I bite back a smile. It's odd to hear Beau nervous, to witness him apologizing, but I'm glad he is.
"So." He starts the engine and lets it stutter to life as he watches me. "Are we good?"
I nod. "Yeah, we're good."
The ride is uneventful, and before I know it, we're entering the front doors of school and walking down the crowded hall. I make my way to homeroom, with Beau on my mind.
"I get to drive you again regularly, right?" he asks, just to be sure.
I pause outside the class.
"Yeah, and I'll keep taking the bus home."
He reaches for me, softly running his hand down the sensitive underside of my forearm.
"Good. I'll see you tomorrow morning, then," he says before slipping off down the hall, carried away in a sea of bodies.
I can't seem to rid my thoughts of him all day. I was wrong about the pool girl. Beau never wanted her. A thrill of excitement passes through me, and I can't wipe the grin from my face.
As soon as classes end and the bus drops me back off, I spot something waiting by the front door steps. A bouquet of white flowers. I push open the screen and place them in a vase on the counter.
"Who are they from?" Gran asks, turning to greet me. She spills a little salt on the counter as she seasons the soup she's cooking.
There's a single notecard in the center with a name scrawled across.
"Beau," I reply plainly.
I don't have to look at her to know that she's scowling.
"I thought he was out of the picture." She hobbles up to the bouquet and inhales deeply. "Smells beautiful. Charming just like that grandpa of his, I see. Go figure."
"What do you know about his grandpa?" She has my attention.
"None of your damn business," she says, no malice to her words but also no invitation to discuss the subject any further.
That's fine. I don't want to talk about Beau's flowers with her, either. I'd rather enjoy them.
She walks off shaking her head. If only I knew why she thought Beau being anything like his grandpa was a bad thing.
That night, I sleep better than I have in days. The scent of roses lingers in my dreams.
…
"Thank you for the flowers," I say the next day as Beau walks with me through the front doors of school, all the way to my locker.
"You're welcome." He grins. "Hey, do you think you can meet me at the path when the sun slips away today?"
His eyes are fire, burning every inch of me.
"I might be able to do that."
I notice the way his teeth clamp together suddenly. I follow his line of sight.
Brody approaches with a smile. He already knows Beau and I are friends. He also knows that I'm not spoken for and not interested in being someone's girlfriend. Unless that someone is Beau, my mind tells me, but I tell my mind to go on and hush. Brody and I are friends, too.
"Hey, beautiful," Brody says.
I am stuck between the two of them, pinned down by differing stares. Brody's, sweet and relaxed. Beau's, intense and disarming.
"Hey, man." Brody offers a greeting to Beau.
Beau nods.
"Hi," I say. "How was your math test?"
Brody had complained about it the other day, worried that he might not pass. Since we exchanged numbers, I occasionally get texts from him, and we often see each other at school, too.
"I actually did okay." He shrugs.
Beau steps closer to me, and I try not to notice the sorts of things he does, like shift to one hip, exhale near my ear, and whisper my name in a soft, tantalizing breath.
"So, I don't think the next one will be as bad, you know?" Brody is saying.
I try to act like I'm paying attention. "Right. Piece of cake. You'll do fine."
"Thanks," he says.
"Willow." Beau drawls my name out in that slight Southern accent of his, completely different from the way he just whispered my name, as though in a plea. "I'll see you tonight, okay?"
He shoots Brody a hard glance. One that doesn't go unnoticed. And then walks away. After an awkward heartbeat, with not much time to go before the bell rings, I say goodbye to Brody.
"Well, I'd better get to class."
Brody nods, but I notice the cautious look in his eyes. Like Beau, he walks away.
The worry that I've somehow created animosity between the two of them settles into my mind.
…
I decide to meet Beau like he requested. He pushes the boat off the embankment and hops inside just in time. We row achingly unhurried, careful to not miss an inch of the swamp. My eyes and flashlight go to everything. Mangroves twisting above the murky water. Trees swaying in the wind, moss like hair billowing.
I admire the sounds the water makes mixed with the buzzing of insects with wings and the chattering of insects without them. If it weren't for the mosquito spray slathered over my skin, I might be able to smell the fresh fungus that always accompanies the swamp at night.
"Why did you purposely give Brody a mean look today?" I blurt.
It's been eating away at me little by little the whole day.
"It wasn't mean," Beau says, but I hear his grin. "I'm sorry if I ruined something between you two."
I doubt he's actually sorry. In fact, I bet he knew exactly what he was doing. I shine a flashlight at his face to confirm, and he throws a hand up to block his eyes from being blinded.
"You liar," I retort.
He laughs.
"Besides, there's nothing between him and me. We're friends, that's all."
Just then something bumps the boat, and I look down to see a gator, ten feet, if I had to guess. It could easily flip us. I meet its eye and hope that it's one of the gators Gran feeds because the way she explains it, there's an understanding between her and them. She feeds them, and they don't eat us. So far, it's worked.
The gator moves past.
Good thing, too, because it would have been a shame to have to use the shotgun I brought.
"So the date you and Brody had … was it not serious?" Beau asks.
I'm not sure how he heard about the double date. "It was an evening playing golf, that's it. And it was before this."
I motion between the two of us.
"Willow." I love the light Southern accent that twines around each syllable of my name as he speaks it. "Do you plan to go on another date with him?"
"No."
Beau's smile reaches his eyes. I shine my light back on the spindly, bony trees that remind me of curling octopus limbs stretching toward the sky. Beau doesn't much care for talking anymore and that's fine, because neither do I. His smile stays put for a good, long while.
We wind through the bog for an hour, listening to the sounds of darkness until finally I fall asleep to them. I know because I feel someone rocking my shoulder.
I'm in the middle of dreaming about brown eyes and soft lips brushing mine.
"Willow," Beau says. "You stopped rowing."
I yawn. "That could be because I'm falling asleep."
I stretch and peer around. What I see makes me uneasy. Beau nudges my oar, reminding me to row again, so I do.
The part of the bog we've entered now allows more moonlight. Half of Beau's face is coated in it. A mist creeps over us. Hangs low like a fresh dusting of snow. There's something about this part of the swamp that has me on edge.
I look closer and realize why.
"Where are we?"
I've seen the whole swamp within miles of the property, which must mean we're far out. Seems impossible to know the entire bog, though. It's too big for that. One day you see grass, next day it's covered in swamp. One day there's water, next day portions are dried up. It's constantly changing.
"Deep swamp."
I remember Mom's request to stay close to the house. Panic makes my heart race.
"Do you know this place?" I glance around, committing the new scenery to memory.
"A little."
"I think we should go back," I say.
He nods. "Me, too."
I decide, as we prepare to turn around, that this is as good a time as any to ask him something that's been on my mind. I'm just tired enough to not sugarcoat anything.
"I have to ask you a question." I chew on my lip and gauge my next words, anxious to be voicing my concerns aloud, afraid that saying the words will make them more concrete. "How many enemies do you have?"
"Well, that's a loaded question." He mulls it over. "A few, I suppose. Older brothers and fathers who don't like that I hurt their daughters and sisters. Some of the girls themselves. None too obvious. I don't really know that many people. Why?"
"What if the killer has a vendetta against you?"
"That would explain a lot." His casual tone tells me he's wondered the same thing. "The victims are connected to me. But I don't see why someone would go that far. What have I done aside from breaking a few hearts?"
"It's weird, you being connected to them," I admit. "Awfully strange that you knew them both."
"I agree. Stranger still is this deep part of the swamp. Do you hear that?"
I strain my ears. "No. What is it you hear?"