The second Beau tells me there’s a job going at Ford’s Garage, I’m straight on the phone.
Is it what I want? Far from it. The problem is though, I need something to keep me going, or I’ll blow through my money and have no cushion to fall back on. How embarrassing to be living with Beau and having to ask if I can borrow money.
The thing is, I know he wouldn’t care. If the seventy-five times he assured me that I don’t need to leave as soon as I have a job is any indication, I’d say he likes me and wants me around.
Either that or he’s more awkward than I thought.
From what Marty says, Beau is loaded after selling a bunch of rights to his books. I don’t understand how any of it works, but I do know publishing isn’t an easy business to make it in, so if he’s doing all right, he must be good.
I focus on the rock music playing in the large garage instead of what I’m going to find as I reach under the front passenger seat of this car I’m detailing. My hands close around something and pull out … I cringe. I don’t want to know. This is not what I had in mind when I finished college, that’s for sure.
Or on my wedding day.
Or when that fucker and I bought our apartment.
I grit my teeth and push that thought away because it’s done now. This is temporary, and I’m not going to let him affect my life moving forward.
I tilt my head to see if there’s anything else left under there before moving on.
As far as bosses go, Ford is cool. If the rumors are true, he’s done time, and while he’s rough around the edges, I like him. He’s no bullshit.
It makes up for the pay being shithouse.
Since starting this job, I’ve seen a lot less of Beau, so I guess it doesn’t matter what the pay is like when I can stay there indefinitely anyway. He’s either out of the house or napping in the afternoons, and some mornings when I’m up beginning my day, he’s only just going to bed. Without crossing paths, it’s like having the apartment to myself.
And it’s a nice apartment. Especially now that it’s clean.
But I know what Beau means about being lonely. I’ve lived with someone almost all my life, from home to the college dorms to the shared house. I spent a couple of years solo, and then that fucker came along, and we’ve lived together ever since. So now whenever I see Beau, I basically jump on him for company.
I’ve never been needy before, but I like having a friend, and his lack of attention makes me want it more.
I’ve got friends still around, and I’m catching up with Art again soon, but having someone in my own space to shoot the shit with is maybe my favorite thing.
I still think having a roommate at my age is pathetic, but maybe I want one anyway.
Besides, I like Beau’s nosiness. When some people ask about the separation, I can tell they’re after gossip, but Beau actually gives a shit.
Keeping the house clean isn’t enough for what he’s done for me. That part’s easy. Despite the epic mess I walked into, Beau isn’t actually a slob. Sure, I’ve had to remind him about garbage left on the counter a few times, but otherwise it’s not a big issue. He’d left the cleaning for too long until it had backed up to unreasonable levels.
I don’t understand him. But I don’t need to, I guess.
When I get off work, I swing by a Thai place on the way home to pick us up dinner. If he’s sleeping, he can reheat it, but I keep my fingers crossed he’s awake.
And when I get home, I’m in luck. Beau’s at his desk, frantically typing, and I like the sight of him working rather than staring off into space.
I try to keep quiet and not disturb him, but even when I pop the food in the fridge he doesn’t notice, so I assume that he’s deep into whatever it is he’s working on. I leave to shower and change, but he’s still going when I come back out again.
I have no idea what the etiquette is here. Do I let him know I’m home with food? Eat my half and leave his? Wait to eat together?
My empty gut groans its disapproval at that.
Yeah, I’m not waiting.
Before I can open the fridge, the steady, rhythmic typing stops, and Beau spins in his chair. “You’re home.”
He looks like he’s coming out of a daze as he blinks rapidly, glasses halfway down his nose and usually neat curls a frizzy mess. There’s food down the front of his shirt, but I hold off from pointing it out.
“Have been for a while, but you were clearly busy.”
His face flushes, which is interesting, before he hurries to switch off his screen. “It was nothing, just messing around.”
“Not on your book?”
“Nope.”
