“Thanks. You’re not too bad yourself.”
She scowled. “I don’t think I’m that good.”
What?
“You underestimate your skills.”
“No. I never underestimate my skills.”
“Of course you don’t.”
“Meaning?”
“You’re very pragmatic.”
“So?”
I grinned, leaning forward and whispering hotly in her ear. “It’s very sexy.”
She shivered against me, gripping my shirt. “Would you mind repeating that? I didn’t quite hear you.”
I slid my fingers beneath the hem of her top, skimming them lightly around, from her stomach to her back. “You are very,” I kissed the skin beneath her ear, “very,” I trailed my lips down her neck, “very” I took a bite of her shoulder, soothing it generously with my tongue, “sexy.”
“Beau.” My name was a moan, a tortured sigh, the end of it catching in her throat. “How are you so good at this? Did you take lessons?”
“No. I told you, I practice with my pillow.”
Her eyes shone with amusement. “And one time with that watermelon.”
“You’re very responsive.”
“I am?”
“You are. Your body is.” To illustrate, I slipped my hand under her shirt and massaged her breast, rubbing my thumb back and forth over her nipple until it was hard. Then I brought her hand to her other breast. “Feel that.”
I leaned away as she palmed herself and then fingered the peak. “Huh.”
“How have you never touched yourself here before?”
“I do breast exams for cancer screening.”
“Honey.”
“It’s hard for me to—when it’s just me, I can’t—I overthink.”
I held her eyes for a beat, then lowered my mouth to her breast, tonguing the stiff center.
Her body bucked instinctively, her nails digging into the back of my head, and she gasped, “Holy Moly Moses.”
35
“Separation
Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.”
― W.S. Merwin
* * *
*Beau*
“Are you going to cry?”
Duane slid Roscoe a glare. “No. But you will when I punch you in the face.”
Roscoe grinned. “I’m really going to miss you, Duane.”
My twin rolled his eyes and sighed. “Stop being a dummy. Come over here, let’s get this over with.”
Roscoe complied immediately and crossed to Duane for a hug.
We were all at the airport—Jethro and Sienna, Billy, Cletus, Ashley and Drew, Shelly and I, Roscoe, and obviously Duane and Jessica. Jessica’s parents were also present, as was her irritating brother, Jackson James.
Our entire crowd was gathered outside the security line, saying our last goodbyes. And it sucked. Jessica’s eyes were rimmed red, like she’d been crying.
Cletus was in a particularly surly mood, pointing out that Duane’s luggage tags were “insufficient” and reminding him to watch out for pickpockets.
Sienna was a bright spot, though. She had us all laughing when things got too tense. Or, if that didn’t work, she’d talk about how terrible it was to be pregnant and make everything awkward with her oversharing—which eventually made us laugh.
Claire was there too. She’d hastily arranged to take the afternoon off and met us at departures. At first, she stood with Jessica’s parents.
But then Shelly motioned for her to come over. “Stand with us, with Beau,” Shelly whispered to Claire as she approached. “He needs you.”
My sister—my sister—smiled gratefully at Shelly, then gave me a softer version. “Are you hanging in there?”
“I’m fine.” I shrugged.
I am not fine.
I was very not fine.
I glanced at Claire, sliding my arm around her shoulders. Then I glanced at Shelly. She gave me a small kiss and smile.
I’m not fine, but I will be fine.
Duane took a big breath, glancing at his watch, and then at all of us.
“Well, time for us to go.” His gaze landed on me.
My chest hurt. And this sucked.
Jess moved around the circle gathered, embracing each person one more time. Duane came after, shaking hands with Sheriff James and Jackson, then giving quick hugs to each of his family in turn.
This sucks, I kept thinking, this is the worst. I hate this.
When Jess got to me, I gave her as big a smile as I could manage and accepted her embrace.
She held me a moment longer, whispering in my ear, “I’ll take care of him. I promise.”
I nodded as she leaned away, wanting to say thank you, but not trusting myself to speak.
This sucks. Fuck Italy, fuck airports, fuck airplanes.
Then came Duane.
He didn’t smile. He pulled me in for a hug. We held each other, and I remembered.
I remembered all the times I’d comforted him after a fall, all the times I’d kept him safe, all the times he’d needed me. All the times I’d needed him.
I don’t know who let go first, but one of us did.
As we separated, he turned to Shelly and—serious as shit—said, “You take care of him. He’s the best.”
Just as somberly, she nodded. “I will and he is.”
Duane moved to Claire next and I brought my arm back to Shelly’s shoulder, needing to lean on her. She placed her cheek against my chest and snuggled close.
I’m not fine.
We all stayed and watched Duane and Jess move through the security line. It was torture, but we did it. And when they were through, they turned and waved. Jess tossed us air kisses, and then—just like that—they were gone.
Gone.
I’m not fine.
I stared at the spot where they’d disappeared, part of me hoping they’d change their mind, another part of me knowing they wouldn’t.
It was time.
Our paths had diverged.
He was gone.
And I was left.
I’m not fine . . . I took a deep breath. But I will be fine.
“Where are you parked?” Shelly directed this question to Claire, rousing me from my contemplations. “We’ll walk you to your car.”
“You mean Jessica’s car.” Claire slid her arm around my waist and gave it a squeeze.
Life was moving on, people were talking. I forced myself to pay attention.
Ashley caught my eye and she crossed to us, shaking her head and wearing a teasing smile. “I see I’ve been replaced.”
After Duane and I told Claire about our maternity, and explained that within our family only Billy knew the truth, she gave us the go-ahead to tell everyone else. Unsurprisingly, none of our siblings—or our sibling-in-law—seemed to care two stitches that Christine St. Claire was our biological mother. But they all expressed happiness at the prospect of Claire coming into the Winston fold.
Well, everyone except Billy. He remained quiet on the matter until Duane had asked him point-blank what he thought about me asking Claire to Thanksgiving and Christmas.
To which Billy responded, “If she comes to Christmas, I’ll be the first to hang the mistletoe.”
We took that as approval.
But one thing was for certain: even if our momma hadn’t been on a pedestal in our minds before, she’d now been elevated to the rank of saint.