“Shit. Is Grayson still there?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure. I’ve been busy at the front; he may have left already.”
“If he has, it couldn’t have been long ago because he hasn’t made it home. Check, and if he’s gone, call him to come back. Let Grayson handle that jackhole.”
She’s right. I need zero contact with him.
Beau’s aware of Grayson’s ability to kick his ass so it’s definitely best to let him handle this situation. He’ll happily take care of the jerk for me. He’s not been pleased about the way things ended. “Okay. I’m going to find him now.”
I yank the door open and come face to face with Beau. Shit.
I attempt to pass but he catches my arm. “We have to talk, Peach.”
“That’s where you’re wrong because you have nothing to say that I want to hear.”
“Why did you take off on me?”
I look around and notice we’re gaining unwanted attention. “People are looking at us.”
“I don’t give a fuck. Let ’em look.” An older woman standing by the bathrooms gasps.
“This is my job. You can’t come in here and harass me.”
“I just want to talk.”
“And I don’t. Did you not get the hint when I didn’t answer the door after two hours of beating on it and ringing my bell?”
“I don’t understand what happened.” I turned his surprise for me into a surprise goodbye for him. That’s what happened.
He’s going to keep coming back as long as he believes he has a chance at persuading me to do what he wants. It’s time I snuff out that bit of hope. “My husband called and asked me to come home. We’re working things out.” Those words taste disgusting on my tongue.
“Why would you go back to that asshole after he cheated and left you for another woman?”
“We were together for four years, most of our adult lives. We decided it was worth another try.”
He stares at me blankly. “Then I guess there’s nothing I can say to change your mind?”
I shake my head. “Not a thing.”
He nods slowly. “Then I guess this is it.”
I need to shut this down immediately. “No. Two weeks ago was it.”
He leans forward, maybe for a hug, but I put my hands up to stop him. I step out of his reach because I can’t bear to feel his hands on me. I fear I’ll fall into his embrace with the simplest touch of his skin against mine. “Don’t.”
His forehead wrinkles as he studies me through narrowed eyes. He looks pained. Good. I want him to hurt the way I do.
He swallows hard and stiffens as he inhales deeply. He looks away briefly and closes his eyes before turning back to speak to me again. “I want you to be happy, Peach. If this is it, then I wish you the best.”
I can only nod, as my throat has tightened to the point if I attempt to speak, I’ll most likely burst into tears. I miss him. But he’s not what I need.
I watch him walk out of the restaurant and all I can think is how badly I wish he could leave my heart behind. But he doesn’t. It goes right out the door with him.
* * *
Beau’s appearance at the restaurant only makes the task before me harder. It’s been on my mind all day, penetrating every moment. But I’m scared. Scared shitless.
Three minutes. My anxious eyes won’t leave that stupid, fucking stick for a second.
No. No. Fucking hell, no. This can’t be happening. Except I’m looking at a home test that says otherwise. A second line. Pregnant. I took the morning-after pill. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Worst. Fucking. Luck. Ever.
I can’t believe this. I have unprotected sex with Beau one time, not even by choice, and I get pregnant.
I’m experiencing a case of disbelief. “This isn’t happening. It could be wrong. False positives occur.”
Except I already know in my heart this is real.
What am I going to do? I can’t have a baby with Beau Emerson. He is not the kind of man I’d want as a father for my child.
So many things to consider. Keeping this baby means I’m tied to him the rest of my life. Forever. I’ll never be rid of him. Him and his forever revolving harem. Bastard.
What kind of mother would I be to let him in this child’s life? Beau’s fucked up in a serious way so I have to consider how he might screw up my kid. It could be more harmful than beneficial to have him in his or her life.
But look at how he is with Ashlyn. He adores her. And he said he desperately wanted the child he lost. Could I really take a second child from him?
But that pregnancy was with his fiancée, the woman he loved and wanted to marry. Not a woman he met and spent eight days with.
I need to take a step back. I don’t even know if I want this kid. I need to make that decision before I can even consider this other stuff.
I collapse on the bed and succumb to the tears. I ugly cry like never before. I kick and scream, yelling at the top of my lungs. No one’s around to hear me, so I throw one hell of a hissy fit.
I give in to the exhaustion and close my eyes. Beau’s all I see behind my lids. And I hate it. Hate. It.
I want to forget how handsome he is.
I want to forget how good he smells.
I want to forget how good he felt inside me.
I want to forget how considerate he was.
I want to forget how cherished I felt.
I want to forget how he manipulated me.
Fucker.
That’s the last coherent thought I have before surrendering to sleep.
Chapter 12
Beau Emerson
Caroline stands in the living room doorway, her hands propped upon her hips. “This is so classic.”
My sister isn’t wrong. This is typical Emerson behavior she’s observing.
Georgia is playing their first football game of the season today in Texas, hence the reason we’re gathered around the television at my parents’ house instead of watching from our box at Sanford Stadium. This family bleeds red and black. Caroline knows we never miss a game. Ever. I’m not sure why she’s acting surprised by our enthusiasm.
