The Love That Split the World(79)

“Good. We’ll be back on the twenty-first,” Mom says. “We’ll have to make the most of our last week together.”

I get up and throw my arms around them both. “Thank you so much.”

“We’re just happy you’re taking care of yourself, honey,” Mom says. “If three weeks apart can make a difference, then so be it.”

“I promise you it will,” I say. Three more weeks to work, three more weeks with Beau. As sad and strange as it will be to miss the trip, this is the best parting gift my parents could have given me. I’m going to find a way to make these three weeks stretch and last, use every second to make a memory I can hold on to. “Thank you.”

Dad stands behind Mom’s chair and squeezes her shoulders. “It’ll be good practice for us, for while you’re at Brown. Where you will be going. No matter what.”



Beau comes to pick me up that night, same as always, but this time he’s still covered in grease from work and his eyes are bloodshot.

“Hey,” I say, climbing in beside him.

“Hey.”

“You look tired.”

“You look beautiful.”

I turn my smile down toward my lap. “I have news.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“I’m skipping out on family vacation,” I answer, meeting his eyes. “I have a few more weeks here.”

“Really?” The barest hint of smile climbs up the side of his mouth, and I want to do whatever it takes to make it stay. “We gotta celebrate.”

“Oh, we do?”

He nods. “However you want. It’s your night.”

“Anything?”

He nods. “Name it.”

I glance out the window, considering asking for the moon or the stars, but tonight the small things Beau can give me are bigger and brighter than the lights in the sky. “Cereal,” I announce, and Beau laughs and pushes my chin down with his thumb.

His voice lowers, softens, filling the car with heat. “You wanna come over for cereal, Natalie Cleary?”

“I do, Beau Wilkes.”

We drive in silence, and when we get to Beau’s house, we see his brother’s Buick parked outside, headlights on and glowing across the unkempt, weed-ridden lawn. Beau leads me inside, the screen door whining, and the man I saw fall-down drunk a couple of weeks ago sits up on the dull brown couch, lifting a beer bottle into the air in greeting. “Who’s this?” he says.

“Mason, this is Natalie,” Beau says. “Natalie, this is my brother.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say.

Mason furrows his brow over his already squinty eyes. “Natalie.” He nods sharply. “Why don’t you go get a beer out of the fridge and come tell me what a girl like you is doing hangin’ out with my brother?”

“I lost a bet,” I say, following Beau straight through the living room.

“No doubt,” Mason calls after us. “When you get sick of him, I’ll be here.”

“Left your headlights on,” Beau calls back.

We don’t go to the kitchen, and instead head down the unlit hall toward Beau’s bedroom. He crouches in the corner between his bed and the Holy Credenza, twisting on the lamp sitting on the floor. I stand in the doorway, chest heavy, as I watch the sharp lines of muscle shift across Beau’s back under his shirt. He sits back on the bed and says, “You gonna come in?”

I close the door behind me and sit beside him, staring into the browns and greens and golds of his eyes before my gaze travels down over his neck and shoulders, his chest and stomach, his legs. I look back up and he leans forward over me, his hair falling against my face, his mouth hovering over mine. Slowly, he brings his hand to my cheek. “Hey.”

I cover his hand with mine. “Hey.”

Beau shifts closer to me and gently tips my chin up so we’re breathing into one another, our chests expanding to press against each other with each inhalation. I close my eyes, and his mouth trails down to the hollow of my throat, his tongue brushing my skin. “Beau,” I barely whisper.

He lays me back against the bed and lies over me, his hand skimming down to my hip. “Beau,” I say again into his mouth. His bottom lip catches my top for an instant, making him smile.

“Natalie,” he whispers back.

I lift my fingers up to his neck, and he shudders under my touch. He turns his mouth into my palm and kisses it gently, and my hand slips down to curl around the collar of his T-shirt as he lowers himself until our bodies are aligned, warm against one another, our mouths barely touching. Every space between us aches. Every part of him feels warm and magnetic over me.

We’re both breathing heavily, and I run my lips over his, parting them and leaving another space between our open mouths. “Say my name again,” he says, faintly smiling.

“Beau.” He kisses me. Deeply, softly, warmly. My hands slide up his back as I lift myself closer to him.

“You feel so good,” he says against my ear. I pull his belt loops closer to me, and he groans. I can’t think clearly, and I’m fighting an urge to whisper that I love him. The words replay in my mind as he kisses me more fiercely, and I don’t know if it’s a habit from making out with Matt or if I really do love Beau Wilkes already, but I know I don’t want to run. I know when I’m with him, I want to hold back all the darkness for him, like I feel he does for me.