Chapter 29

“I’m fine,” I say. A little hot and bothered from watching you lay down the law, but otherwise fine .

He wraps his arms around me, and I hold on to him tightly, embarrassed when the backs of my eyes start to burn.

“What were you thinking?” He buries a hand in my hair, cradling the back of my head. “When I asked you to keep an eye on things, this wasn’t what I meant.”

“I promise I didn’t come here guns blazing,” I say, my head swimming with his scent—now mixed with Jimmy’s beer. “I tried to channel you and be nice, but…”

He pulls back. “But you’re Virginia Sawyer’s granddaughter, and that guy was looking for trouble.”

“Pretty much,” I say, my heart thrumming as we look at each other.

“You can press charges, Gemma,” he says.

I shake my head. “I just want to forget about it.”

He nods. “It’s your call.” His brow knits slightly, then his nose twitches.

“It’s you,” I say. “You smell bad.”

He brings his shirt closer to his nose and sniffs. “Nah. Not me. Must be you.” He winks.

Xena’s yelps get louder as she paws at our legs, and Beau looks down at her. “Okay, okay! Xena, Warrior Princess is getting jealous.” He bends down and picks her up, and she starts attacking his face, licking it feverishly. “It’s good to see you too, Z. Let’s get me out of this shirt, though.”

Yes!

For a split second, I’m worried I said that out loud, but Beau gives no indication he heard it. I have no idea why he’s suddenly here like a knight in shining, beer-soaked armor and how Miami went. Is his being back early a good sign for me?

We head for his house as he tries to keep Xena’s frenetic energy under control. She charges through the front door, stopping about ten feet in to make sure we’re still following behind.

“Ugh,” Beau says. “I smell awful. Why didn’t you say something?” He takes off his shirt, and my breath along with it.

I catch sight of the scar on his stomach again just before he disappears into the laundry room.

“I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow,” I call, taking a seat at the island in the kitchen. I’m burning with curiosity for the reason of his early return, but I sound casual enough.

He doesn’t answer my question. All I get is the sound of him rifling through things in the other room.

Maybe he doesn’t want to talk about it. Maybe he and Miss Miami are on the outs, and he’s gutted inside. That’s why I saw a peek of his angry side tonight—all of his emotions are just below the surface.

He emerges a few seconds later, still shirtless. Good grief, that’s a beautiful torso.

“Tristan must’ve moved my clean laundry to my room,” he says.

I smile, but it’s forced because what about my question ?

“I’ll be right back.” He disappears again—to find a shirt, I presume. Which is a real shame.

If he doesn’t want to talk about things, I don’t want to force it. I should probably just give him the update on Xena and leave.

He reappears a few seconds later, pulling on a black V-neck T-shirt. “There,” he says, satisfied. “How’d Xena do? Was she good for you?”

“The best,” I say. “She actually slept at my place yesterday. In my bed.”

Beau’s brows go up, and I smile, clenching my teeth. “Hope that’s okay,” I say.

“Yeah, of course. Did she whine a lot?”

“No, I just…felt bad leaving her here since Tristan wasn’t home much.”

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “I meant did she whine at your house? She’s pretty attached to her bed. She doesn’t like traveling, which is why I didn’t take her with me.”

“Oh,” I say, surprised. “No. No whining at all.”

Beau looks impressed. “She must like you a lot.”

Take that, Miss Miami. “Told you I’d win her over. How was Miami?” I play with Xena’s leash sitting on the counter.

“It was…good,” Beau says. “Short. But good.”

“Cool.” Is he trying to be opaque? I should just leave things be. It’s not my business. “I just wasn’t sure since I hadn’t heard from you.”

“Oh,” he says, taking the seat right next to me and angling his body toward me. “Yeah. I should’ve warned you I’d be going radio silent. My friend kind of hates technology, so I try to avoid using my phone when I visit her.”

My brows go up. “Wow. Interesting…” She probably hates technology because she sees it as a threat to her relationship with Beau—so many pretty girls on social media that might steal his attention. My curiosity about this woman is reaching monstrous proportions.