“I apologize for giving birth during football season but it’s time for cake. Do you think it’s possible to tear yourselves away from the game long enough to sing Happy Birthday to Ashlyn?”
I’m not annoyed because Caroline scheduled this party during the football game, but I am pissed off because she arranged the entire thing around Anderson’s schedule. We’re the ones who take care of Ashlyn while he shows up whenever it suits him.
Caroline is still in love with him. It’s apparent in everything she does. And it makes me sick. I wish she would wise up and move on. I bet he has.
Anderson’s standing in the corner with a sullen face, his arms crossed. He can’t even get excited about watching his daughter delight in her cake. Asshole.
“You silly girl. You have frosting all over your face.” My mom grabs her camera and snaps a bazillion pictures. She fancies herself a photographer, and poor Ashlyn is always her subject since she’s the only grandchild.
All the Emerson men put the football game on hold and fulfill our duties: singing, cake and ice cream, and gifts. But when it’s all over, we’re itching to get back to the television.
“Your time is served so get your butts back in there and see what’s happening with the game.”
We file into the living room. Last quarter just started. “Georgia is up by fourteen,” my dad calls out. Hell yeah. Go Dogs.
Caroline comes into the living room and puts Ashlyn on the floor with a new toy before sitting on the arm of the chair next to our dad.
Sweet Ash. She has taken a few steps, but still prefers crawling.
“Who are we playing next week, Dad?” Caroline asks.
“Vandy.”
“Good. We’ll smoke them. I want to bring Hilary, if the jerkfaces haven’t claimed all the extra tickets.”
“Nope. Still have thr
ee.”
Caroline points at our brothers and me. “I’m calling dibs on one of them right now. Got it?”
“Depends. Is Hilary hot?” Wilder chuckles.
“Yeah, but she’s smart, too, so that means she won’t give you the time of day.”
Wilder shoots Caroline the finger, and she returns the gesture. “Back at cha, buddy.”
“Look at that, Beau. Ashlyn just crawled away from her new toy to go after that bunny you brought from Jamaica. I don’t think we’ll ever find anything that competes with it.”
Ashlyn rarely lets go of that damn bunny. I almost wish I hadn’t given it to her. I can’t look at the thing without thinking of Peach.
Angry yelling, and maybe a little mild cursing, erupts when Texas scores a touchdown. And I miss it because my mind has wondered off to thoughts about a vanilla girl. I miss her. So fucking much.
Ashlyn immediately wails. Shit. Their shouting scared her.
“Ugh!” Caroline picks up Ash. Even frightened, she never releases the bunny. “Papa and those loud boys hurt our ears, don’t they?”
The rest of the last quarter is uneventful, and it ends with Georgia up by seven. Not the win I was hoping for but it’s still a victory. Can’t complain.
I go into the kitchen where Caroline is hanging out with her friends. “Where’s Anderson?”
“He left.” Bastard couldn’t even spend more than an hour with his daughter on her birthday. I’d like to ask why, but I don’t want to make Caroline feel worse than she already does.
“Don’t, Beau.” Her eyes are pleading.
“I didn’t say a word, Caro.”
“But you want to.”
I shrug. “Not my business.”
There are two of the same paperback books on the table and a couple of e-readers. Seems a good way to change the subject since I don’t want to have this conversation again, the one where she tries to convince me Anderson loves her and Ashlyn and things are getting better. Such bullshit.
“What do we have going on here? Having a book club meeting?” I pick up one of the paperbacks and flip it over to read the back.
“No, Beau.” My sister grabs it from my hand, so I snatch the second book from the table.
“What’s up with you?” I study the sexy couple on the cover. “You’ve moved up to mommy porn?”
“This is none of your concern.” She makes an attempt to get the book but I’m faster.
“I’m not concerned. I’m just being nosy to annoy the shit out of you.” God knows she does enough to bug me.
“Caroline is making all of us read this book.”
My sister flings her hands up. “Thanks for throwing me under the bus.”
“I don’t mean that the way it sounds. It’s a really great book. Well written, while hot and sexy.”
My sister is barely twenty but I can’t think of her reading this kind of stuff.
I flip to a random page in the book and begin reading.
He’s into poly relationships. I’m not sure about the ins and outs of what they do, but I know it’s the big time. Miranda and Grant won’t even consider going there. Two women at once. I hear that’s every guy’s fantasy.
Holy shit. Why is my sister reading a hot and sexy book about polyamory?
“Two women at once?” Caroline has turned a bright shade of red. “Caro, what the hell are you reading?”
“A book, purely fictional, and I’m enjoying it.”
I don’t like this worth a damn.
“The book is not really about that stuff. You just happened to have gone straight to that part.” I have my doubts.
“Then what is it about?”
Caroline looks at her friends. “Can I get some help here?”
Emily steps up the plate. “The hero of the story practices hedonism and polyamory. Do you know what those things are?”
This is almost laughable. “Yeah.”
