel said.
Yes, and he’d called countless times, but what was there to say? She’d faced some things, and one of them was she’d been fooling herself to think things would ever be more than fine between them, and it had little to do with the burden Beau carried.
The fact was he didn’t love her, never had, and never would. She’d been like a puppy sitting on her hind legs, looking for the best and inventing optimism where there was none. She couldn’t love enough for both of them, and she couldn’t make everything all right. In that ridiculous little argument they’d had that last morning, one thing he’d said rang true and kept coming back to haunt her.
You have to stop saving me.
The fact was, Beau didn’t need saving, he never had. She’d been determined to do it anyway because she wanted to be indispensable to him.
“Maybe you should hear what he has to say,” Noel said.
“No. He’s going to say one of two things. Either he’s just going to want to know how I am, or he’s going to say he wants to stay together. The first thing he can find out from you or a dozen other people. The second thing isn’t true.”
“You don’t know that,” Noel said.
Christian closed her bag and sat in the chair next to the bed. “I do. If he asked to stay, it would be out of guilt or some misplaced loyalty. And Noel, I’m tired. I’m tired of loving him.”
“Yet you do.” There was no trace of question in Noel’s voice.
Christian nodded. “It’s hard habit to break, but I intend to try. And the first step is getting back to my life.”
That was empty. So much of her life had been wrapped up in worrying about and longing for Beau. But she’d figure it out. Somehow.
“Are you sure you won’t stay?” Noel asked.
“I need to go home.”
Noel stood. “In that case, I’ll get Nickolai to carry your bag down, and I’ll drive you. Lunch tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
• • •
It had been a week now. From what he’d been told, Christian had left Noel’s and gone back to Firefly Hall three days ago. Of course, he hadn’t been told any of that by Christian. She hadn’t told him anything.
Surprisingly, everyone had pretty much left him alone.
The only person who’d told him anything was Aunt Amelia, and that had been through her journals.
Beau hadn’t intended to read the journals; he hadn’t even intended to read the entry Christian had told him about.
But when he’d returned to Beauford Bend, he’d gone to the foot of the stairs where she had landed and thought how the floor looked freshly mopped. Not surprising. There had probably been a lot of blood. After all, that’s where the baby had died.
Then he’d caught sight of the little book wedged behind the plant stand where it must have fallen. Somehow, he’d felt he owed it to Christian to read it.
So he had, and he’d kept reading.
There was so much he’d never known, never considered—how Aunt Amelia had struggled with her own grief, with finances, with worry over raising them.
And there were other things, too. Camille had not fallen to her death, but had been dead of smoke inhalation before their mother threw her to Gabe. The autopsy proved that, just as an investigation finally proved faulty wiring had caused the fire. And his parents had also died from the smoke instead of burning alive, as he had always imagined. There was also an explanation as to why Aunt Amelia had never told them any of this: she’d felt that such things shouldn’t be discussed with children, that it was best if they didn’t think about the fire at all. She’d been wrong, but she’d meant well.
All this might have been some comfort if there had been any comfort to be had. But without Christian, there was none, not in Aunt Amelia’s diaries, not with his brothers, and certainly not in his workshop where the pieces of perfect walnut were all laid out waiting to be made into a cradle for a baby who would never be.
He couldn’t even go there.
So, instead, he went to the attic and read—not from the beginning at first. He started by searching out the dates when he figured Aunt Amelia would have written about him—his birthdays, when his team had won the state football championship, the time he’d broken his arm.
All that was interesting, but nothing more than a trip down memory lane.
It was her entry on the night he’d run away to join the army that left him astounded.
Was he fine? He used to think so.
It’s Jackson I worry for. He loves Beau so much and feels so responsible. I thought he would lose his mind when Dirk came back and told us what Beau had done. Letting go has never been Jackson’s strong suit. There are some who will dislike him for that and others who will love him for it. I hope, in the end, Beau can be one of the latter.
At least he’d wised up about that—though Jackson could still be annoying as wet sand in a jockstrap. Then the entry got more interesting.
