Page 31 of Live for Me

It was torture—pure, unfiltered damning agony.

Raw and broken.

Like the storm raging outside.

“I appreciate you coming all this way,” I murmured, trying to ease the sting. Those blue eyes met mine again as he reached up and pulled off his hat, revealing that golden blond hair I still dreamed of running my fingers through. “It means a lot to me that you still care—”

My words were cut off by his harsh laugh, his head tilting back, giving me a view of his strong, thick neck. I stood in place, watching him laugh at my words—at me—unable to move.

After a few moments, he shook his head as he looked back at me. “Right, now that the bullshit has stopped spewing from your pretty mouth, let’s get a few things clear,” he began, his rough voice growing harder with each word. His eyes lifted to my left and, without a word, he dropped his hat on one of my coat hooks before pressing both of his hands on either side of my head.

He didn’t have to bend down far to get on eye level with me. I was a tall woman, just like my mother. It was something that made us stand out in the crowd, and when I was little, I neverthought I’d find a boy taller than me. Then, Beau Marks crashed into my life on the playground. Our entire lives, he’d always been taller than me, even when I hit my huge growth spurt my freshman year of high school, adding another two inches to my five-foot-nine frame, making me five-foot-eleven—six-foot-two in the right heels.

Beau was six-foot-four, and even now, I reminded of how perfect we could have been.

He leaned in, his chest an inch from mine as he held my gaze. “I will always care about you, Abbie Spears. Don’t you ever fucking forget that, and don’t you ever—fucking ever—thank me for doing so,” he clipped, his minty breath hitting my lips.

“Beau—”

“Now, because you’re you and I seem to only have patience for brunettes with deep brown eyes and a fucking attitude, I’m going to give you three minutes to pack your shit. Got it?”

I shook my head, my hands balling into fists at my side. “Beau, I’m not going anywhere. I have work.”

“Take a fucking vacation,” he returned in a no-room-for-argument tone.

I felt a surge of anger then. That was Beau, stubborn and a borderline asshole. When he wanted something done his way, that was the only way. There was no highway option.

I lifted my hands, putting them against his chest, ignoring how amazing it felt to touch him again, to feel the warm, hard muscles underneath his damp shirt.

“You need to leave,” I said firmly. “Now.” When he didn’t move, I shoved against him. He only moved back an inch. “This isn’t any of your business, Beau Marks. Get the hell out of my house, or I’m going to call the police.”

His head ticked to the side. “Doubt they’ll come, baby. Like you told Ash, the police didn’t help you with your stalker, so why the hell would they help you now?” he asked, his voice soft againas I pushed against his chest over and over again. He didn’t move. He was stubborn, like a hundred-year-old oak tree, deeply rooted, unmoving even during harsh winters and unbearable summers.

I let out a growl of frustration as emotions gathered in my throat and more tears began to fall like rain. “I said leave.”

“You think you don’t have anyone?” he continued softly, ignoring my sounds of protest. “You think you have to fight all your battles alone, with no one by your side?”

I shoved against him as I shouted, “Leave me alone!”

He blinked and gave in, his hand falling to his sides as he stepped back.

Suddenly, I felt like I could breathe again, like I’d regained control.

“It’s been six years, Abbie,” he said thickly.

I looked at him as I moved away from the wall. “I can fight my own battles, Beau,” I shot back. “I don’t—”

“—you screaming and hitting me won’t scare me away,” he cut me off. My mouth closed as he muttered, “I can’t believe I have to fucking do this.”

Before I could ask what “this” was, he charged for me, bending and swooping up over his shoulder. I screamed in surprise, growling his name when he turned us.

My hair hung down as he moved, carrying me through the foyer. I shouted at him. I cussed at him. I pounded my fists against his back and kicked my feet. He said nothing, coming into my bedroom, his arms a tight, unbreakable band around me, pinning me to him as he flicked on the light, taking me into the closet.

Gently, he bent forward and set me on my feet.

I stared up at him in disbelief as he reached up, over my winter clothes to grab down my leather weekender bag I’d gotten incollege. “Glad to know some things haven’t fucking changed,” he murmured, holding it out to me.

I stared at it like it was a disease, chest heaving. “I’m not packing a bag, and I’m not going anywhere with you,” I practically growled at him.

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