Beard In Mind: (Winston Brothers, #4)

by Penny Reid

  And how did he know I was Beau and not Duane?

  “You’re welcome anytime. How’s Janie?”

  He did another quick once-over of the office—me included—until his eyes came to rest on his sister. Shifting back, I glanced between the two of them, seeing more than a family resemblance. They shared the same sharp angles, high cheekbones, symmetrical features, and hair color.

  Shelly stared at her brother steadily, but made no move to embrace him. Or greet him. Or otherwise welcome the big man.

  While she stared, Quinn studied her from head to toe, as though taking stock of goods rather than a person.

  “Janie and Des are great,” he answered finally.

  “Des?”

  His attention returned to me. “Our son.”

  “Y’all had a baby?” My grin was automatic. Babies were definitely something to grin about.

  He nodded once, his eyes flickering to Shelly and then back to me. “A few months ago.”

  “That’s so great. Congratulations. Jethro and Sienna are expecting in the spring.” After I volunteered this last bit of information, I cringed at my loose tongue. “Sorry, I wasn’t supposed to say anything. They’re trying to keep it quiet until after the wedding.”

  Jethro and Sienna were keeping their happy news on the down-low. My brother had just recently told us but no one else was supposed to know.

  “Don’t worry about it. I already knew. Congratulations to your family.” He said this evenly and genuinely enough, but his tone held an edge of reserve, distance.

  “Why’re you here?” Shelly finally spoke, though she didn’t move otherwise. Had it been prior to last night’s revelations, I would have presumed she was unhappy to see her brother. But now I saw her stillness as something quite different.

  She was happy to see him, I could tell by how her eyes hadn’t left his face since he’d walked in. She drank in his presence, basked in it, even as she held herself away.

  But she was also frustrated and anxious, and because of her confession yesterday, I now understood why.

  Quinn inspected his sister for a long moment, and then gathered a deep breath. “We need to talk. Privately.”

  “Okay.” She nodded, agreeing immediately and grabbing her bag from where it sat next to her feet. “We can go.”

  My eyes widened and a protest was on the tip of my tongue, but then good sense had me biting back the words.

  What was I going to do? Contradict the woman? Remind her that we had plans? Demand she see to her brother later?

  No. That way was nonsense, and I’d been raised better than that. He’d flown from Chicago, needing to speak with her privately. There was no call to insert myself.

  That said, good sense might have prevailed, but good sense didn’t mean her apparent disregard for our plans—and me—without a thought or hesitation, didn’t ruffle my feathers any. No excuse, soft words or promises, a suggestion of a raincheck, not even a look. It was like I’d ceased to exist.

  It was her indifference that stung.

  Shelly hurried to the door as I backed away, my shoulders coming to rest on the lockers as I waited for them to leave.

  A fair amount of surly disappointment must’ve been visible on my features because Quinn frowned at my expression, his hawkish eyes narrowing and sliding from me to his sister, and then back again.

  “Did I . . . interrupt something?”

  Shelly started, her gaze coming to mine, her lips parting like she was about to speak or she was caught off guard by my presence. It was as if she’d forgotten I was there. Or maybe she hadn’t forgotten, but had grown too distracted and absorbed in the shock of seeing her brother that I had completely faded to the background.

  “No.” I shook my head, giving Quinn a mollifying smile and waving them off. “Not at all.” Then to Shelly, I gave a single nod. “See you at work.”

  Shelly twisted her fingers, fiddled with the strap of her bag, her glare intense. She took a breath as though to speak, but instead snapped her mouth shut. Abruptly, she turned and disappeared down the stairs.

  My eyes moved to Quinn. He watched me.

  “Have nice night,” I offered easily enough, swallowing bitterness that tasted like disillusionment.

  “You, too.” His tone was distracted, conflicted, like he didn’t know whether to stay and question me, or follow his sister.

  With one final assessing squint, he turned, left, and shut the door quietly behind him.