And dear Christian. Outwardly she was stoic, but inside she was so shaken. Maybe I’m just an old romantic, but I believe there are young loves that never die, and I think Christian’s love for Beau is one of those. I hope he can grow into her.
I never grew into Jared until it was too late. Beau reminds me of myself—popular, sought after, and never seeing what’s there for the taking. But never is a long time, and he’s young.
He ran his hand over his three-day-old beard. Was all that true? Had Christian always loved him? If she had, she didn’t anymore. Aunt Amelia had been wrong about that.
And Jared? Who the hell was that? He’d perused these books enough by now that he was pretty sure this was the only mention of any Jared. What had happened to him? Had he died? Or given up on Aunt Amelia and made a life with someone else?
Not that it mattered now, any more that it mattered that Christian might have loved him. He didn’t really know what Aunt Amelia meant by “growing into,” so he didn’t know if he’d grown into Christian, but he sure as hell loved her.
He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he wasn’t aware Jackson had come in until he spoke.
“I brought you a cup of coffee.”
“Thanks. Pull up a crate.” Beau gestured to a pile of plastic milk crates.
Jackson turned one over and sat. “As much time as you’re spending up here, I’d think you have little squares imprinted on your ass at the end of the day.”
“I might. I’m not in the habit of looking at my ass.”
“You know, if you want to read these old books, Sammy can carry them downstairs. You’ve got perfectly good places to sit in your suite.”
“Maybe I don’t deserve perfect. Maybe I deserve to sit on a milk crate.”
Jackson shook his head. “What a mess.”
“She still won’t take my calls. I stopped trying three days ago.”
“Why?” Jackson took sip of his coffee.
“Why? Because doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result is the definition of crazy. And I’m not crazy. I may be screwed up in every other way imaginable, but at least I’ve got my sanity.”
“Then you’re doing better than I was when I was in your place.”
“What place would that be?” Nobody on God’s green Earth had ever been in his place and lived to tell it.
“Realizing she’s the love of a lifetime and she won’t take your calls.”
“It worked out all right for you.” They’d all heard the story of how Jackson had gone to New York, set up his amp in the lobby of the office building where Emory was working, and sung to her until she agreed to come home with him.
Jackson reached into his pocket. “I actually came up here to tell you something. Christian sent back her rings.” In Jackson’s palm was the gold band he’d bought and the ring Christian thought Beau had chosen for her because it was special to Aunt Amelia.
Oddly, it gave him hope. “At least it’s some kind of communication. Maybe she wants to talk. She knows I’ll contact her to tell her she should keep the rings.”
Jackson dropped the rings in Beau’s hand. “About that. Well. She gave them to Emory and asked her not to tell you, in case it might upset you. She said she didn’t feel right keeping them and asked could we just put them in the safe and not mention it?”
Suddenly, he was angry. “Damn it all to hell! There she goes, trying to save me again! Making decisions for me. I’m not even allowed to know she returned the rings I gave her, because it might make me feel bad?”
“You’re allowed to know,” Jackson said. “I’m telling you.”
“You don’t get it at all. She decided I didn’t want to go the prom with her. She decided not to tell me about the baby. She decided she had to dig out old secrets, even if meant falling down the stairs. She decided I needed to be rid of her. When in the hell do I get to decide something?”
Jackson frowned. “She loves you, Beau. She always has.”
“She decides too much in the name of love.”
“Have you told her that?”
“How can I when she won’t talk to me? I don’t have a famous face and a song up my sleeve. Hell, I can’t even sing.”
Jackson rose. “That’s a fact, but you can make yourself heard if you decide to.”
“How? And what am I supposed to say?”
“I don’t know.” Jackson moved toward the door.
“What? You spend all my life trying to tell me what to do, and the one time I need your advice, you run out on me?”
Jackson laughed. “You actually think this is the one time you’ve needed my advice? Kid, you’re on your own this time.” Jackson left and closed the attic door behind him.
Beau picked up a glass unicorn from where it sat on the floor behind a box and was about to hurl it against the door when it opened again and Jackson stepped back inside.