“Well then, I don’t feel so bad about interrupting you.” I grab the food from the fridge. “I picked up dinner and thought we could chill and watch a movie or something if you don’t have plans?”
“I don’t.”
I smile at how fast the words come out. His brand of awkward is fun. “Good. Well, I’ll plate up if you want to get us drinks?”
“The hard stuff? Because I have to say, I need it after this week.”
“You and me both.”
We grab everything and head through to the living area to eat in front of the TV.
Only, he doesn’t make a move to switch the TV on.
“You okay?” I ask.
Beau pulls a face. “Marty wants to set me up with someone again.”
“Well, that’s good.”
He doesn’t look any happier though.
“Right?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t like the dating scene. Of the last three guys he’s set me up with, the first one I forgot about the date and stood him up, the second was scared off by the end of the first date, and the third hung around for a few weeks of banging and then totally ghosted me.”
“Ouch.”
“Yes. See why I need your help?”
Annnnd we’re back on that. “How do you know my brother doesn’t have terrible taste in blind dates?”
“Just things they said. I really hate the getting-to-know-you part.”
“Well, that part is a necessity. You can’t build a good foundation with anyone unless you know them first.” And even as the words leave my mouth, I realize how ridiculous they are. “Actually, don’t listen to me. I spent seven years getting to know my husband before we took that step, and fat lot of good that did me.”
“That wasn’t your fault.” Beau’s tone is harsher than I’m used to hearing, and his cheekbones are going red the way they do when he gets angry. I shouldn’t enjoy him being pissed off on my behalf anywhere near as much as I do.
I manage a tight smile, because there are days where I wonder if it was. “I guess once I get in gear and have the paperwork organized, I won’t need to worry about it again.” I’m about to start eating when Beau responds.
“You deserved better.”
It makes me laugh. “Doesn’t anyone? I trusted him more than anyone I knew, and then he went and did that to me.” I swallow back my words. “My point is, maybe you’ve got the right idea. Relationships are too much work. Once I have a proper job, I’ll get my own place, then hook up all I like, but fuck dating.”
“You’re going to give up on relationships?”
“I’m forty.” I shrug. “I might not feel it or act it some days, but the older I get, the less time I have for bullshit. And after what I’ve been through, I’d like to do everything I can to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
Beau’s voice drops low. “Do you still love him?”
“Is this for another one of your characters?” I ask dryly. He ducks his head, and I take pity on him. “In some moments I do. In some weak moments where I wish he’d show up and apologize and we could go back to everything being the way it used to be.”
“And in others?”
There’s something in the way he asks, like he knows he shouldn’t but can’t stop himself, that amuses me. “You really can’t help it, can you?”
“Sorry.”
“Why don’t I believe you?”
His lips twitch, and it draws my attention to how full they are. “I might struggle with a brain-to-mouth filter when I’m curious.”
“Well, we can’t have you being curious, can we? Most of the time, when I’m not being a whiny moron, I know this is better, and I hate him for the choices he made. I’d be happy if I never saw him again.”
“Well, no one is going to tell him you’re here.”
“Another reason why moving from Marty’s was a good idea. You’re a total lifesaver, you know that?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “It’s just a spare room.”
“It’s so much more than that, and you know it.”
“Okay.” He bites his lip like he’s trying to hold back another question. It doesn’t work. “Since I’m a lifesaver, can I ask another personal question?”
“The last few weren’t enough for you?”
“I’m very, very curious.” His innocent expression has a mischievous tinge to it that has me folding like a clipped hurdle.
“Fine. One question.”
“Oooh, we could make a game of it. One question per day.”
“I’m not sure I’m interesting enough to get more than a week out of that game, but go for it.”
His excitement dims slightly as he drums his fingers on the coffee table we’re eating at. Then his blue eyes collide with mine. “How did you find out?”
I cringe, automatically reaching up to rub my chest. There’s a sting there, but it feels more like betrayal than loss now. “You want me to reopen that wound, huh?”