  16

  “No great mind has ever existed without a touch of madness.”

  ― Aristotle

  *Shelly*

  The first thing I said to Dr. West on Friday was, “Quinn visited me.” Even though what I really wanted to talk about was how horrible I’d been to Beau.

  “What? When?”

  “Wednesday. He showed up after work.” I took the seat across from her, noting that the air purifier was turned off.

  “How is he?”

  “I don’t know.” Quinn was better at hiding his thoughts and feelings than I was. “He seemed happy when he talked about Janie and the baby.”

  “Did you embrace him?”

  “No. I tried to, a few times, but I couldn’t. Every time I got close, I choked.” I breathed out a laugh.

  “Is something funny?”

  “One of the times I tried to hug my brother, I literally choked. On a chip.”

  “Oh no.” Dr. West also breathed a laugh and gave me a sympathetic look. “What happened with the chip?”

  “Let me start at the beginning. After work, he followed me to my house. He still thinks—or I’m assuming he still thinks—that I have trouble in public places.”

  “Why didn’t you correct him?”

  “It didn’t occur to me. I was . . . flustered and upset about what I did to Beau.” Crap. Crap. Crap. There it is. I’m a terrible person.

  My chest felt too tight and my molars hurt.

  Why do my molars hurt?

  Dr. West gave me a commiserating smile, writing something down in her notes. “We’ll get to Beau in a moment. One thing at a time. Tell me what happened with Quinn. You choked on a chip?”

  I was thankful for the reprieve. “We arrived at my house and I put out tortilla chips and salsa.”

  “Good!”

  “Yes,” I agreed, feeling a little proud of myself despite everything.

  Before therapy, I’d never been able to think past the worries in my own mind when someone came to my house. Moving past the big anxieties to the normal niceties had felt impossible.

  I would focus on things that ultimately didn’t matter during a visit. Did they brush their teeth that morning? When had he or she had their last dental checkup? Were their parents still alive? And, if not, how were they coping with the loss? If a woman was in my house, I worried about her HPV vaccine status.

  But Dr. West had provided a checklist of the things I should focus on, like taking a bag or a coat and placing it someplace accessible. Putting out food, offering something to drink, asking about the person’s day.

  When she spelled it out for me, it made complete sense. Getting over my embarrassment—for not figuring this out on my own—took me longer.

  “Then I offered him something to drink. He said he could get it himself. I’d just taken a bite of a chip as he turned away, and I decided I would try. I could hug him. I felt a sense of clarity, really and truly saw how ridiculous my previous fears and avoidance had been. In that moment I believed it.” And I wanted to do it before the clarity passed, before the doubting voice in my head increased in volume.

  “Then what happened?” Dr. West was on the edge of her seat.

  “I stepped forward, planning to hug his back, and I took a deep breath, and I . . . inhaled a chip.”

  “Oh no.” She set her chin in the palm of her hand, shaking her head. “Don’t beat yourself up too much about it.”

  “No. The chip already did that,” I mumbled.

  Dr. West sat up straighter, like I’
d surprised her, and then barked a laugh. I also laughed, allowing myself to see the humor in the situation. But then I stopped, because ultimately, it had been a disappointing moment. And I’d spent the last two days mourning lost opportunities—not just with Quinn, but with Beau as well.

  When she spotted my mood swing, her laughter tapered. Her eyes, both warm and shrewd, examined me.

  “I count this as a victory, Shelly. Look at the big picture. You were able to move past being flustered, focus on the checklist, and you had a moment of clarity. Three steps forward, one step back.”

  I nodded, seeing her point, but still too raw over the events of the last few days to concede it.

  “What else happened? With your brother? What was his reason for coming?”

  I dropped my eyes to my hands. “He wants me to move back to Chicago. He wants me to be an aunt to Desmond.”

  “That is great. See?”

  “What?”

  “All your worries about Quinn, about him writing you off, about it being too late to be a part of your family. It’s not too late. Your brother loves you and wants you in his life.”

