It’s then that I forgive him. That moment right there. The pure, unbridled joy on his face watching Jett… stand.
That’s it.
But his reaction mirrors mine the first day I saw Jett do it, too.
“I’m sorry,” I sob, feeling like absolute crap for not having the guts to come clean. All of this was my fault, and I’ve hurt Beau yet again. I just cannot bring myself to add, andoh, by the way, I went to Dustin’s yesterday. Not right now.
As for being angry with him? He may have withheld information, but if he says he meant no malice by it, I believe him because partners believe each other in healthy relationships.
“I don’t want to fight with you, Beau. I don’t. I’m sorry I reacted that way. I understand that, to you, telling me about that other part of yourself wasn’t crucial. I believe you when you say it wasn’t intentionally kept from me.”
His hands rest nervously on his knees as we sit adjacent to one another on the couch. “Can I hold you?” he whispers hoarsely, his big dark eyes dazed in my direction.
I nod, tears soaking my cheeks. Jett fusses for Beau to hold him, so he grabs my son, bringing him to his lap. Then he wrangles me next to his side, wrapping his strong arm around my shoulders, his fingers stroking up my arm.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, you know, that I’m the Wrench King,” he says flatly, leading me to jerk up from my face-cupping cry. He gives me a wry wink, and just like that, we’re laughing instead of having a heavy moment.
“When we were together in the beginning, I was so focused on you two.” The hand wrapping Jett’s waist tickles his belly, making the baby turn full jello and slide to the couch in giggles. “Then it just felt like one thing after the next, and because I really don’t act like a forking CEO, I don’t feel like one. It’s not part of my daily thoughts.” He kisses my forehead as Jett decides we’re boring and slides himself off the side of the couch, sights set on his giraffe.
Scooping me up, he centers me in his lap and I wrap my arms around his neck, bringing our mouths together in a long, slow kiss. Much needed.
I can’t stop touching him everywhere. My hands run over the chiseled peaks of his chest, along the strong slope of his shoulders, then up through his hair. “I get it. I do.” I kiss his lips again, and even though Jett is in the room, the commotion and chaos settling have me tired and extremely… needy.
With my lips at his ear, I keep my voice very quiet when I ask, “we’re still sleeping over at your house, right?” Thick fingers curl into me with force and a low grumble passes through him, igniting the embers of desire inside of me to full flame.
“Fork yes,” he growls, and I can’t help but smirk at how hot he sounds not cursing. Or maybe I find it hot that he’s not cursing for us.
I slide my lips down the side of his throat, loving how I can taste the sun and stress on his skin. With my nose nuzzled into him as I kiss, I inhale him, smelling the day, his cologne, everything that brings me comfort.
“Let’s go pack before we traumatize Jetpack,” he groans. I slide off his lap and get to my feet, eager to pack and have a day with my two guys.
He winces a little. “I need a minute.” I look down to find his impressive cock eager for our sleepover, too.
* * *
It takesus only twenty minutes to pack what we need for an overnight at Beau’s house. When four bags are ready by the door, I expect him to ask if I actually need all of it or complain but he doesn’t. He just carries them to his car with a smile on his face.
When we arrive at his house, he takes Jett from my arms and tells me to explore on my own. Knowing he’s a millionaire and has been his whole life almost seems like someone else’s life when I get to Beau’s. Because nothing about the way he lives screams I’m loaded and I want people to know.
His house is the same size as mine.
It’s got three bedrooms and two bathrooms. Everything is painted a light gray, with each room treated in thick, white crown molding. The floors are hardwood—real, too—with a dark stain. He has one large overstuffed couch with a nice, glass-topped coffee table in front of it. On the wall is a huge TV but all around it are framed photos of Beau with his father, Graham.
I take in every last photo.
One where a young Beau is holding a fishing pole by his side, a wide grin on his face, as Graham holds up a large fish for the photo.
Another where they’re wearing matching San Francisco Giants jerseys, a stadium full of fans behind them, the lights illuminating the utter happiness on their faces.
Beau standing next to Atticus, with Graham on the other side. This photo has something scrawled across the bottom in a sharpie. It reads, “Beau’s first day at Wrench Kings. Apprentice mechanic.” I smile at the young, sweet excitement on Beau’s face. I smile a little, too, at the familiar stoicism on Atticus’s face.
There’s a photo of Beau standing on a paddle board next to Graham, who is also on a paddle board, but he’s using two oars to steady himself. This must be a more recent photo because Beau looks much like he does now, and Graham is thinner and more sallow.
After smiling at Beau’s handsome face in a slew of photos, I make my way through the rest of his house, finding it bare. The guest room off the hall is completely empty but for one single standing lamp.
The second guest room has a full-size bed on a stand with no sheets or headboard. Beau comes up behind me, still carrying Jett. They look so good together that it makes me both weepy and horny. A weird mix, I know.
“I never knew what to do with these extra rooms. My dad made me put a bed in here in case I ever had company, but,” he shrugs, peering around the blank room, “it felt super creepy to decorate a bunch of rooms when I never even open the doors. Like they are shrines to ghosts or something.”