Make You Remember

by Macy Beckett

  It was goddamned terrifying.

  With no gas mask, he’d used his sweat-soaked T-shirt to cover his mouth and nose, fighting the urge to retreat to the next sand dune for a breath of clean air. His eyes and throat had burned hotter than hellfire, panic had surged through his veins, and it was the most unnatural thing in the world to lie there and breathe that poison.

  He kind of felt that way now—suffocated and confused.

  Conflicting emotions of anger, loss, and shame pressed against his lungs to smother him as real as the tear gas that had brought him to his knees. The longer he sat in the security room, the harder his pulse rushed. His muscles tensed, and his blood boiled. He wanted to fight someone, but he didn’t know why.

  Who was he even mad at?

  Not Devyn. She hadn’t done anything wrong. And yet the mental echo of her words made him want to punch a hole in the wall.

  I almost ended up like your mama.

  He sucked a breath through his nose and shot to his feet, then paced a circuit around the room in an effort to burn off some rage. What in the ever-loving hell was wrong with him?

  Two quick knocks sounded from the door, and Nicky poked his head inside. His blond brows shot up, telling Beau how crazy he must look. “You okay?” Nick asked. “Devyn ran out of here like the room was on fire.”

  Beau couldn’t worry about her right now. He needed to get out of here and blow off some steam.

  “Take over for a while, will you? I’m going to the gym.”

  “Sure.” Nick seemed concerned, but he clearly knew better than to pry. “Take the rest of the night off if you want. I’ll pull Alex from the purser’s desk. We can hold down the fort.”

  On his way out the door, Beau clapped his brother on the arm and said, “Thanks.” Then he charged upstairs to his suite while avoiding eye contact with everyone he passed.

  After changing clothes, he jogged to the gym, pleased to find it empty. He glanced at the clock and realized it was dinnertime, which meant he would have the place to himself for a solid hour or two. Beau scanned the workout equipment to find the right outlet. Soon he spotted it—a red punching bag hanging from the ceiling in the corner of the room. His lips curved and his fists clenched in anticipation.

  Perfect.

  • • •

  Two hours later, Beau’s knuckles were raw and he could barely lift his arms, but he felt nearly human again. He swiped the back of his hand across his forehead and geared up for one last swing, a grand finale with all his weight behind it. When his right hook connected with the bag, a loud smack echoed through the gym, and one of the bag’s reinforcement straps tore, causing it to hang from the ceiling at a skewed angle.

  Beau swore under his breath. He should have quit while he was ahead.

  “See?” said a male voice from behind him. “This is why we can’t have nice things.”

  Marc strode into view with his jacket slung over one arm and his captain’s hat in hand. He must have come off duty in the pilothouse, because he’d loosened his tie and undone the first few buttons of his dress shirt.

  Beau didn’t need to ask how his brother had ended up here.

  “Nicky ratted me out.”

  “More or less,” Marc said. He took a seat on one of those silly Nautilus machines that women used to work their inner thighs—the kind that spread their legs wide open. “He asked me to check on you. Said he hasn’t seen you this pissed since the day I broke your nose.”

  Beau chuckled dryly, remembering the first and last time he had ever dissed Marc’s mother. Deep in his teenage heart, he’d known better, but he’d cracked a joke about the woman to score a laugh with his friends. “I deserved that.”

  “Yes, you did,” Marc agreed. “But let’s not change the subject. Nick also said you had a fight with Devyn.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “You sure?” Marc said, standing as he grabbed a clean towel from a nearby table. He handed it to Beau while wrinkling his nose in distaste. “You need a shower.”

  “The answer is yes,” Beau said. He used the towel to wipe down his sweaty face. “To both of those statements. Dev and I aren’t fighting.” And he sure as hell needed a shower. He smelled like roadkill.

  “Okay.” The way Marc drew out the word sounded like he didn’t buy it. “Then why the bloody knuckles? What did that innocent punching bag ever do to you?”