  “Yes. Yes, he does.” I should be happy.

  Be happy. Be happy. Be happy.

  I felt her eyes on me, still examining. “Why don’t you sound happy about this?”

  “I am happy.” I nodded, closing my eyes.

  I heard Dr. West flip through her papers. “When you came to me originally, your main goal—and these are your words—was, ‘Frequent, normal, affectionate interaction with my family.’”

  “That is still my goal.” And I needed to focus on it. I owed it to my family to put them first.

  She was silent for a moment before asking, “What’s going on?”

  I opened my eyes and tried to find the right words. “You are here, in Tennessee. I see a difference in myself, and I don’t want to lose that. I’m getting better.”

  And then there’s my art space, and my little house, and the auto shop and . . . and Beau.

  She considered me for a moment, still warmly, still shrewdly. “Did you show Quinn what you’ve been working on?”

  “Yes. He liked them.” I considered the accuracy of my words, then decided to amend my statement. “Actually, he loved the angels. He said he was proud of me, said it was the best thing I have made.”

  My face flushed, heated at the memory, but in a good way. After not seeing my brother in two years, I was glad we’d ended the visit with the angels. My brother didn’t smile often, he was more prone to observe than to join. His smiles and praise were a welcomed surprise.

  “Do you think he came to check on your progress?”

  “No,” I answered honestly. “That is not like Quinn. He knows, despite everything, if I say I’m going to finish a project for a client he’s lined up, I will do it. He did not ask about my progress. I was the one who offered to show him.” It was the least I could do.

  “Anything else you want to tell me about the visit with your brother?”

  “Two other things happened that you should know about.” A deep breath was required prior to continuing. “He is sending his plane in November for me to go to Chicago and visit. To meet Desmond.”

  Concern flashed behind her eyes before she could completely mask it. “How do you feel about that?”

  “Hopeful, but worried.”

  “Do you think you’re ready?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Dr. West considered me for a few seconds, her expression blank. “I suggest you be honest with your brother about the fact that you might not be able to hold your nephew—or touch him—while you’re there.”

  “I think he knows that.”

  “May I suggest you spell it out. Maybe it’s time to sit him down and explain what your diagnosis means, what you’ve been doing about it over the past several months, as well was what your goals are moving forward.”

  “I will think about it.”

  Her answering smile was warmer, less shrewd. “Good. What is the second thing?”

  This was less easy for me to discuss. “When we got to my house, the first thing he did was check my arms and legs.”

  Her expression grew sober. “But you understand why he did that.”

  “Yes.” I understood, but it didn’t make it any less humiliating. It had been humiliating when Beau tugged my arm toward him in the car on Tuesday, and it had been humiliating when Quinn had insisted checking for new scars on Wednesday.

  Dr. West’s gaze turned searching and she repeated something she’d told me at a previous session. “It’s very difficult for people who haven’t lived it to understand why others self-injure. It’s easy to assume all attempts at harm are rooted in suicidal thoughts.”

  I don’t want to talk about this.

  I slid my teeth to the side, forcing myself to respond. “I know.” But it doesn’t make it any less humiliating.

  She must’ve sensed my mood, because she changed the subject. “You said earlier that something happened with Beau?”

  “Yes.” I didn’t press my nail into the skin of my wrist, but I really, really wanted to.

  “Something about,” she checked her notes, “you said you were upset and flustered about it?”

  “Yes. I was very wrong and I need to apologize.”

  “This was after I spoke to him on the phone? On Tuesday?”

  I rolled my lips between my teeth. Unbidden, the memory of our kiss flooded my consciousness, suffocated me with longing to see him, to do it again, to make things right and apologize.

  “It happened Wednesday when we were supposed to go to dinner. But then, right before we left, Quinn showed up and I—” I searched for the right way to explain what had happened. I’d been so surprised to see my brother, surprised and excited, and nervous. And worried. “My mind became too loud. I didn’t forget Beau was there, I forgot I was there. Does that make any sense?”

