Fifty-Five: Let Me In

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IT WAS WELL INTO the night before the fire died down, and we finally removed ourselves from the beach

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IT WAS WELL INTO the night before the fire died down, and we finally removed ourselves from the beach. Beau brought us to another house that wasn't more than a thirty-minute drive from Malibu, and the car ride there was silent.

Beau's happiness had finally worn out.

The new house sat up higher—poised on a sea-cliff. It was just as nice. Maybe even nicer. A For Sale sign sat on the lawn, and Beau muttered that it was a property his parents had remodeled and were selling. For now, it sat vacant besides the interior staging.

Those were the first words I'd heard him say in hours.

I wanted to talk, though.

Beau had already tried to apologize, but I hadn't been ready to hear it. Because something in my gut told me that he was apologizing for far more than what his brother had done. For the house. And I didn't know if I was ready to hear the truth behind the pain in his voice.

Exhausted, the others had found bedrooms to collapse into for the night. We would need to figure out a plan in the morning, but for now, sleep beckoned.

I found Beau outside, looking out at the ocean.

"I'm sorry," he said softly when he heard me walk onto the balcony. "I'm sorry I didn't—"

"Why don't you have the money that Cato wanted?"

Instead of turning to look at me, Beau hung his head.

"Collins, please."

The desperation in his voice cut through me. His house just burned to the ground. His brother had tied me up, harassed him, harassed me. I shouldn't do this to Beau right now...but I had to.

He had his time to keep me out. Now, I needed in all the way. If he could demand it, then so could I.

"Tell me, Beau. Let me in."

It was dark. I could hear the ocean more than I could see it. The waves washed over the silent pause in pulses.

"I made a deal with Denver Bailey and his family," Beau confessed without daring to look at me. "I was going to pay them off to leave you the fuck alone. That's why I don't have the money to help Cato."

Oh...Oh, god. This was worse. This was worse than realizing he was a twin. Worse than staring up into the eyes of a stranger and realizing I was looking at a lie.

This lie—this omission of the truth—was worse.

"You didn't," I choked, trying to gasp for a little bit of air.

But I knew he did. This was Beau. He thought money solved the world's problems. He thought he could solve my problems. He always had. Of course he'd do this.

Beau lifted his gaze, and there was fire there. Fire. Fire. Fire.

"You wouldn't talk to me about it," he said, his voice hovering around a low, trembling note. "You wouldn't even admit that something needed to be done, and meanwhile, that fucking asshole was practically stalking you, Collins."

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