Beau

Saturday, August 25, 2018

Four weeks later

Beau Bennett-Walker

My bed was cozy, my husband warm beside me, yet I forced myself to crawl out of bed on Saturday morning while Ethan snored softly.

Generally, we were working on Saturdays, but with the ridiculous heat, we’d decided to take the day off. I wanted nothing more than to remain curled up with my man, but I had things to do. And I knew Ethan needed some uninterrupted sleep. The past few weeks had been chaotic to say the least.

With two new babies in the family, everyone was pitching in to help out with the bigger little ones, allowing for bonding time as well as those extra minutes of sleep the parents were eager to get. Travis and crew were busy with Haden, now just shy of two months old. Sawyer and Kennedy had their hands full with Brody. Apparently, the little boy was a very healthy eater and getting him to sleep for longer than two hours at a time was a stretch.

On top of that, there had been three more birthday celebrations. Kellan—Kaleb and Zoey’s second child—had turned three. Avery—Travis, Kylie, and Gage’s third child—as well as Zach—Braydon and Jessie’s second child—had both turned one.

With so many events and so many people needing us to pitch in, the pressure was taking its toll on Ethan and me. Between the overload of work at Walker Demolition, the heat that made working ridiculously uncomfortable, family needing us at every turn, and the emotional stress that came along with trying to have a baby through unconventional methods, we had a lot on our plates.

I was hoping we could have a day to ourselves. Perhaps go out to lunch, catch a movie. Something that would allow us a little time to decompress.

After heading to the guest bathroom to relieve myself, I washed my hands, then made my way to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. While the java brewed, I grabbed my laptop and placed it on the kitchen table. As was my ritual, I squeezed my eyes shut, sent up a silent prayer that there was good news waiting for me, then leaned over and pulled up my email. I hurriedly skimmed my inbox without sitting down.

I warned myself not to be disappointed as I sought one specific email,  the one that would change our lives forever. But as had been the case for the past seven months, my heart sank when the only thing I saw was a couple of advertisements. Good news was, Bass Pro Shop and Cabela’s were both having a sale. Bad news was, there was no news on a surrogate.

Pushing away from the table with a heavy sigh, I went to pour the coffee. It had been hard enough going through the process of getting the donor eggs. First approval, then selection. After we’d been assured the eggs were ready and waiting for us, I had breathed a huge sigh of relief, only to be let down when we were told there wasn’t a surrogate at the time.

Which meant having a baby wasn’t going to happen for us yet.

According to Ethan, the key word there was yet. We would have a baby when the time was right. I was ready to have a baby with Ethan now. In fact, I’d already mentally designed the baby’s room. And it took everything in me not to make a trip to the hardware store to buy paint.

As I took a sip of coffee and stared out the window over the kitchen sink, I frowned.

It looked as though today was not going to be the day we got to start planning the rest of our lives, either.

Two hours later, I was sitting on the couch, flipping through the cartoon channels, when I heard Ethan stomping down the stairs. The man wasn’t silent when he woke up in the morning. In fact, Ethan was rarely silent in anything he did. Not these days, anyway.

“Mornin’,” I greeted, admiring my husband’s shirtless torso as he paused to glance my way.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Ethan scrubbed his hand over the stubble on his cheeks as he looked between me and the television.

“You needed to sleep.”

I continued to watch him debate whether he was going to the kitchen or the living room. His abs flexed as he started for the kitchen, then paused. That perfect V was defined, dipping down into his pajama pants, which were sitting ridiculously low on his hips as though teasing me with what lay just a bit south of the drawstring.

Before I could crook a finger to invite my husband for some early-morning sexual fun, Ethan turned toward the kitchen, clearly giving in to his need for coffee.

A minute later, he returned, setting his steaming mug on the table before plopping down on the couch beside me. “What’re we doin’ today?”

“I was thinkin’ we could go—” Before I could get the sentence out, my cell phone rang.

I leaned toward the coffee table to see who it was. The name that appeared on the screen had me picking up my phone.

“Who is it?” Ethan asked, clearly sensing my panic.

“My mother.” Arlene Bennett. The woman who had given birth to me. The same woman who had written me off when I had come out, admitting I was in love with a man.

I stared at the phone, my brain attempting to process why she might be calling me.