  Beau glanced down and noticed a smudge of blood across the back of his right hand. Again, he wished he had quit before that final throw that broke the bag. He grabbed a clean towel and wrapped it around his knuckles while stalling for an excuse. Beau honestly didn’t know what to say, because he didn’t understand what had come over him.

  “Spit it out,” Marc said.

  Beau sat on the matted floor and flicked a glance at his brother. The two of them had never been close—in fact, they’d spent most of their teenage years at each other’s throats—but they had a lot in common, like a deadbeat dad. It prompted him to ask, “Did you ever worry that you’d turn out like the old man?”

  From the way Marc’s chin dropped, he wasn’t anticipating that question. He glanced down at his captain’s hat, perhaps recalling all the years their father had worn it. “Maybe a little. I never wanted to repeat his mistakes. That’s why I always kept it wrapped when I took a woman home.”

  Beau sensed that his brother had left something unsaid. “But . . . ?”

  “But Allie pointed out something when we were dating,” he said, leaning forward to rest both elbows on his knees. “She said I was exactly like Daddy, just without all the kids.” He sniffed a humorless laugh. “I didn’t like hearing that, but she was right. I fooled around with half the parish and never stayed with one woman long enough to make it count. The only difference between me and Daddy was I had nothing to show for it.”

  “So in all those years,” Beau said, “you never slipped one past the goalie?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “What if you had?”

  “Gotten some girl pregnant?”

  “Yeah.” Beau pretended to inspect the bruised knuckles on his left hand. “What would you have done?”

  Marc shrugged. “The right thing, I guess. I would’ve manned up and taken care of the kid.”

  “Would you have married the mother?”

  A look of incredulity crossed Marc’s face, along with a nervous grin. “Let’s not get carried away. That’s a really bad reason to get married. I would have made sure she was taken care of.” Then he clarified, “Financially, I mean. I wouldn’t have used her as a permanent booty call the way Daddy did with our mamas.”

  Beau was glad to hear that. “I would have married her.”

  Marc cocked his head. “Married who?”

  Uh-oh. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “No one in particular,” he lied. “If I’d gotten a girl in trouble, I would have tried to make an honest go of it. That’s all I was sayin’.”

  Marc scrutinized him for a long moment. “Is there anything you want to tell me?”

  Beau pushed up from the floor. “Nope.”

  “So you’re all right?”

  “Yep,” he said, hooking a thumb at the battered punching bag. “You can take that out of my wages, Captain. I’m off to the shower.”

  Marc waved a hand in front of his nose. “It’s about damn time.”

  A grin lifted the corners of Beau’s mouth. Though he’d never admit it, he was glad Nicky had sent Marc down here. This chat had helped him understand what had been eating him, and more important, what he needed to do about it.

  On his way back to his suite, he sent Devyn a text. I need to talk to you. My room in twenty minutes. Won’t take long, promise.

  • • •

  Devyn’s cell chimed from her back pocket to announce an incoming text. With a bowl of bread pudding in one hand, she used the other to retrieve her phone and swipe the glass. Her heart jumped when she read the message, and she hid the screen so Allie couldn’t see
.

  “What does Beau want?” Allie asked from the other side of the island. “That was him, right?”

  Damn it. “How did you know?”

  Allie toasted her with a glass of milk. “It’s the Oh, shit! face. You only make it when he’s around.” She took a bite of her own bread pudding. “So what did he want?”

  “To talk.”

  “That’s probably a good idea.”

  “To talk in his suite.”

  A devilish smile spread over Allie’s face. “A very good idea.”

  “No, it’s a very bad idea.”

  Devyn hadn’t told her sister about the miscarriage. For all Allie knew, Beau wanted to talk about the weather. But that wasn’t what he had in mind, and Devyn had no interest in dredging up those memories. She had finally calmed down after three desserts. Besides, the last place she needed to meet Beau was in his bedroom. They’d be horizontal before the door clicked shut. “You know what happens when we’re alone.”

  Allie rolled her eyes. “It’s not like your pants will come flying off the second you cross the threshold.”