“Okay. Well, he goes to one of those sex resorts in Jamaica and meets a girl who doesn’t do all those things. They sort of start out being friends but things get heated. I’m only a third in so that’s all I know right now.”
Macy giggles. “I’m further along and I can tell you that things go from heated to hot, hot, hot.”
I know what that means. “This is a dirty book.”
“It’s sexy but the focus is on their relationship, not the sex, so that makes it romance.”
“I think he’s going to turn her kinky,” Emily says.
“Or try to make her one of his new threesome partners,” Macy adds.
This story sounds a little too familiar. “Why would a vanilla woman be at a sex resort?”
Emily doesn’t mind answering any of my questions. “She’s freshly divorced and heartbroken. Her best friends brought her as a getaway. But I want to know the friends’ story, too. I think that would be hot.”
Caroline is shaking her head. “Not me. I don’t want to read about swingers.”
No fucking way. Peach did not write and publish a book about us.
I study the front cover.
Hede by A.J. Clark.
Never heard of this person but it’s a little difficult for me to believe those initials are coincidence.
I’m sure this happens all the time—an author writes a fictitious story that parallels with someone’s real life. Except our story isn’t a simple one. It’s not the kind of stuff people can randomly make up without knowing something about it.
“When was this book released?” I ask.
“Why so many questions, Beau? You want to get in on our book club? If so, you’re bringing the cookies next week.”
I guess my interest does seem peculiar. “I think Phoebe is reading this,” I lie. And they probably know. She’s not exactly a book-reading kind of girl.
“You wish Phoebe was reading this.” Emily makes a show of fanning her face.
Caroline takes her copy of the book from me. “It’s a very popular book so she probably is. Or maybe re-reading because the installment from the guy’s point of view comes out next month.”
“Speaking of Phoebe . . . where is she?”
“Busy with work.” Truth is I didn’t want her here so I didn’t tell her, or Zoey, about the party. It’s always a problem when Phoebe participates in family functions and Zoey can’t.
I have two women in my life, and bed, and it’s never enough to make me stop thinking of Peach. Even when Anna James isn’t in the forefront, she’s lingering, always threatening to intrude.
It’s been more than a year since we shared the best nine days of my life. I still remember everything about her––the way she smelled, how she tasted, the way it felt to be inside her. But most importantly, how much she made me want to change into the man she needed me to be. I was prepared to do that for her.
I could live to a hundred and never forget those things. Peach was, and is, the best thing that has happened to me. No doubt. And I’ll never stop wanting her. Not for one fucking second. Doesn’t matter how many women come and go through my bed.
When I met Phoebe and Zoey, it had been almost six months since Peach turned her back on me. Half of a fucking year without her. I knew it was over. I finally accepted she wasn’t coming back to me.
What do you do when the love of your life moves on without you? You fake it. Because it’s easier to pretend you don’t care than to admit it’s killing you.
And it’s easier to slip back into old habits.
I hadn’t been keen to start up another poly relationship, but I didn’t have Peach. Wasn’t ever going to have her again. Nothing was stopping me, so I went along with it. But they’re not who I want. Simply a means for sex and getting off.
More than a year later I’m still pissed. And hurt. I told her I wanted her to be happy, but fuck if I didn’t want her to be happy with me. Why would she return to someone she knew would cheat on her?
Fuck. I’m a wreck now. She’s all I can think about. And now that fucking book, too. Hede.
Phoebe, Zoey, and I have plans for tonight but I call to cancel. I lie, telling them Judd needs my help at one of the flips. I send them on without me; they don’t mind. The two of them do not have problems partying without me. I sometimes think they could function just fine if I weren’t in the picture. And I don’t give a fuck.
I’m not sure at what point I made the decision to go to the bookstore. It’s a little bit like my Hummer drove itself there.
I find the book on the local author’s shelf and immediately flip to the back to see the author’s photo. Nothing. Just like the Internet. Not a single photo of this author exists anywhere that I’m able to find. It’s almost as though she doesn’t exist.
I scan the paragraph about her biography. Very generic and straightforward. Lives in Georgia with her cat. No mention of a husband or children.
I read the description of the book. When I finish, I’m certain there is something to this. No one could write fiction so near the truth without having experienced it.
Fuck it. I’m buying this book. I have to know if this is our story. Because if it is, maybe I’ll finally get the answers I need about what happened the day Peach left me in Jamaica. Because I don’t believe for a second she was stupid enough to go back to a man who fucked her over the way her ex did. She’s way smarter than that.
I thought what we had was real.
The first thing I do when I get home is change. I grab a Stella and fall onto my leather sectional, novel in hand. I thumb through to see how many pages are in this big bastard. Three hundred sixty-nine. And the print is small. It’s at least an inch and a half thick. I haven’t read a book that size since . . . ever.
I’m stalling. I don’t want to start reading this book because I’m chickenshit. I’m afraid A.J. Clark is really Anna James Bennett. I’m terrified this story is actually mine with Anna James. It could mean finding out things better left unknown.
Stop being a pussy, Beau.