It Should've Been Me...
⧠Summary: The annual BBQ brings around new drama and old feelings.
⧠Pairing: Beau Arlen x reader
⧠Wordcount:
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Armed with his charming smile and a fresh six-pack in his hand, Beau Arlen was ready as he'd ever be for the annual neighbourhood BBQ.
Last year, he and Carla had the honour of hosting. This year, it was your turn.
As he pushed through the gate, he could see the party was already in full swing. People from all over the neighbourhood dotted the large garden. The Texas sun hung high overhead, not a cloud in sight. Perfect BBQ weather.
The kids were having a cannonball contest in the pool whilst their parents lounged nearby, taking full advantage of the free beer and warm afternoon. A few of his deputies crowded around the grill where your husband, Matt, was busy cooking enough meat to feed an army.
And then there was you.
You emerged from the house carrying a tray piled high with raw burgers, your smile bright enough to draw his attention immediately. His gaze followed you through the crowd without permission.
It always did. You looked beautiful. You always did.
The breeze toyed with your hair as your sundress swayed around your legs. Effortless. Unaware. Completely captivating.
You and Beau had been friends since you were kids. He still remembered stepping between you and a group of playground bullies when you were both eight years old. From that day on, you'd looked out for each other.
Some time along the way, friendship became something more.
At least for him.
Life, however, never seemed interested in giving either of you a chance. When Beau was single, you weren't. When you were available, he wasn't. The timing was always wrong.
You dated the same boyfriend throughout high school while Beau watched from the side-lines. Then college came, and Beau got serious with Carla while you spent your weekends at frat parties and football games.
And somehow, the years kept slipping by until one day you were both standing at separate altars, promising forever to other people.
As you set the burgers beside the grill, Beau's eyes drifted to the gold band on your finger. His chest tightened. Every time he saw that ring, it felt like a small heartbreak.
A reminder of what could have been.
You rose onto your tiptoes and kissed Matt's cheek. Your husband immediately wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer.
Beau looked away. Or tried to.
The possessive touch sent a sharp stab of jealousy straight through his chest.
You chatted with the men around the grill before finally spotting him. Your entire face lit up.
Beau couldn't stop the smile that answered yours. Excusing yourself, you made your way across the garden.
As you approached, Beau deliberately avoided looking at Matt. The man never liked him. Matt always claimed men and women couldn't be friends. Eventually, something always happened.
The irony wasn't lost on Beau.
He straightened slightly as you stopped in front of him. "Hey," he greeted warmly, his gaze flickering over you. "You look great."
You laughed and spun slightly, making your blue sundress flare around your legs. "Oh, this old thing?"
"Yeah," Beau said, unable to stop smiling. "It looks good on you."
You opened your arms and he stepped into the hug automatically. It was familiar. Easy. Dangerous. Pulling back, you smoothed a hand over the skirt. "You don't think I look like some 1950's housewife?"
"Not at all." His eyes betrayed him for half a second as they swept over the way the dress hugged your figure. He quickly cleared his throat. "Fancy a beer?"
You groaned dramatically. "God, yes. You have no idea." You led him inside while he carried the six-pack to the kitchen. "I always volunteer to host," you said with a laugh, "and then halfway through I remember I actually hate hosting."
"But you're so good at it," he teased.
"That's because I'm suffering silently." Beau chuckled as he put the beers in the fridge and grabbed two cold bottles. You accepted one gratefully. "I've only got a few more hours and then peace." He leaned against the counter beside you while you took a long drink. For a few moments, it felt almost normal.
Like old times.
Then Matt appeared in the doorway. Beau noticed the glare before you did. The second you turned around, however, it vanished behind one of Matt's trademark smiles. "Hey, honey."
"Sausages and chicken are done," Matt said. "Just waiting on the burgers. You got the salad?"
"Oh. Right. I'll make it now."
As soon as your back was turned, Matt shot Beau another warning look before disappearing outside again. Beau hid his smirk behind his beer bottle. You grabbed a chopping board and began preparing vegetables.
"Want some help?" Beau asked.
"Nope. Just keep me company." That earned another smile. "How've you been?" you asked while slicing cucumbers. "Feels like I haven't seen you in forever."