He puts his feet on the footrest of my barstool and spins me so I’m facing him. “I missed you.”

My heart leaps into my throat. I’m so confused right now.

“Am I allowed to say that?” he asks.

“Um, yeah,” I hedge, trying to keep cool. But it’s no use. I just need to know—need him to know that I’m not the type of girl who likes hanging out in limbo. “I’m just confused, I guess.”

His brows knit. “About what?”

“I don’t know. You, I guess.”

“Because you still hate me a little,” he says with a little quirk at the edge of his mouth.

“No,” I say. “Not because of that.” I look at him for a second as he waits for me to expound. “You just went to Miami to visit a girl, right?”

He frowns. “I mean, that’s kind of a weird way to describe her…”

“Okay, a woman , then. Whatever. Same difference.”

“Is it, though? I’ve sat through a lot of training that would say otherwise.”

I ignore his comment. “You almost kiss me the other night, then you leave the next day to visit a woman in Miami, which, yeah, I get that I said I wanted to slow things down, but I didn’t expect you to…” I decide not to finish that because I don’t know how to. “Anyway, you come home early and rush in to save me, and then the way you’re acting toward me now…it’s kind of confusing. Is there something funny?”

Beau’s trying so hard not to smile right now, but he’s awful at it. He grabs my hand and brings it to his lips, kissing the back. “Yeah. Something’s funny, Gemma. I did go to Miami to see a woman. I told you she was an old friend.”

“An old friend you apparently go out of your way to visit on a pretty regular basis and are secretive about. Can you blame me for wondering a bit?”

“ Old friend , Gemma. Both words are important.”

My brows knit. It’s not like the words old friend immediately preclude the possibility of something more. “Old friends can’t become new girlfriends?”

His smile just keeps growing. “Would you like to see a picture of my old friend? ”

I want to say no so badly. I want to be above jealousy and all those anxious emotions. But I nod. I can’t help myself.

Chuckling softly, Beau pulls out his phone and opens his photos. I look away instead of listening to my brain telling me to memorize whatever my eyes land on for later inspection.

He puts the phone in front of my face. “My old friend.”

I stare at the selfie: Beau cheek to cheek with a wrinkly old woman with white hair and sun spots sprinkled generously across her nose, cheeks, and forehead. A woman I recognize, in fact, because I saw her picture just yesterday on the gallery wall in the hallway. She’s the woman I assumed was Beau’s grandma.

“Old friend,” I repeat.

He nods.

“You really meant old .”

He nods again, then turns off his phone screen.

I look at him, trying to process what this all means. Beau has been going to Miami to visit an old woman. “But…everyone seems to think you’ve got a girlfriend there.”

“Everyone?” he asks.

“Grams and Deedee and Lu—and they heard it from others.”

He chuckles and grabs my hands again, and he looks down at them clasped together. “I don’t talk about Rose much. Or Miami.”

“I noticed. Why not?”

He fiddles with my fingers, and with his face looking down, all I can see is a bit of his furrowed brow.

“Sorry,” I say. “It’s not my business.”

“No, it’s fine. I want to tell you. I just don’t quite know how to explain it. Or where to start.”

“I personally vote for the beginning.”

He smiles slightly, then lets out a breath and releases my hands. He straightens to look at me. “You know my scar? The one you asked about?”

I nod .

He puts a hand to his stomach and rubs at it absently. “I got it in Miami. I’d been on the force for a few years. But I hated it. It was slowly sucking the life out of me. Every single day was so heavy. The violence, the corruption, the death. I was this close to quitting. But there’s a lot of stigma around cops who quit. It got to the point where I almost hoped I’d get injured on the job. To give me an excuse to be done that people would accept, you know?”

I nod again.

“Anyway, I was working a night shift, patrolling one of the wealthier neighborhoods in the precinct when dispatch comes in about a home invasion nearby. I hurried there—first one on the scene.”

I swallow, listening with rapt attention.