  “Tell me what happened next.”

  “Quinn said he needed to speak with me privately. I heard those words, responded to those words, and said yes, then moved to leave with him.”

  “And where was Beau at this time?”

  “He was in the room.” I groaned this confession, covering my face with my hands and peeked at my therapist through my fingers.

  Dr. West leaned back in her chair, her eyes moving over my shoulder. “I see. You and Beau were supposed to go out and Quinn showed up unexpectedly. Focusing on Quinn, you didn’t think about your plans with Beau.”

  “Correct.” I rubbed my forehead. “I was so awful, it was awful. When I realized what I had done, I didn’t know what to say. And he looked so hurt.”

  “Have you talked to him? Since Wednesday?”

  “No. I worked Thursday. He had Thursday off and was scheduled to come in today after I left. He is probably at the shop now.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I was hoping you would tell me that.”

  This drew a small laugh from her. “You know it doesn’t work that way, not when what you’re thinking and feeling are completely natural.”

  “What is it I’m feeling?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Remorse. Frustration with myself, that I’m not normal.” I shook my head, studying my fingers. “Maybe he deserves more than I’m capable of giving.” No. I know he deserves more than I’m capable of giving.

  “You and I have discussed deserving at great length. And you agreed you would stop deciding what people deserve. What Beau deserves is his choice. What your brother and parents deserve is their choice. You can only be yourself. You must let them decide.”

  “You are right.” I nodded fiercely. “I decide what I deserve; they decide what they deserve.” It was a good mantra, so why did it feel like a cop-out? Why did it feel like an excuse for bad behavior?

  “What will you do about Beau?”

  “. . . Apologize?”

  Dr. West grinned, shaking her head at me. “If that’s what you want to
do, then apologize.”

  “I do want to apologize. He deserves it.”

  “And what do you hope will happen after you apologize?”

  He’ll kiss me again. And I’ll never make another mistake with him. I’ll be perfect. And he’ll want me.

  I twisted my lips to the side. “I hope he gives me another chance.”

  “A chance for friendship?”

  “No,” I answered without thinking.

  Dr. West turned her head slightly, like she’d heard me wrong. “Not friendship?”

  “I really want to be with him.”

  Ahhhh crap. Crap. Crap. Crap.

  Dr. West stared at me with wide eyes for a protracted moment, and then her features were awash with concern.

  “Yes, I know. I know this is not part of the plan.” I exhaled a tortured sigh, wincing at the competing and conflicting thoughts in my head, each vying for dominance.

  Think of your family. You’re doing this for your family.

  But Beau—

  You owe them, you need to make things right, you need to be the daughter and sister and aunt they deserve.

  But Beau is amazing. Being with him is so . . . effortless. Nothing has ever felt effortless before. And he wants to be with me.

  Maybe not anymore, not after what happened Wednesday.

  “Shelly . . . I’m worried this is very fast.”

  “I’ve known him for over a month.” I didn’t know why I was defending myself. She was right. I knew she was right.

  “Yes. And the month has brought many changes. You’ve made it through your first ERP. You’re working with and around people. You’ve made great progress in therapy. Beau is the first person you’ve allowed yourself to touch in a long time. It’s very natural for you to have feelings for him.”

  “But?”

  “But . . .” she stared at me, holding my gaze, obviously considering her next words very carefully, “is the plan still for you to move back to Chicago? When you’re ready?”

  “I’m being selfish.” I glanced at my hands and realized I’d been pressing my thumbnail into my wrist then rubbing my finger over the marks. The ridges soothed me, helped me breathe easier.

  “I wouldn’t say that. Tennessee isn’t so far from Chicago. I’m not going to discourage you from living a full life and I do not think you have to choose one or the other. It’s not a choice of being with someone or your family. But I will caution you to take things slowly. Let Beau know you first, let him see who you are before you invest too much.”