Beau scratched the back of his neck. "Work's been crazy lately. Crime never sleeps andâ"
You stopped listening. Your eyes had drifted to the window.
Jessica Roman.
A recently divorced neighbour who'd undergone a complete transformation in the last few months. New hair. New body. New attitude. And right now, she was making a beeline for your husband.
Beau followed your gaze. Jessica smiled up at Matt, standing far too close as her hand drifted along his arm.
Matt glanced toward the house. Then smiled right back. Your stomach twisted.
"Shit." Pain shot through your finger. You'd sliced straight through the tip without even noticing. Blood immediately welled up. Beau was moving before you could react. He grabbed your wrist and guided you to the sink.
"You okay?" You didn't answer. You were still staring out the window. At Matt. At Jessica. At the way they looked at each other. At the way he never looked at you anymore.
Beau followed your line of sight. Understanding dawned immediately. His jaw clenched.
"He thinks I'm stupid," you whispered.
"What makes you say that?"
You laughed bitterly. "Look at him." And suddenly Beau saw everything. Not friendship. Not harmless flirting. Something else. Something worse. You swallowed. "He's sleeping with her." The words barely made it out.
Beau reached across you and pulled the blinds shut. "How do you know?"
You stared at the running water. "It started small. Perfume on his clothes. Late nights at the office. The blonde hairs on his shirts. But he's a chiropractor and he has to get close to people." You took a deep breath. "Then our neighbour got his car stolen and asked to look at our security camera footage to see if it caught anything. It captured the thief. It also captured my husband going to Jessica's house every Wednesday and Friday, for the last two months.
By the time you finished explaining, Beau's hands were clenched into fists. "Shit," he muttered quietly. His heart broke a little at the sight of you standing there trying so hard not to cry. "I'm sorry, darlin'."
You shrugged. "Yeah."
Beau gently hooked a finger beneath your chin. You looked up at him. "This isn't on you." You tried to look away. He wouldn't let you. "This is him. Not you. You didn't fail as a wife. You didn't make him do this. He made that choice."
Your eyes burned. Part of you heard him. Part of you didn't believe a word. Still, you nodded.
And for the first time in weeks, someone made you feel like maybe this wasn't your fault.
You nodded. You heard every word Beau said. You just didn't believe them. Of course there was something you could've done better. You could've been prettier. Sexier. More attentive. A better wife. At least, that's what you'd thought when you first found out.
Now?
Now you were just angry. The tears had dried up weeks ago, replaced by something colder. Sharper. You'd already started gathering evidence. Every security recording. Every suspicious bank transaction. Every text message. The idiot hadn't even realised his phone was synced to the cloud.
The worst part was that you knew exactly why he was doing it. You and Matt had been trying for a baby for over a year. Every negative pregnancy test chipped away at your heart a little more. Every month brought another wave of disappointment. Another round of forced optimism.
A few months ago, you'd suggested getting tested. Maybe his sperm count was low. Maybe you had a fertility issue. Maybe there was a simple explanation.
You still remembered the way he'd exploded. How offended he'd been by the mere suggestion.
As though the possibility of him being part of the problem was unthinkable.
Now you know why. Instead of seeing a doctor, he'd gone looking for validation somewhere else.
How thoughtful of him.
"I know," you said quietly, offering Beau a small, tired smile. "I've already contacted a divorce lawyer. He told me to gather as much evidence as possible."
Beau nodded. "Good." His gaze dropped to your hand. "Uh..." He reached forward and turned off the tap. "Your finger's getting soaked."
You looked down.
Right.
The cut. You'd almost forgotten about it.
Beau crouched to grab the first-aid kit from beneath the sink while you dried your hands on a nearby tea towel. He carefully wrapped a bandage around your finger, his touch gentle despite the size of his hands. Then he spoke again. "Carla and I separated."
Your head snapped up. "What?"
Beau kept his eyes on your hand as he secured the bandage. "Well... she left me." The words were matter-of-fact, but you caught the hurt underneath. He leaned back against the counter.
"Said I wasn't the same man she married. Not after everything" You swallowed.
The shooting. The trauma. The months afterward. Beau had never really talked about it. "I didn't tell her what was going on up here." He tapped the side of his head with a humourless chuckle. "Guess she got tired of waiting."
