Page 72 of Backed By You
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Shea whispers as we approach the doors.
“I will be,” I tell her, and I mean it.
Inside the theater lobby, away from the cameras, I finally let myself lean against Beau for a moment. “Thank you,” I murmur as his mass of muscle and warmth and everything that ishimcloses around me.
His arm circles my waist, securing me to him. “I’m proud of you,” he says, voice low.
I peer up at him, his heated gaze staring down at me. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Yes, you could have,” he grumbles. “But I’m glad you didn’t have to.”
Ellen approaches with a water bottle and a concerned expression. “The incident has already hit social media, but our team is controlling the narrative—focusing on how professionally it was handled and how graciously you continued afterward.”
“Good,” I say, taking a sip of water. “What’s next?”
“Brief remarks before the screening,” she says, checking her second phone. “Then you can relax and watch the film. The hard part is over.”
We both know that’s not entirely true. The screening means sitting in darkness, surrounded by hundreds of people reacting to my work in real time. The after-party means hours of networking disguised as celebration. Then, as she mentioned, there’s all the social media that will come over the next few weeks.
“Miss Ryan.” One of the studio executives approaches, hand extended. “Remarkable job. The film is getting tremendous buzz already. The entire trilogy is, actually.”
I slip into a professional blur of shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with the line of executives and investors waiting to speak with me. Beau steps back to a respectful distance, but still close enough that his solid, unyielding presence grounds me.
As I’m ushered toward the theater entrance to give my opening remarks, I catch his eye one last time. He gives me a small nod that carries the weight of everything we’ve shared—petty arguments, helpless moments, sunsets, and three words that have changed everything.
I take a deep breath and step onto the stage, facing the audience gathered here to see my vision come to life. The lights are bright. The crowd quiet. Excitement radiates throughout the room. And I feel it, too.
“Thank you all for coming tonight,” I begin, my voice steady with only aslightlyshaky hand as I adjust the microphone stand in front of me. “CreatingThe Devil’s Lakehas been a heck of a journey for me. I faced a lot of fears and found strength in a few…unexpected places.” I glance to my right at the man standing off stage with his hands clasped in front of him, as handsome and stoic as ever. He grins. “In the end, I foundwhat I was looking for. My final piece. My home.” I turn to the audience. “I’d like to thank the incredible cast and crew who poured their hearts into making this vision a reality. And finally, I want to thank someone who told me that sometimes, the bravest thing we can do isn’t facing our fears, but allowing others to stand beside us when we do.” My voice softens. “And that true strength comes from connection, not isolation.”
The audience is silent in a way that tells me they’re truly listening, not just waiting for the movie to begin. I smile and end with, “I hope this final chapter resonates with you tonight. I hope it reminds you that we all have depths worth exploring, fears worth facing, and connections worth fighting for. Thank you.”
Applause washes over me as I step away from the mic. Beau offers me his hand when I walk down the side of the stage and into his arms. He pulls me in and kisses me as if we’re the only two in the room.
His lips are warm and firm against mine, one hand cradling the back of my neck while the other rests possessively at my waist. I taste the faint hint of mint on his breath, relish the gentle scratch of his stubble against my skin. My body melts into his as the noise of the crowd fades to a distant hum and the lights lower for the film to begin.
“Nice speech,” he whispers against my lips.
I smile, peppering his lips with mine. “Nice lipstick.”
“Glad you like it,” he says, smug. “Took me years to find the right one.”
I raise a brow. “Oh, yeah?”
He slides his hands down the curve of my waist to settle low on my hips. “Yeah,” he breathes, leaning in close. “She’s perfect.”
Twenty-Six.
Callie
Myfingersdigintothe sheets as Beau moves behind me, his powerful hands holding my hips in a vice grip. Each thrust sends jolts of pleasure coursing up my spine, wrenching moan after moan from my lips as he claims me completely.
“God, you feel incredible,” he rasps, his voice a jagged growl of desire. “So damn perfect.”
His words ignite my core. There’s something about being back in Montana, in my bed—ourbed where we’re making up for lost time.
“Harder,” I plead, pressing back against him, arching deeper into the mattress. “Please. Fuck me, Beau.”
He responds immediately, his pace increasing as he slides one hand up my bare back to tangle in my hair, gripping it at the root. His gentle tug sends another spike of pleasure through me, heightening every sensation. I moan.
