BEAU

The diner smells like smoke and stale coffee, but the patrons are mainly old men who don't bother looking up when I enter. The perfect spot, given how my face has been plastered all over the tabloids again.

Beau Lewis: Out of Rehab - What's Next?

I roll my eyes as I sink into a faux-leather bench, pushing the laminated menu away from me as I do. "What's next?" is what gets me the most. I gave them the show of a lifetime - full of dramatic and personal twists and turns that they used for their gain to sell stories. And now what? The vultures want an encore?

Oh, if they could see me now. I dump some salt onto the tabletop and pinch it between my fingers. Beau Lewis - sober, father to be, with a girl who doesn't even want him anymore. Real rock star shit.

"What can I get you, darlin'?" The one waitress at the place, an old woman with dyed red hair and a lip ring, asks me, a steaming pot of coffee in her hand already.

"Black coffee is fine." I mutter, flipping my coffee cup on it's saucer so that she can pour.

She makes a soft "hmph" sound before pouring the beverage and leaving me alone. How nice it is to be left alone. Parker flashes in my mind then and I wonder if he's lost his shit on Melanie yet during one of her bible rages. Oddly enough, I sort of miss the kid and his constant questions.

Brows furrowing, I let out a deep sigh.

Why did I agree to this? I flip my phone in my hands over and over again, nearly jumping out of my skin when it starts to ring.

"Hello?" I press it to my ear without checking the caller ID.

"Hey Beau," It's not Emma. I should've known it wouldn't be - since I've been back, we haven't really talked. She texted me her appointment information after I saw her that night - the night when I held her while she cried, a selfish act that left me wanting a stiff drink - and that was that.

Pressing my fingers into my eyes, I hold in another sigh. "Zoey,"

"I'm running a little late but I'm on my way now. I hope you haven't been waiting long," Zoey sounds distracted and a horn blares in the background. She was never on time, I remember that much.

"Not long." I confirm before assuring her that I'm fine to wait a bit longer.

Glaring around the diner, dingy with dim lighting and waxy checkered floors, I hang up and finally release the groan I've been holding in.

Why did I agree to this?

Because when I think of Zoey, blonde with round eyes and an even rounder belly, all I see is Emma. And if Emma were to ask me, I'd be here. The logic makes no sense to me and I'm hoping Dex won't bother digging too deep, either, but the reality is the same. Here I am, at a diner in the middle of nowhere, waiting like a chump.

I chip away at the black polish on my thumb, silently counting the ticks of the stupid cat clock on the wall as I wait. Taking a sip of my coffee, I grimace at the burnt flavor and push it aside.

The door opens with a metallic clang but I don't lift my head until the light pink ballet flats are standing next to my table patiently.

Tilting my head slightly, I'm greeted by a bright smile from Zoey, who while exhausted with circles under her eyes, looks radiant in the yellow light of the run-down diner. Pregnancy suits her.

She takes a seat tentatively across from me, pursing her lips together as she folds her hands over her belly. She looks like an Easter egg in that dumb pink dress, her stomach stretching the fabric so tightly that I can see the little bump of her bellybutton.

"Thanks for coming." She says sweetly, her voice higher and faker than I remember it being. It's funny because no matter how similar she looks to Emma, although there really is no comparison when it comes down to it, it's so obvious to me how not the same they are.

Emma doesn't tip toe around me like Zoey is now, doesn't waste time on pleasantries.

I narrow my eyes at her, nodding to the basketball under her shirt. "Are you due soon?"

"Any day now," Zoey's smile sweetens as she rubs a slow circle over her shirt. "Beck didn't tell you?"

"You know Beck and I don't speak." I shake my head, shoving recently dyed black hair from my eyes, and lean against the cracked faux-leather of the bench. "Which makes me wonder - why did you call me?"

If I was interested in making small talk, I might tell her that Emma is pregnant, too. I might ask if she and Beck are excited, if they've decorated their nursery. But all of those questions make me think of Emma and how this isn't how we were supposed to do things, so I keep my mouth shut in a firm line.

Zoey looks uncomfortable under my harsh stare but I don't let up, not even when she drops her head and stares at the cracks in the tabletop.

"Is it money?" I ask finally. "I'm sure it's not hard to understand that I'm not exactly rolling in cash right now."

Comparatively, of course I am. Beck can barely hold a job for fuck's sake. But compared to the Beau Lewis of just a few months ago? I'm no longer feeling very generous.

Zoey shakes her head, blonde bangs falling into her wide toffee eyes. "No, nothing like that! We would never -"

I raise my brows as Zoey catches herself. Beck already did. Her mouth closes with an audible pop sound and she shakes her head, collecting her thoughts.

"Look, Beau. I came to talk about us."

The word hits me like a ton of bricks and for a moment, I'm completely stunned, too shocked to even speak. I expected them to ask for money, a place to stay, anything. But never did I anticipate Beck's bride-to-be to request a rehashing of our past.

The only thing I can do is shake my head profusely, sputtering incoherently as Zoey watches with wide, horrified eyes.

Us?

"There is no us."

Hasn't been for a long time. Even before you got knocked up by my brother.

"I know." Zoey stands when I do, placing a tiny hand on my forearm. The contact stills me immediately, a near decade's worth of regret flooding back at the simple touch. "But there used to be."

Meeting her eyes, I nonchalantly shrug my shoulders, masking the remorse I feel. "Not for a long, long time, Zo." I grab my wallet and place a five on the table for my coffee, grabbing my keys and shoving my arms through my leather jacket.

"Can't you just talk to me?" Zoey steps right in front of me, the stubborn side of her apparently just as annoying as it used to be. Her little chin is lifted in defiance, her arms crossed over her belly - a sight that looks laughable, more than anything.

I glare at her, blocking my path to the door. Maybe I haven't grown up very much, but neither has she, apparently.

I hold back an eye roll. "There's nothing to talk about." I wave at the older woman who'd served me my coffee and give Zoey one last glance.

What a waste of my time.

As I side step Zoey's small frame, I think that I've won - in what is truly a rare occurrence, Zoey has nothing left to say.

But I'm wrong. Like I've been about so many things recently - Rey, Beck, my sobriety, the tour, Emma - I am so wrong.

Like when we were young and enthralled in puppy love, her voice is small but victorious, knowing she has me before the words even leave her mouth.

"What about your son?"

Mic drop!!
Short chapter but necessary for dramatic effect *winkwink*
Thanks for being patient loves. I'll be posting more regularly now! Hope you enjoyed the chapter, let me know your thoughts in the comments!