I hadn’t heard from Arlene in three years. And the last time she’d texted me, it had been to ask me to come over so we could talk. I had shot a single word back—no—because I knew what she wanted to talk about.

From the moment I’d come out, my parents tried to convince me that I was not gay; I was simply confused. But they assured me that was all right because they knew of a place that could help me get better. Like being gay was an illness. They claimed it was some faith-based, church-run bullshit with a ninety-nine percent success rate of helping confused people realize they weren’t gay. According to Ben and Arlene, this place fully believed the demons needed to be exorcised and replaced with God in order for people to be allowed to live a normal, happy, straight life.

Faith-based, my ass. Fucked up was what it was.

In a word, my parents were crazy.

“Well, answer it,” Ethan urged, shifting to face me. “If she’s callin’ after all this time, it has to be important.”

“I have nothin’ to say to her.”

Before I could put the phone down, Ethan stabbed a finger toward me. “Answer the phone.”

With a resigned sigh, I hit the button to answer the call, then put the phone to my ear as though it were a snake that would strike at any second.

Not looking away from Ethan, I found my voice. “Hello?”

“Beau?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s … your mother.”

“What’s wrong?” I could hear the urgency in her tone and instantly knew this wasn’t a social call. Then again, why would it be?

“It’s… Oh, God. It’s your father.”

I sat up straight. I hadn’t talked to my parents since I walked out of their house the day I told them I was gay. Although they lived relatively close and I saw them at church almost every Sunday, they hadn’t said two words to me. My father didn’t approve of my choices, and my mother stood by the man’s side, regardless of whether she shared his beliefs or not.

“Tell me what’s goin’ on, Mom.” I tried to hold down my fear, but I knew it could be heard in my voice.

Ethan placed his hand on my arm, squeezing gently. I dropped my gaze to the floor, listening to my mother.

“He’s in the hospital. The doctors said he had a stroke. He’s… Sometimes he’s awake, but he’s sleeping too much and they’ve got him hooked up to all these wires.” Arlene Bennett sobbed, her voice cracking as she relayed the details. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

Well, hell. She could’ve hit me upside the head with a cast-iron skillet and it wouldn’t have hurt as badly. From her tone, I got the feeling she hadn’t wanted to call me at all.

“What’s wrong?” Ethan asked, urging me to look at him.

I cut my gaze to his face. As soon as our eyes met, I wanted to drown in the blue-gray depths, to let the man soothe my soul the way only he could.

“My father had a stroke.” I tried to keep the emotion from my voice. “He’s in the hospital.”

“Shit.” Ethan pushed to his feet. “Tell her we’ll be up there as soon as we can.”

I relayed the information to my mother.

“Beau?”

“Hmm?” I stood, surprised my legs were steady enough to keep me upright.

“I’d prefer you didn’t bring … him. Your father wouldn’t want him here.”

I choked on a laugh, but there was absolutely no humor in it. “Are you kiddin’ me? You want me to come up there without my husband?”

“I really wish you wouldn’t call him that.” Her tone was soft.

“Why?” I barked the single word. “That’s who he is. Ethan’s my husband.”

“Not in the eyes of the Lord,” she argued.

Seriously? She was going to do this now? My father had a stroke and could be a few breaths away from death’s door for all I knew and the woman wanted to tell me God didn’t approve?

“Fine,” I countered hotly. “If you don’t want him up there, then I’m not comin’ either. Tell Dad… You know what? Don’t tell him anything. Pretend you didn’t call.”

“Beau!” Ethan chastised.

My mother’s voice sounded in my ear, softer this time. “The prognosis isn’t good, Beau. I just thought … I thought maybe you’d want to apologize in case you never got the opportunity again.”

Holy shit. Was the woman smoking crack?

“Apologize? What do I have to apologize for?”

I already knew what was coming, but I waited anyway.

“For making such a mess of your life, Beau. You’ve thrown all our hard work away with this nonsense. We’ve only ever wanted you to be happy, but—”

I cut her off. “Really? Because Mom, here’s a thought. I am happy.” Happier than I’d been in all the years I’d spent before I fell in love with Ethan.

And I knew that if it came down to it, I would spend the rest of my life happy.

Just as long as I had Ethan.