  “Psh.” Close enough.

  “Tell you what,” Allie said. “Go talk to him. If you’re not back here in half an hour, I’ll come up there and knock on his door. And I won’t stop until one of you answers.”

  “You would do that? Run booty interference?”

  “Just one of the many services I offer.”

  Devyn began to take her sister’s suggestion seriously. After the bomb she had dropped on Beau, it was only natural that he’d have questions. And aside from bedrooms—and closets—there weren’t many private places to talk aboard the boat. “Okay,” she decided. “But you might have to use some muscle to get me out of there.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes, seriously,” she said. Her sister didn’t understand the power of Beau’s sexual magnetism. “Promise that you’ll make me leave, no matter what.”

  “Fine,” Allie said flatly. “I promise.”

  “Just give me a few minutes to get up there.”

  Devyn made a pit stop in her room to splash cool water on her face. It didn’t do much to alleviate the puffiness beneath her reddened eyes, but the refreshing chill gave her a much needed energy boost.

  Soon she was standing in front of Beau’s door, every bit as nervous as when she had come to apologize earlier that evening. Beau certainly did have a way of making her heart race. She’d probably burned off a serving of bread pudding just standing here working up the courage to knock.

  She held her breath and rapped her knuckles on the door. Moments later, the door swung open and that breath whooshed out in a rush as Devyn fought to keep the shock from parting her lips.

  Beau stood there . . . wearing nothing but a towel.

  Oh, God. She was screwed.

  “I said twenty minutes,” he told her, gripping the white terrycloth at his waist. “I’m not dressed yet.”

  Yes, she could see that. In fact, she could see a lot of things, like the contours of his muscled shoulders and broad chest, his hair-encircled nipples tightened to hard buds. Her own traitorous nipples puckered to match. Her gaze was held hostage by the overwhelming masculinity of him, from the thick column of his neck down to his lean, powerful legs. He must have just stepped out of the shower, because water droplets rested along the ridge of his pectorals, and the scent of soap carried into the hall. Even with a burgundy stain over his heart and battle scars marring his flesh, he was a glorious sight to behold.

  Devyn swallowed hard. “My bad,” was all she could say.

  “Come on in.”

  He turned and strode into the room, and she followed, reluctantly shutting the door behind her. Maybe she should have told Allie to come in fifteen minutes. A lot could happen in half an hour.

  Don’t be stupid, Devyn chided herself. You can handle this.

  But then Beau dropped his towel, revealing the hard curves of his naked ass, and a wave of desire slammed into her with so much force she stumbled back a step. “Holy Mother of God,” she cried, still unable to look away. “You could have warned me!” Her fingers twitched to grab those muscled cheeks and hold on tight.

  “What’s the big deal?” Beau continued digging through his dresser drawer until he found a pair of athletic shorts and pulled them on. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

  “Common courtesy,” she said. “I don’t run around naked in front of you.”

  He glanced over his bare shoulder with the crooked grin that had always been her kryptonite. “Feel free. It wouldn’t bother me in the least.”

  Devyn took a moment to close her eyes and refocus. When she opened them, she did her best to train her gaze on his face. “You wanted to talk.”

  “Yes.” His playful smile disappeared and he took a seat on the edge of the bed. He gestured for her to join him. “Thanks for coming. I wasn’t sure if you would.”

  Devyn didn’t want to sit beside him, so she scanned the room for a less dangerous position. His suite was about three times the size of hers, but it was still small enough to put her within an arm’s reach no matter where she sat. She chose a cushioned chair in the corner. A couple of feet of distance was better than nothing.

  Devyn folded her arms. “I know it was a shock, telling you about the pregnancy like that. I figured you’d need some time to process. I mean, there was never an actual baby. But still.”

  “But still,” he agreed. “There was. For a few weeks, at least.”

  Devyn had never allowed herself to think of the baby that way. It was less painful to say her period had shown up late than to admit she and Beau had conceived a child and then lost it. “So, are you okay?”