“Okay, maybe let’s skip that question. Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
The odd thing is, though, I don’t mind. I tap Beau’s forearm to cut off his apologies and then smile. “Well, you already know the condensed version. I caught him red-handed, smashed his laptop, and took off out of Boston before he was done teaching for the day.”
“And now the real version?”
The real version is something I’ve been trying to forget, but Beau asking doesn’t feel weird. It doesn’t make me angry or embarrassed, only resigned.
“The real reason is I was sent a link to his OnlyFans page and found two years’ worth of video evidence of him cheating on me.”
Beau’s eyes shoot wide and make me feel vindicated. “Two … years?”
“Yup. Who knows how much longer it was happening though.” And for some reason, I’m hit with this stupid, reckless urge. The same urge that slams me in the face late at night when I pull up his page and force myself through one of the damn videos. “Can I show you?”
Beau’s clearly surprised, probably because of how closed off I’ve been about it all, and now I suddenly want to drag him into it.
“Porn?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Starring your ex-husband?”
I screw up my face. “You’re right, that’s weird.”
“No. It’s … yes. Show me. As long as you’re, you know, okay with it.”
“Truthfully, the day I found out isn’t the only time I’ve seen it.”
He tilts his head. “What, you watch it?”
“Whenever I’m scared I might go back.”
“Don’t.” The word is soft and hesitant, but I catch it in the quiet.
“It’s not like I want to. I’m … weak.”
“Excuse me?”
I rub my jaw, not used to talking about feelings like this. “Sometimes. It’s been a big change, you know?”
“Okay, I hated him before, and then I hated him again for doing this to you, and now I hate him a bit more for making you doubt that you’re a strong, badass motherfucker. Where’s this porn?”
I blink at Beau, hardly prepared for that little outburst. Instead of commenting on how much I appreciate it, I pull out my phone. Then I navigate to the account I’m still subscribed to and try to ignore how the number of subscribers has only increased since I posted my video.
I like to pretend that doesn’t hurt.
Beau takes my phone, and before he clicks on the first video, he glances at me. “You sure about this?”
“It’s fine. I’ve watched that one enough times I’ve desensitized myself to it.”
His thumb hovers over it a couple of seconds more. “Fine.” He hits Play.
I try not to hurl.
It’s one thing to watch this privately and feel humiliated, it’s another to watch Beau’s face as he watches it and see the horrified expressions play out. He looks disgusted. Shocked. Angry. When the sound of skin slapping together as they fuck plays out through the speakers, Beau closes the video and sets my phone on the table in front of us.
To my surprise, his eyes are glassy. He swallows, frown deep, eye contact unwavering.
“That is so completely fucking unacceptable. I—” He growls, and then he grabs me and yanks me into a hug. His arms close tight around my shoulders, and something inside me snaps.
Lizzy and Marty have both hugged me since, and so have the girls, but none of them felt like this. Like Beau’s trying to force my shattered pieces back together.
I don’t cry, but I want to.
Instead, I grip him to me, not wanting to let go.
All the anger and embarrassment I’ve been living with loses hold on me, and for the first time since, I have … hope. Like things can actually get better.
“You deserve so much more than that loser could ever give you,” he says.
I drop my forehead to his shoulder. “Thanks.”
He clears his throat, and when he pulls back, I force myself to release him.
“I think you should unsubscribe,” he says.
A few minutes ago, I would have argued, even though I know he’s right. Instead, I pick up my phone.
“I think I should too.”
“Go on, then.”
I unlock my phone, then stop, surprised at how hard this is. I could give it to Beau and make him do it, but I want to be the one to take that step. I peek over at him. “I know you just said a bunch of awesome things about me, but I need some help here.”
“What can I do?”
I wriggle closer to him until I’m leaning against his body. “Another one, please.”
He laughs as he wraps an arm around my shoulders, and then we both watch as I follow through.
“There, feel better?” he asks.
“I do.” And it’s probably not for the reason he thinks.
