And now that dream is gone.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Beau
“You did what?”
I screw up my eye against the decibel level of my sister’s voice.
Her vehemence.
She can be loud when she wants to be.
So fucking loud.
“I don’t want to hear it, Milly.”
Milly drops the red-handled loppers she’s holding with a thud.
Putting her hands on her hips, she stares me down over the gigantic pile of fresh magnolia branches on the table between us. “Fuck what you want. You just let the best goddamn thing that’s ever happened to you walk out of your life without saying goodbye?”
I glance around the pavilion. It’s crawling with Milly’s assistants. Florists, the tent guys, a few of Samuel’s people from catering.
“That’s none—”
“What is wrong with you?”
I run a hand across my face. My stubble’s gotten out of control, but I can’t seem to muster the energy to keep it in check.
“Don’t you have a gigantic celebrity wedding to put on this weekend?”
An assistant in one of Milly’s matching blue aprons approaches with a clipboard. Milly quickly scans the pages, signs something, and hands it back with a warm, “Thank you.” The assistant turns on his heel and disappears.
“Sure do. But you’re delusional if you think that’s gonna stop me from chewing you out about what a jerk-off you’re being. Here, call her.” Milly digs her phone out of the front pocket of her apron and holds it out to me. “Call her right now and apologize.”
I look down at the phone. Not so much as a fingerprint smudge on its blank screen.
Milly may have the mouth of a sailor, but she’s fastidious—immaculate—in pretty much every other area of her life.
I look out across the lake beyond the pavilion, guilt clutching my windpipe and refusing to let go. We’re T-minus two days to what the gossip magazines are calling the biggest wedding of the year, and the resort is buzzing, despite the rain that refuses to quit.
It’s been raining since Annabel left.
So many fucking metaphors.
“You really are a coward.”
I look back at Milly. “Now is not the time nor the place for this conversation. Also, as I tried to remind you before you cut me off, what happened between Annabel and me is none of your fucking business.”
“Like hell it isn’t.”
“I’m leaving.”
“I’m coming with you.” Milly reaches behind her to untie her apron. “Time for lunch anyway. When was the last time you ate?”
I put my hand on my stomach as I reach for the answer inside my head.
I find mush in both places. Somewhere in the fog of my consciousness, I feel a sharp pang. But I can’t focus on it long enough to determine whether it’s hunger.
Hunger for what? Food? Annabel?
The certainty I once had that I was a good guy who was doing the right thing?
The hand on my stomach curls into a fist. Impatience, anger, doubt—everything that Annabel helped soothe comes rushing back in a violent attack.
She left less than twenty-four hours ago. And already I feel lost.
“Yesterday,” I say. “I think.”
Milly rolls her eyes. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You’re the one who fucked up.”
“By getting a brain injury?”
“No. No, that’s not what I meant,” she says, more softly. She hooks her arm through mine and together we head for the main house, tugging the hoods of our rain jackets over our heads.
Walking with Milly this way reminds me of Bel. How she linked arms with me as we walked the farm with Maisie in the stroller in front of us.
My sister and I eat burgers at the mostly empty bar. Well, Milly eats. I pick at my food, managing a french fry or two, before I order a beer.
Thankfully, Milly lets that one slide.
Neither of us says a word as I drink the local IPA in deep, slow gulps.
I get a buzz, but it doesn’t make the fog or the pain go away.
“I’m sorry about what happened to your head,” she says at last. “Really, I am. What happened to y’all—you and Daddy—it’s a tragedy. I’m not saying it isn’t. But your injury doesn’t justify the way you’ve been treating people lately. Annabel especially.”
“I know,” I murmur, gliding my thumb through the condensation on my glass. “Trust me, I feel horrible. I mean, I can’t fucking eat, for Christ’s sake.”
“So make yourself feel better and call her.”
I glance at my sister from the corner of my eye. “You know why I can’t do that. It’s better this way.”
“No, it’s not.”
“I’m trying to save her, Milly.”
“I understand that. Ever consider she doesn’t need to be saved, though? Annabel, she’s no damsel in distress. Yeah, she’s had a really tough year. But she knows herself. Knows her mind. She knows what she wants, and she wants to be with you. No offense, but who the hell are you to say that’s not the right thing for her?”