Total pages in book: 170
Estimated words: 160791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 804(@200wpm)___ 643(@250wpm)___ 536(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 804(@200wpm)___ 643(@250wpm)___ 536(@300wpm)
I hear a knock at the bedroom door, followed by Beau calling my name. “Come in,” I shout, pulling a towel down and wrapping myself in it. I step into the bedroom as she pushes her way into the room. I catch a glimpse of Tank and Fury in the corridor, practically filling it. “Hey,” I say, taking a brush off my dressing table and starting to work my way through my wet tresses. “Have you been in the gym?” I take in Beau’s sporty-clad body. She looks magnificent. Tight black leggings that enhance her shapely legs, a sports bra that makes her tits look phenomenal, and a washboard stomach that I could file my nails on. Her blonde hair is piled high, her face fresh, her eyes alive and shining. Whatever she’s had, I want some. These past few weeks, she’s come on in leaps and bounds, working out, chatting more, smiling more. But more amazing than how amazing she looks this morning and the progress she’s made recently is the absence of sleeves. Her brutally scarred arm is out on full display for all to see. And as if she’s noticed I’ve noticed—how could I not? —she lays a palm over her forearm, as if her dainty hand can hide it.
“Too much?” she asks, immediately making me feel terrible. I’m not staring because I’m shocked.
“God, no.” I shake my head, ridding my hand of the brush. “I’m proud of you.” So proud. It seems while Beau is taking steps forward, I’m going backward. “Did you put sunscreen on?”
She rolls her eyes, going to my wardrobe. “Yes, I put sunscreen on.” She rummages through my clothes. “Come on, we have a busy day.”
“Doing what?” I ask, perching on the end of the bed, suspicious, wondering if Danny’s been in her ear, telling her to keep me busy. Undoubtedly.
“First, we have target practice,” she says, huffing. “Do workout clothes exist in your life?”
Target practice? “I’m no gym fanatic, Beau. The closest thing I have to sports attire is a wetsuit, and that’s back in St. Lucia.”
“Then this will have to do.” She whips out some yoga pants and a loose-fitting T-shirt. “Get dressed and get your gun.” She throws my clothes beside me and pulls her cell out from the back of her leggings when it rings, sighing at the screen.
“Your dad again?” I ask, starting to dress. “How many calls have you dodged now?” She’s doing anything she can to avoid seeing him, and I know it’s because she’s worried he’ll knock her back a few too many paces.
“He’s called every day.” Gazing at the screen, she visibly inhales and answers. “Dad.” She starts pacing, looking at the ceiling every now and then. “I’m sorry, I’ve been busy.” She turns toward me and shows the ceiling one palm, cringing. “Yes, I’m good. No, I’m fine.” Her hand meets her forehead. “Yes,” she sighs. “Tonight. Okay.” She tosses her phone to the bed and grimaces. “Can’t wait,” she adds to herself, looking at me with begging eyes. I don’t know why. There’s not much I can do to get her out of it.
“You can’t avoid him forever.”
She blinks a few times, seeming to completely lose the brightness she’s gained recently.
“Beau?”
Shaking her head, she joins me on the bed as I pull on my T-shirt. “My mom said that to me the night she died.” Looking at me, she smiles sadly. “She was desperate for me to make amends with him.”
I reach for her hand and hold it tightly. She might be telling herself she’s doing this for her mom, but I can see the lost little girl inside her. The one hidden behind the fierce cop and warrior woman. “How’s your uncle?” I’ve still not met him. If I didn’t know better, I would think he’s a figment of Beau’s imagination.
“Doc’s coming over later.” She pulls her hand from mine and reaches for her cell, tapping away at the screen before tucking it back in her leggings. “I honestly don’t know what to do. He’s a shell. It’s like the roles have reversed. He’s always been there for me, forcing meditation on me, trying to pick me up when I hit rock bottom, which was a lot.” She shrugs. It’s an offhand move that’s far from offhand. “Obviously he’s in shock, but I think it’s the unknown too, you know? He’s had no explanation from Dexter. No opportunity to try and understand. He needs closure.”
So does Beau. Someone she loved, someone she trusted, not only betrayed her, but delivered a blow, literally, that killed her unborn child and put Beau in a hospital. She’ll be lucky if she ever gets her head around that. “I hope you both find that closure.” I pull my wet hair into a ponytail, unable to face blow-drying it.