Chapter Twenty
Rick
“What are you doing?”
Beau’s voice cuts through the darkness of the living room. I’m living dangerously and sitting on the floor in the corner sipping Glenlivet, hiding, waiting for Devyn to leave for Portland. She’ll pack up her things and move back to Cedar Hill, work at the Times, and be the journalist I know she can be.
I didn’t tell her goodbye.
I didn’t have the heart.
“What’s it look like?”
He sits on a chair close to me, rests his elbows on his knees. “Are you hurting?”
Beau means my back, my hip, my arm, my leg, and those places do hurt. When I climbed onto the second floor, I strained my shoulder and now my whole body is paying for it.
I raise my glass, the liquor slightly relaxing me. Always careful not to fall back on the short-term relief, cutting myself off after a couple fingers every time. “Not anymore.”
“Did you end it with her then?”
“Not in so many words.”
Devyn’s smart. She got it. She hasn’t tried to reach me since I left her hospital room, and that was three days ago. From what Beau’s told me, she’s been staying at his penthouse, giving her statements to the police department, going over her side of things until they were satisfied. A contact at the Times told me she went up and had a meeting with Newsom. Probably ironed out her position, her salary.
I’m happy for her.
“Rick, I love you like a brother, so excuse me when I ask,what the fuck are you doing?”
I drain my glass. “I can’t live here.”
“Rick—”
“When Stevie took her shots at Devyn and I came back, I never thought it would be for good. This doesn’t have anything to do with my accident, it has to do with my mental health. Maybe the memories don’t help, maybe knowing Renata still lives in the city doesn’t help, maybe this fucking penthouse doesn’t help, but I’m not strong enough to move back to Cedar Hill. I can’t. You want me to work more, and I get that. You’ve been carrying the load for a long time, and I can’t ask you to do more. I’ve been thinking about how to have both, and I want to open a branch in Old Harbor.” I hold my hand out, and Beau hauls me to my feet. I limp toward the kitchen and rinse out my glass. Any more and I’ll get shitfaced, and I can’t with the mild painkiller I finally took to relieve some of my pain.
If Devyn were here, I could have asked her to rub me down, but she’s not and I’m damned lucky I didn’t grow dependent on her. She’s just as dangerous as the booze and the painkillers.
Her fucking green eyes see everything, and she’d call me out. She’d call me a coward, but surprisingly, Beau doesn’t.
“Is there room for growth up there?” he asks, leaning against the wall, his arms and ankles crossed, considering.
I nod, grateful I did a little research so I’d have something to shove at him if he asked. “There is. Lots of lakeside property up for grabs. Old Harbor’s population is declining. They aren’t immune to the problems having Sweet on the streets can do to a town. I can help build it up, pay them back for giving me a place to lick my wounds.”
“What about Devyn?”
“What about her?”
“You’re in love with her, that’s what.”
I run the faucet and fill my glass with water. “She can do better than an old fool who can barely move. She’ll meet someone at the paper, and they can run around the world together writing up articles and making the world a better place. She’s proven she’s got the chops. She’ll hit it big.”
Beau scoffs. “Come on. You don’t believe that any more than I do.”
“What?” This conversation is starting to annoy me. “I almost didn’t find her because I nearly wasn’t strong enough to pull myself up to the second floor. Do you know how easy that would have been for me before the accident? Now, five days later, I still feel like I got hit by a truck. I should have looked into the accident myself. You told me to pull my head out of my ass, and I never did. She could have died because she was brave enough to do what I was too cowardly to do. She can do better, Beau. Stop trying to tell me otherwise because you know it’s true.”
He stares at me, and I use every single ounce of willpower I can muster not to fling my glass against the wall.
“Okay. You’re right. You’d rather sit in your lighthouse locked away from the world with no contact with anyone. Sure. Tell yourself you’ll open another M&H branch if that will ease your conscience. Go for it. You have my blessing. I’ll keep on here, finish the hotel after OSHA clears it—again. MaybeI’llhave my wedding reception in the ballroom.”