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I had managed, for the most part, to shut the door on the part of my life that involved Beau

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I had managed, for the most part, to shut the door on the part of my life that involved Beau. I had managed, for the most part, to focus on Jamie. I didn't spend every minute thinking of Beau. I didn't constantly wonder what she was doing. I didn't constantly wish I was with her.

That's not to say I didn't.

Oh, I did. Every so often, when work was slow or the house was quiet or Jamie was sleeping next to me, I thought of her. I thought of the way she smiled and it lit up a room. I thought of the way she had cried the day before Thanksgiving when I left. I thought of Jack spending the night at Verne's, sleeping under the same roof as her. I thought of him sleeping on the couch with her, and anger burned in me as a white hot rage.

I loved my brother. I did. Jack was all I had other than Jamie. The thought of him, though, with Beau, made my stomach turn. It wasn't that I didn't trust him. I did. I knew if anyone could take care of her, it would be Jack. Jack would never mistreat her. I knew he'd be good to her.

It was that the thought of someone—anyone—with her filled me with rage. And part of it was that I knew Jack could give her a good life. Jack could love her in a way that I did. That was just who he was.  And Jack wasn't harboring the anger that I had for her.

The problem was, I couldn't love Beau any more than I did now if I tried. There were days that I wanted to just end things with Jamie right then and there, go to Beau's house, and tell her I couldn't live without her. There were moments when, in the still and quiet, I wondered what life would have been like if Beau had stayed.

I didn't know what scared Beau about telling me she was pregnant. I didn't know why she would have been scared to be pregnant. That summer before she left was a hell of a summer. We were inseparable. I couldn't keep my eyes or hands off of her.

I loved her with a love that was unimaginable. I had bought her engagement ring before she ever graduated high school. Beau was meant for me.

I still couldn't, for the life of me, understand what made her leave me. I didn't understand it, and damn, it made me angry. Damn her. Damn her for making that decision for me. I could have made it myself.

She had to have known I loved her. Had to have. I didn't say it often.  I knew that. But I felt it. There was a force unspoken between us. It had been there since the beginning. And I felt like I said it enough for her to know.

The time after Christmas brought back a normalcy that I was used to after Thanksgiving. Untangling myself from her arms while she cried was, once again, one of the hardest things I've ever done. Every time I had to tear myself out of her arms, another little splinter of my heart shattered.

And heading her say those words. Those words constantly on my lips. I love you.

I wanted to run to her. I wanted to throw my arms around, kiss her tears away, tell her I loved her and always had.

I'm yours, Beautiful, yours.

But I didn't. I didn't run to her. And I didn't say anything. After about four awkward hours at home, Jack and I made up. He was honest with me about his feelings for her, and for the first time since Beau had been home, I was honest with him.

I told him to give me some time. He told me he was falling for her. He didn't mean to. It just happened. And I had no doubt about that. Beau had that effect. Being around her was like magic.

And I told him.

I said the four words I'd been wrestling with for seven months.

"I still love her," I had said. And Jack had slapped me on the back, laid a hand on my shoulder, and told me that he knew.

"The real question," he had drawled on in response, "is what're you gonna do about it?"

He'd asked me a week ago, and I still didn't know. He still went to see her nearly every day, but I trusted him to stick to our agreement of giving me more time. I occasionally asked about her, and he didn't have an issue with filling me in on her life.

I knew that she and Verne were in full swing at the shop preparing for Valentine's Day. Apparently Valentine's Day was going to be a huge deal for them. I could understand that, as I was already trying to decide what to do for Jamie for Valentine's Day. Hell, I was still trying to decide what to do about Jamie.

I loved her. I didn't doubt that. And I honestly thought cutting myself off from Beau would make me forget her. Or at least forget about trying to forget her. Cutting myself off from her only made me miss her more, though. If I didn't have a way to know she was okay or know how she was doing, it was like my thoughts just got stronger and stronger. Like the damn tell-tale heart. The more I tried to ignore it, the more my heart hammered in my chest.

Jamie was good to me. She would be a good wife. And she was so damn excited about the wedding. It was months away, and she was already shopping for dresses and tasting cake. It seemed like all she could talk about lately.

And I won't lie. Sleeping next to Jamie was heavenly. Having her curled up next to me at night was a feeling I missed. I didn't sleep with Beau under the covers until she was seventeen, but damn, I missed it. I missed having her head tucked under my chin. I missed the way she smelled like vanilla and lavender and home.

Jamie gave me a piece of that. A glimpse of that. A distorted reflection of my past.

And Jamie was sweet. She was funny and kind. She genuinely loved helping people. That's what made her such a good teacher. She was the type to give her last bit of spare change to the Salvation Army bell ringer. She donated toys and school supplies to the children's home in Yardis. She walked dogs at the humane society. She was an angel walking on Earth.

But she didn't make my blood catch fire with her touch. Her laugh wasn't infectious. Her smile didn't make me lose my breath.

She wasn't Beau. And that was the beginning and end of it.

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