As I’m pulling steaks and vegetables off the grill, my phone buzzes obnoxiously, vibrating toward the edge of the table. Stasi manages to catch it.
“Probably your brother.” I nod for her to check the message and rattle off the passcode. Hail tends to forget what time zone he’s in with his boyfriend across the Atlantic. He’s always had a one-track mind.
But when I turn around, a plate of steaming food in my hand, I realize my mistake.
“It’s not Hail,” I murmur, dread filling my gut.
She shakes her head and sets my phone back on the table, doing her best to hide her hurt behind a mask. Beau’s gaze moves to me. His eyes are hardened blue gems.
Fuck.
Grabbing my phone, I slip inside and open the messages from an unknown number sexting me. I debate calling them to cuss them out for ruining the night.
But I only have myself to blame for this.
Scrolling through hundreds of messages in my phone, I wait for any of the names to register. I don’t recognize ninety percent of them. They never mattered to me as long as they agreed to give me temporary relief from the shit I didn’t want to feel at the time.
I block the number before wandering back onto the patio with made up plates for the two of them.
“I’ll delete them. All of them,” I say.
Beau glares back at me, and I feel the weight of his pain. Almost as if he's questioning if I would have deleted him, too, had he not shown up here. I doubt it will make him feel better to know he'll always have a place in my phone.
I have to imagine I’ve tread on more than my fair share of feelings in one lifetime. I’vehurtpeople.
I’m hurting the two of them now, even if they don’t want to admit it.
“I didn’t ask you to do that,” Stas replies softly.
“I’m choosing to. I don’t expect exclusivity from either of you. Lord knows I haven’t earned it. But that’s what I’m offering. I haven’t been with anyone else since I came home, and I won’t be with anyone else for as long as we’re doing this together.”
Wide eyes hold me. I can’t say I’m not afraid, but my fear means nothing in the face of their happiness.
“No one else,” Stasi agrees.
Beau doesn’t answer. I know his trust won’t be so easily earned.
Moving over to Stas, I lean down to kiss her on the cheek.
“Only you,” I promise.
Then I move to Beau, dropping to a knee to press a lingering kiss to his jaw that makes him hum and melt just a little.
“Can we eat now, or are you going to carry on with sappy declarations?” he mumbles.
I knock the baseball hat off his head, unleashing his fluff of hair and a string of complaints.
As they both tear into the food, the vice-like tension around my lungs eases. I’m not good with words or showing affection or generally being a kind human, but at least I can cook them some comfort food. The rest will have to come with practice.
Beau holds firm to his guard throughout our meal, every now and then assessing me with a stern look. Part of me hopes he’s becoming protective of Stasi. If that’s the case, maybe he won’t leave. Maybe he’ll stick around to hold shit together when I inevitably fuck this up.
Stasi collects our plates and carries them into the kitchen after Beau agrees to wash them. He lingers at the table with me.
I brush my thumb along the back of his hand. “I’m sorry.”
He meets my gaze with heat. “For what?”
“For not replying. For hopping on a plane and never looking back.”