"Oh, Beau..." Your chest tightened. "I'm sorry."
He shrugged. "It's okay." It clearly wasn't. But he smiled anyway. "We're alright. I'd rather Emily have two happy parents than two miserable ones pretending everything's fine."
"Is that why I haven't seen you much lately?"
"Partly." You nodded, sensing there was more he wasn't saying. Not wanting to push.
A quiet laugh escaped you. "Look at us, huh?"
Beau huffed a laugh of his own. "Yeah."
His eyes met yours. "Who would've thought we'd end up with matching divorces?" The joke landed somewhere between funny and tragic.
Silence settled between you. Not uncomfortable. Just heavy.
You stared down at your newly bandaged finger. Then, before you could stop yourself, the question slipped out. "You ever think about what would've happened if we..."
You couldn't finish. You didn't need to. Beau's expression softened immediately. He reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The touch was feather-light. Dangerously intimate. "All the time," he admitted.
Your breath caught. Three words. Three simple words. And suddenly twenty years of friendship felt like something else entirely. Beau's thumb lingered against your cheek. "I hate this." His voice was barely above a whisper. "You deserve better. Always have."
Your eyes burned. "So do you."
For a moment neither of you moved. Neither of you looked away. Your gaze drifted to his mouth before you could stop it.
The corner of his lips twitched upward. He'd noticed. Heat flooded your cheeks.
Of course he had.
You'd spent years wondering what it would be like. What it would feel like to kiss him. To be held by him. To have all those stolen glances and almost moments finally become something real. And judging by the way he was looking at you nowâ He'd wondered too.
Slowly, almost unconsciously, you leaned closer. Beau mirrored the movement. The space between you disappeared.
A breath.
An inch.
A heartbeat.
Thenâ
"GRUB'S UP!"
Matt's voice thundered through the house.
Both of you jerked apart like guilty teenagers. Reality came crashing back.
The crowded backyard. The neighbours. Your husband. The wedding rings still sitting on both your fingers.
"Uh..." Beau cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. "Your finger okay?"
"I need to get the salad out." The words tumbled from your mouth at the exact same time. You both laughed awkwardly. Then immediately stopped.
Mortified.
You dumped the chopped vegetables into a bowl and practically fled the kitchen.
Beau stayed behind. For a long moment, he simply stood there.
Watching.
Through the window, he could see you weaving through the crowd with the salad bowl balanced against your hip. To everyone else, you looked happy. You smiled. You laughed. You chatted with neighbours.
Played the part perfectly.
But now that he'd seen it, he couldn't unsee it. The sadness. The exhaustion. The way your smile never quite reached your eyes. And when Matt wrapped an arm around your shoulders, there was the briefest hesitation before you leaned into him. So small nobody else would've noticed.
Nobody except Beau.
His jaw tightened. How had he missed it for so long?
Maybe because he'd spent years convincing himself not to look too closely. Because looking too closely hurts.
His gaze followed you around the yard. The same way it always had.
Since he was eight years old and stood in front of three boys twice his size because they'd made you cry.
Since football games where he'd searched the bleachers for your face before every kickoff.
Since college parties where he'd pretended not to care who you danced with.
Since your wedding.
God. Your wedding. The memory still hurt. He remembered the summer heat. The white canopy. The way his palms sweated around the folded ceremony program.
Then you appeared. And suddenly nothing else existed. Not the guests. Not the music. Not even Carla sitting beside him.
Just you. Walking down the aisle. Beautiful. Radiant. Untouchable.
For one impossible second he'd thought: Do something. Say something. Stop this. But he hadn't. He'd stayed exactly where he was.
His fingers crushed the paper program while another man waited for you at the altar.
Then came the vows. The rings. The kiss. The words he'd spent years trying to forget.
"I do."
He remembered shaking Matt's hand afterward. Remembered congratulating him. Remembered smiling. The biggest lie he'd ever told.
Because as he watched you dance with your new husband that night, there had only been one thought running through his head.
It should've been me.
It had always been you.
And judging by the look in your eyes a few minutes agoâ
He had a feeling you'd spent all these years wondering the exact same thing.
A/N: There will be a part two!
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