  “I am now. But I was mixed up at first. Took a while to figure out why.”

  “It’s probably scary,” she said. “Knowing how close you came to being a dad.”

  “No, that’s not it.” Beau shifted on the mattress, leaning forward to lock their gazes. “But before we go any further, I want to say I’m sorry you had to face that alone. I should have been there when you took the test. Hell, I should have bought it from the store and held your hand while we waited for the lines to show up. If I could change that, I would.”

  She nodded to accept his apology. “It was a long time ago.”

  “I’m sorry all the same,” he said. “And what shook me today wasn’t the fact that we almost had a baby. It was that you thought I’d handle the situation like my old man. I’m not him. I would have stepped up, Dev.”

  Devyn didn’t doubt that he believed it, but she wasn’t so sure Beau would’ve done right by her. “It’s easy to sit here ten years later and say what you would have done.”

  “No.” He shook his head, his expression deadly serious. “I hated what my dad did to my mama. I watched him break her. I still can’t stand to be in the same room with him. I hate that I have his eyes, his smile, or any part of his DNA.” In challenge, he pointed a finger at her. “Did I ever mess around behind your back while we were dating?”

  Devyn shrank back. “I don’t think so.”

  “The answer is no. I don’t cheat, and that’s because I’m nothing like him.” Beau’s cheeks had reddened, and he stopped to suck in a few breaths. “If you’d written to me and said you were pregnant, I would have sent for you. It would’ve been me who broke the curse for the first time, not Marc. I would’ve married you, hexes be damned, and I would have loved that baby. Because I loved you.”

  He waited until she looked up at him before speaking again. “I need you to know that.”

  Devyn wrung her hands and willed away the telltale prickle behind her eyes. She was done crying over this man. “You and me, married fresh out of high school?” She scoffed. “We wouldn’t have lasted six months.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe not. But I would’ve bent over backward to try and make it work. Don’t doubt that.”

  Why was he bringing this up? Did he enjoy twisting her heart, making her reopen
wounds that had nearly healed?

  “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. What’s done is done, and the pregnancy was over as soon as it began.”

  “It does matter,” he said. Pushing off the bed, Beau knelt at her feet and braced both hands on the armrests of her chair, essentially trapping her in place. “You said we can’t start over because you don’t want my mother’s life. This is me telling you that won’t happen.”

  Now she saw where he was going with this. For a split second, Devyn understood how Beau had felt all those years ago when he’d panicked and skipped town. Her heart rushed and she would have fled if she weren’t blocked by two hundred pounds of solid man. He was too close, the heat from his exposed skin settling over her, weakening her resolve.

  “If you don’t want to give me a second chance, then fine,” he said, taking one of her hands between both of his, so strong and warm. “I’ll respect that. But make your choice for the right reasons, not because you’re afraid I’ll turn into my father. I’m not him, and I never will be.”

  Devyn needed space, but she couldn’t bring herself to push him away—not even when he tipped their foreheads together and slid his rough palms up the length of her arms.

  “Do you hear me, Dev?” he murmured while trailing his fingertips along her jawline. “Say you believe me.”

  Against her will, Devyn’s hands gravitated to the inside bend of Beau’s elbows, then traced the rock-hard curves of muscle all the way to his shoulders. His skin was hot and smooth beneath her fingers, an oh so familiar sensation she’d missed for far too long. Her knees parted an inch, and then another, allowing him to nudge his massive body in between. She didn’t want to run anymore. Instead, she locked both legs around Beau’s hips to hold him there.

  “Please.” He cradled her face while his lips brushed hers in a whisper kiss. “Tell me.”

  Letting her eyelids flutter shut, Devyn nodded within the confines of his powerful hands. “I believe you.”

  Using the tip of his tongue, he traced her bottom lip and she instantly opened for him. But he teased her with his mouth, nipping at her without getting too close, forcing her to lean forward and chase his tongue. “Do you want this?” he asked with another brush of lips. “I need to hear that you want me.”