Their class difference had never felt more obvious than it did as he watched the prim sip she took from her glass. He was the savage low life lurking in the corner, an untamed beast ready to attack, and she was the perfect little society woman. Beau wouldn't have allowed him within five feet of his child either, lest he leave behind some sort of wild behavior. Perhaps Odina was right to have avoided him all these years, to deprive him the joy of becoming a parent. Perhaps Toby, Odina, and, hell, even Eavan were better off without his involvement.
"I'm the same as I've always been," he answered instead of betraying any of his insecurities. Something about him had scared her off, after all. Something had alarmed her into believing he wouldn't do the right thing for her. Beau took another gulp of the firewhiskey. Better to drink than explode, he felt.
Any hope he had of restraining from making furious and resentful remarks evaporated as she next spoke. And, for a second, he considered just leaving. Had he left well enough alone?! As if he were some sort of heartless bastard that wouldn't recognize his own kin. As if he were some sort of riffraff to be fucked and forgotten, damn the consequences. Beau's grip tightened around the whiskey bottle, nearly shattering the glass, as he fought the instinct to forcefully throw it at the nearest wall. "Not my fault you chose a bullshit widow story than the truth," he spat. "You're entirely in a bed of your own making, Odina."
He remained standing for another thirty seconds. His every instinct screamed at him to leave, to go curl up in bed with his wife and forget all about the dimpled little boy that so greatly remindef him of himself. It was the easier option, the one Odina obviously had hoped he would chose. However, Beau soon sat uncomfortably in the too-fancy chair. Its sides pressed tightly against his hulk-like form, as though he were an elephant and didn't belong. He didn't know much about being a parent, but he knew it involved more than fleeing at the first hardship. He knew it meant standing by his child despite whatever pain it caused him.
And, damn the world, he would do whatever it took to stand by Toby.
"My son, you mean." Beau stated matter-of-factly. If Odina wouldn't reveal it to be the truth now, then he was leaving. He deserved better than to be outright lied to.
"I'm the same as I've always been," he answered instead of betraying any of his insecurities. Something about him had scared her off, after all. Something had alarmed her into believing he wouldn't do the right thing for her. Beau took another gulp of the firewhiskey. Better to drink than explode, he felt.
Any hope he had of restraining from making furious and resentful remarks evaporated as she next spoke. And, for a second, he considered just leaving. Had he left well enough alone?! As if he were some sort of heartless bastard that wouldn't recognize his own kin. As if he were some sort of riffraff to be fucked and forgotten, damn the consequences. Beau's grip tightened around the whiskey bottle, nearly shattering the glass, as he fought the instinct to forcefully throw it at the nearest wall. "Not my fault you chose a bullshit widow story than the truth," he spat. "You're entirely in a bed of your own making, Odina."
He remained standing for another thirty seconds. His every instinct screamed at him to leave, to go curl up in bed with his wife and forget all about the dimpled little boy that so greatly remindef him of himself. It was the easier option, the one Odina obviously had hoped he would chose. However, Beau soon sat uncomfortably in the too-fancy chair. Its sides pressed tightly against his hulk-like form, as though he were an elephant and didn't belong. He didn't know much about being a parent, but he knew it involved more than fleeing at the first hardship. He knew it meant standing by his child despite whatever pain it caused him.
And, damn the world, he would do whatever it took to stand by Toby.
"My son, you mean." Beau stated matter-of-factly. If Odina wouldn't reveal it to be the truth now, then he was leaving. He deserved better than to be outright lied to.