“You’re right. It wasn’t.”
The knuckles on his hand that hit the wall are purple and swollen. I don’t like seeing him hurt, physically or emotionally.
“You need ice,” I tell him.
He flexes his hand. “It’s fine.”
“What was she like?”
He makes a fist, breathing through his nose like he’s pulling in patience with each breath. “Don’t go there.”
“She was pretty. She looks nice.”
He glares at me, nostrils flaring.
“What do you miss most about her?”
“Stop it.”
I reach for the photo. He doesn’t stop me. I saw tons of pictures of Cassandra when I searched for interviews Beau might have given, but this one’s different. This one’s personal. It was obviously taken by Beau. There’s no mistaking the look in her eyes. He’s it for her—the sun, the moon, the stars, and everything in between. There’s a hint of sexual desire in the curve of her lips. It’s the smirk of a woman who’s been well and truly pleasured and looking forward to more of the same.
Sunlight makes the right side of her glow and her eyes look two different colors. She clutches her shirt closed. Or maybe she’s in the process of unbuttoning it. It’s hard to tell. Either is a seduction. What made him pick up the camera and capture this moment? What significance does it have for him? What was said just before and just after it was taken? Why did he choose this photo to look at every day? What does he see when he looks at it now?
He stares down at the picture in my hand. He’s unguarded. His love for her is naked and stark on his face. So is his loss. They’re intertwined. No one’s ever looked at me the way Beau looks at Cassandra’s picture. I’m jealous—I realize—of a dead woman. It’s so stupid I almost laugh out loud. What would he trade for one more day with her? Six years of loving and grieving. A quarter of his life. How much longer will he carry it around?
I hand him the photo. “You’re very lucky to have loved and been loved like that.”
He tears his gaze away from it to look me in the eye. “I know.”
“What does it feel like?”
My question surprises him.
“Never mind.”
“No. I don’t know. I don’t have the words for it.”
“Try.”
He looks for a moment like he’s going to cop out again, then changes his mind. “It’s…” He makes a frustrated sound and tries again. “Being with Cassandra was like…like the sun shining on me all the time.”
I close my eyes and try to imagine what that would feel like, but my imaginings are a pale wisp of the emotion in his voice and have none of what I saw in his eyes when he looked at her picture. Blinking my eyes open, I find Beau watching me. He’s got a funny look on his face.
“I tried to see if I could picture it. What you described. I can’t. I loved Javier and thought he loved me, but that wasn’t love. There was no sunshine.”
“Ah, Vera.” He brushes the knuckles of his uninjured hand along my cheek. “You deserve endless days of blue skies and sunlight.”
There’s a note of regret in his voice. He’s a tempest and I am too. There is no sunshine in either one of us. Together we’d be a perfect storm of misery, regret, and lost youth. I’m just beginning to learn all there is to Beau and I already know he’d be worth the effort if only I had something to offer him. I haven’t even started to unpack my baggage. He’s seen only the outside. He has no idea the horrors that lurk inside.
It’s just as well he shot me down. My past is a Pandora’s box I never want opened, and something tells me that Beau could be the one to release it all.
Chapter 9
Beau
It’s Sunday. Family reunion day. I haven’t seen my parents in almost six years. I’m not even sure why we’re doing this. Cora hums along with the radio to a song I know she doesn’t like. She’s plastered all kinds of expectations on this visit. She wants things to go back to the way they were before. Am I supposed to pretend I’ve been away at summer camp or college and came home for a visit? My parents abandoned me. I didn’t expect my friends to stick by me, but my own flesh and blood? Yeah. I fucking depended on them. I needed them. And they weren’t there.
All I had was Cora.
She has no idea how much her visits and letters meant to me. Even as I did everything I could to push her away, I looked forward to hearing from her, seeing her. I guess a part of me didn’t feel like I deserved her loyalty. She not only stood by me, but she was the only one who believed in my innocence. I really think my parents held on to their faith in me as long as they could, but in the end it couldn’t withstand a guilty verdict. It just wasn’t strong enough.