“I was supposed to wait for backup, and I did—until I heard shouting inside. I knew from dispatch that the resident was an elderly woman. I didn’t feel like it was right to wait, so I ran inside and identified myself to the intruder, who was standing on the edge of the living room with his gun drawn. Rose was in the opposite corner in her nightgown. I ordered him to lower his weapon, but the next thing I knew, there was a burst of fire in my stomach. I discharged my weapon and hit the guy in the shoulder. He dropped his gun and fell back. Rose came over and kept pressure on my wound until backup arrived a couple minutes later. It’s all kind of a blur after that.”

“Jeez, Beau,” I whisper.

He sucks in a long breath. “Anyway, she came to visit me in the hospital, and we just…”

“You went through something terrifying together.”

He grimaces. “Yeah. We became friends. Family, even. Once I got out of the hospital, I checked on her regularly—it’s got to be awful living alone after an experience like that. But inside I felt so guilty. Almost like I caused her that trauma by wishing for that kind of danger for myself. But I also just didn’t want to be in Miami anymore. It was too much for me. I couldn’t hack it. So I came home.”

“Beau,” I say, gathering up his hands. “You saved a woman’s life.”

“Did I? Or did I go into that situation to save my pride?”

I shake my head. “No way. I’ve seen you. I’ve watched you. I have video evidence”— I hold up my phone, and he smiles ruefully—“of the way you care for this island. There is zero doubt in my mind you would do the same thing you did for Rose for anyone on this island if you had to.”

His throat bobs as he looks in my eyes.

“Am I wrong?” I ask.

He shakes his head slowly. “No.”

I hold his gaze, wanting to be sure he understands that he’s not seeing things accurately.

“You’re amazing, Gemma,” he says, stroking my cheek.

I turn my head away, but he guides it back gently with his hand.

“You want to know why I’m back early?” he asks. “Because I couldn’t wait another sixteen hours to see you, Gemma. Pathetic, right? You asked for time and space, and I can’t even give it to you. I don’t know how much longer you’ll be on this island, and I felt like I was wasting precious time being in Miami while you’re here.”

I try to breathe normally, but breathing at all isn’t coming easily.

He smiles slightly. “Rose basically kicked me out once she knew the situation.” He adjusts in his seat, leaning more toward me. “Look, Gemma, I know you want space, and I want to give that to you. But I’ve got to let you know that if it were up to me, we’d be together.”

I swallow as his eyes stare into mine like he wants to be sure I understand.

“I get that you’re not ready to talk about things, and that my feelings are ahead of yours, so I’ll just ask the question I know you’re comfortable answering.” His eyes watch me intently. “Do you still hate me?”

I hesitate for a few seconds, trying to decide how to respond. I slip off the barstool until I’m on my feet, then step toward him so I’m standing between his knees. His head tips back to look up at me, his eyes watching my every movement with suspense.

I thread my fingers through his perfectly soft, brown hair, letting my hand trail all the way down to his neck. He shuts his eyes, but I feel a little shiver course through him.

My heartbeat intensifies as he reacts to my touch, and I bring one hand to his cheek, staring at the dark lashes resting on his tanned skin. I take his other hand in mine and bring it to rest over my heartbeat, then dip my head, stopping just as my lips touch his.

“Hate you?” I say softly. “No. I don’t think that’s what this feeling is.”

I press my mouth to his, and he’s ready, like he’s been waiting for me to give him the green light. Both of his hands settle on my waist, his thumbs pressing into my stomach.

It’s not the first time I’ve kissed Beau, but it feels like it is. Maybe it’s because I’m not fighting it this time. Maybe it’s because of what I know about him now—how deep both his goodness and the cracks in his confidence run.

All I know is I’m a goner for him. My head and my heart are no longer fighting. They’re laser-focused on reassuring Beau of what I think of him, what I want with him.

Our kisses slow until our lips come apart, and he lets out a satisfied sigh, resting his forehead against mine.

“Beau?” I fiddle with the back collar of his shirt.

“Mmhmm,” he responds, his voice tired and content.

I hesitate for a second before speaking. “How will I tell Grams?”