“Are you here to run out on me again?”
“No.” Jackson sat back down on his milk crate. “I’ve come back to help you figure this out.”
Chapter Thirty
There was nothing normal at all about the new normal. Beau had stopped trying to contact her, like she knew he would—just like she knew he was relieved that she wouldn’t take his calls or see him. He’d felt obligated to try for a few days, but after that, who could blame him for giving up? No one. And that’s what she’d wanted. Yet, there was nothing normal about this life without him.
It was breakfast time at Firefly Hall, and Christian was making her way around the table, pouring coffee, but even that didn’t feel normal—familiar maybe, but not normal.
“So, I hear you know Gabe Beauford.” That was from Mr. Casey from Boston.
“Yes. I know Gabe.” He was my brother-in-law for a brief time—actually still is, come to think of it. “Do you need some more cream?”
“Sure. Thanks. Beauford is a hell of a wide receiver. Wish the Patriots had him.”
Christian supposed it was time to start thinking about taking steps to end her familial relationship with Gabe. She almost laughed at the thought. What was she going to do? Show up at Ted Myer’s office and say, “I’m here to end my brother/sister-in-law connection with Gabe Beauford. Yes, yes, that is what I mean, but do I actually have to use the words divorce and Beau, two words I’d like to avoid?”
“Christian?” Nancy Haygood asked. She was a quilt maker from Atlanta, who came to Beauford regularly to shop at Piece by Piece. “Would it be possible to get another piece of the quiche? I shouldn’t, but it’s so good.”
“Of course, Nancy. Anything is possible at Firefly Hall.”
“Anything?” The voice came from the doorway of the dining room and startled her. He was supposed to have given up by now. That’s what she’d planned.
She slowly turned. “I didn’t hear the front door chime.” The breakfast table went silent, probably because they, like her, couldn’t take their eyes off those Carolina blue eyes and perfect bone structure.
“That’s because I didn’t use the front door. So, is anything really possible at Firefly Hall? Can a man get an audience with his wife?”
“As you can see, I’m serving coffee.”
“I’ve got it.” Emma Ruth appeared from nowhere like a jack-in-the-box popping up and took the coffee pot. “And Ms. Haygood, I’ll be right back with that quiche.”
Chatter at the table resumed.
She looked daggers at Emma Ruth. When Emma Ruth refused to look back, Christian directed them at Beau, who just smiled. Chatter or no chatter, there was no way to refuse to talk to Beau without creating a scene in front of the guests. She’d take him to office and give him five minutes. No more.
But Beau had other ideas. He gripped her arm and propelled her up the stairs before she could protest.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked. “Since when does Emma Ruth take your side?”
“Since my side is the same as yours and I’m going home.”
“This is not your home anymore.”
Beau stopped in the middle of the staircase and turned her to look into his eyes. “Home is where the heart is.”
Her insides turned to glass and shattered. That could have been her undoing if she hadn’t remembered that she couldn’t be undone. Not this time. “Beau, please don’t do this to me.”
“I’m going to do it for you. And for me. We’ve lost enough. We don’t have to lose each other.”
“If only that were true. But you’ve never been mine to lose.”
Suddenly all the softness went out of his face. “Stop it, Christian. Stop making decisions for us without consulting me. I am out of patience, and I am about to get very loud. Do you want your customers to hear it, or do you want to go through that door?” He gestured to the top of the stairs with his head. “It probably wouldn’t do my back any good, but I’m capable of throwing you over my shoulder.” He narrowed his eyes and reached for her.
“Okay. Fine.” She’d let him in, but not for long. She led the way and put the coffee table between them.
“Can we sit?” he asked.
“No, we cannot sit. I don’t know what you’re doing here, anyway.”
He laughed. “Ah, a little feisty, aren’t you? I’m here because I never wanted to leave in the first place. You’re the one who broke up with me. Remember? Made that decision without consulting me.”
Healing Beau (The Brothers of Beauford Bend Book 6) Page 20