Page 34 of Lady Sings the Blues

“That what he tell you? You believe it, youarestupid. So let me clue you in to who you been fucking. Beau. Marcus. Hollister.”

No.

“It can’t be.”

But the man keeps me pinned to the headstone dry humping me. Violating me through my clothing. Finally after making a soft grunting noise, a sound like he actually got off, he slaps my butt and bends over kissing my cheek. His whiskers scrape against my neck.

“You tell your man Houdini paid you a visit today. He’ll know. Just like he knows he got Logan’s sloppy seconds. He tosses your ass aside, I’d probably fuck you. Pussy good enough for the princes of Thornbriar must be good pussy.”

He lets go of me, and I hear him walk away. I don’t even attempt to pick my face up from the headstone for a good five more minutes.

Beau.

Everything makes sense now. And it all points to one fact.

I’m an effing idiot.

The joking. The crooked smile. Why he wouldn’t tell me his last name. Why George and Margo showed up on his porch. Why everyone looked at me funny each time I called him Mark. How easily we connected. I think that’s the worst part, using our past against me. The bun. The beard. The tattoos. The attitude. He went from sexy football jock next door to badass biker. I can try to convince myself that these are good enough reasons to forget. But they aren’t, are they? Five years just is not long enough to forget someone I spent so much time with. But somehow, I did. Call it stress. Call it stupidity. Call it naïveté. I never saw it coming.

My face feels puffy and scraped and wet. When I pull my shirt back after patting it dry, the shirt has red smudges.

The sun still shines bright and warm, yet I’m freezing. Shivering down to my bones.

Thank goodness Mark—I mean Beau’s street is empty when I walk back, still being without my car. I can’t even think about dealing with him right now. Not until I’ve had the chance to regroup, form some sort of a game plan to get the hell out of here with as little interaction as possible. After I confront him, that is.

While I wait, I pack my bag then move to the bathroom to clean my face up a bit. It looks as bad as it feels, which is pretty rough. He finds me sitting on the bed when he returns home from whatever club business he’d been up to.

“Elise?” Maybe he should’ve been an actor instead of a bartender the way he plays the part of the concerned boyfriend so well. He takes two steps at me when I hold my hand up to stop him.

“No, Beau. I’m fine.”

The jerk winces. “Who told you?” There’s a hard edge to his voice now. What, he’s mad at me?

“You’re friend, Houdini. After he called me a Hollister whore and held me down while he dry humped me from behind. So there’s that.”

“What the fuck?” He’s squeezing his fists into white-knuckled fists.

Apparently someone threw a wrench in his plans.

“Yeah, you’d think that would be the low point of my day. But no—god, you had me fooled. Got your laugh, didn’t you? I spoil your fun? Found out too soon. See the way I figure, you and the rest of the town were really going to let me have it tomorrow, right? Way to put thefunin funeral.”

“Elise. Stop. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I trusted you! You and your, ‘I know what happened,’ha!You sure as hell do. Nice touch getting George and Margo to show up. Standing up for me with them. And Tommy and Maryanne. I can see Tommy. He was always a good friend to you. But Maryanne? Hell, I guess she always did want you. Are they even really married? Maybe you’re screwing her too.”

“Stop.”

“Stop? Know what, you’re right. I will stop. All this.”

I stand from the bed, pick up my suitcase and sling my purse around my shoulders. It takes me a couple of breaths to mentally prepare, but I find the courage to walk past him out of the bedroom. Predictably he follows.

The jerk face reaches me as I hit the front door, trapping my shoulders. “Get your hands off me now or I go to the state police and tell them you did this to me.” I threaten through gritted teeth, lightly touching my face.

“You don’t have to do this.” He drops his hands at the same time he drops his head.

“No. You didn’t have to do this.” Opening the door, I step outside with exactly zero ideas what I’m supposed to do next.

He watches me. I feel him watching me walk away but don’t chance a look back until I’m down off the porch and safely a house away down the sidewalk. Just like I thought, he stands there with his arms crossed over his chest, face as hard as steel, showing no emotion.

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