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A foggy tunnel loomed before him. Shadows played along the curved wall and beyond, he heard women’s screams. The alluring sound urged him deeper into the darkness until a voice rang out.
“Beau, wake up.”
The tunnel evaporated, and beams of light pierced the darkness around him. He opened his eyes and then his vision cleared.
His father arched over his bed. His thick brown hair damp, his face freshly shaven and his dark, harsh eyes glowering.
Damn!
“What is it, Dad?”
Gage Devereaux sat on the edge of his son’s bed, seeped in the musky, woodsy fragrance of Clive Christian Number One, and oozing the sense of mastery he commanded whenever he walked into a room. His no-nonsense business manner permeated every aspect of his life.
“I got a call from Kent Davis at the Sheriff’s Department this morning. It seems a girl who was at your river party last night was pulled over for driving erratically. They said she was very upset, looked like she had been roughed up, and had to call her mother to come and get her. Her name was Kelly Norton. Did you know her?”
Beau wiped the sleep from his eyes as his heart thudded. Play it cool.
“No, never heard of her. Does she go to St. Benedict?”
“No, Covington High.” Gage checked the time on his gold Rolex. “I’m concerned because Kent’s been getting a lot of complaints about the parties at the river. The noise, trash, and unattended fires are angering people who work and live along the river. You spend a lot of time there, and I want you to be careful.”
“We just go there and hang out.”
Gage stood up. “And drink. I’m not stupid.”
He kicked his comforter away. “I don’t drink. You told me not to. We just have fun, listen to music and talk.”
Gage scowled, not looking convinced. “You aren’t like the other kids. Your future is already planned, and you have the family’s reputation to uphold. You will be a leader of this community. That position requires a certain sense of responsibility.”
Beau suppressed a groan. “I know the drill, Dad, but can we have this talk another time? I’m beat.”
His father grabbed the shoulder of his shirt and yanked him out of bed. “I want to make myself perfectly clear. When I tell you to mind yourself, tell you to stay out of trouble, you will obey me. I will not have you screw up everything our family has built.”
Beau stiffened as his father held him, and he stared, terrified, into his old man’s black eyes.
“Yes, sir.”
Gage let him go and strutted to the bedroom door. “Get dressed. We’re leaving in fifteen minutes.”
Beau wanted to punch the wall. “You’re serious?”
His father opened the door and glanced back at him. “You didn’t think I would let you off for blowing your curfew last night, did you?”
He left the room, and Beau punched the air. “Dammit!”
* * *
Gage Devereaux pulled his red 750i BMW up to the front gate of Benedict Brewery. Beau sat next to him, his gaze fixed on the ten-foot-high wire fence surrounding the facility. It was part of the security his father had added when he’d moved his offices from his other businesses to the brewery, so he could run his little empire from one location close to home. Beau had been seven at the time and had just returned from a short stint at Children’s Hospital in New Orleans. He believed the change would give him more time with his father. He had been wrong.
A private security guard, one of three on duty, waved from the guard house next to the gate. Beau caught a glimpse of the multiple TV screens inside where eighty cameras on the property monitored everyone coming and going from the site.
“New guy?” Beau asked as his father drove through the gate.
“We rotate new security guards through the facility every year or so. Only George Cason, my security head, stays on.”
Beau glimpsed the single black smokestack rising out of the red-bricked processing plant.
“Seems a bit excessive for a brewery.”
“Our family owns more than the brewery.” Gage navigated a narrow cement road with landscaped gardens on either side. “We have other business interests to protect. In a few years, when you take over more of the day-to-day management of things, you will understand.”
While the car passed two big metal buildings used for equipment storage, Beau’s hopes for his future floundered behind his father’s plans. It was all he had ever heard since he could remember—his life had been predetermined because of his name.
He had been in every building scattered across the fifty-acre facility at some point or another. Either working during the summer in the red-bricked packaging and shipping building, its loading docks filled with the fleet of green Benedict Beer delivery trucks. Or hanging over the giant copper vats in the processing center where the fermentation process took place. He’d even spent his freshman year of high school assisting in the sleek glass and steel research and development building, where his father’s team of “beer fanatics” came up with new brews to keep the company vital.
Gage waved to a delivery truck as it pulled onto the road. “We’ve started sending out Fall Fest Beer for the Oktoberfest’s going on around the area.”
Beau tuned out his father as the sleek car eased into the reserved spot outside the gray clapboard, two-story office building.
“Come November, you’ll be spending your afterschool hours in this building with me.” Gage opened his door. “I’ve let you slide on your duties since football practice began, but once the season is over, you need to get serious about the business.”
He bit his tongue as his father got out of the car.
This is such bullshit.
To the side of the building was a straight wooden staircase that climbed to a dark glass door on the second floor—his father’s private entrance to his office.
Beau followed Gage up the steps and, once inside, peered down a hallway decorated with framed posters of beer bottles. Strawberry Ale, Bogue Falaya Rock, Crescent Dark Ale and the Devereaux Special Blend were just a few of the names Beau had memorized.
His father opened the door to his immediate right; Beau noted Connie Fricken’s empty desk farther down the hall. Beau couldn’t remember a day he hadn’t seen Gage’s longtime secretary at her post.
“Where’s Connie?” He stepped into his father’s corner office.
“It’s Saturday. She’s off.”
Lucky her.
“I want to talk to you about college.” Gage had a seat behind his impressive mahogany desk.
Carved with swirls and decorative designs, the desk wasn’t as ornate as the one he had at home, but it was just as distinctive. His office was a replica of his study at home. He even had the same Oriental rug on the floor.
Beau sank into a cold leather chair, eyeing the certificates of merit, awards, and commendations earned by the brewery over the years, desperately avoiding his father’s eyes.
Gage folded his hands on his desk. “I know you’re setting your sights on getting on at Tulane to play football, but I think you need to reconsider.”
Beau’s irritation festered. “What? You don’t believe I have the chops to make a college team?”
“I won’t beat around the bush. No.” He flourished his hand in the air. “You’ve got talent, like I did at your age, but it’s not enough. You need to face that now and commit to your future.”
Beau feared his father and the repercussions he could bring down on him if he refused to accept his fate.
“What if I don’t want this future? Why can’t I figure out what I want?”
Gage slapped the desk.
Beau flinched and sank deeper into his chair.
“I could really give a shit what you want. You’re expected to take over the family businesses just like I did and my father did, and his father before him. This is the price you pay for being a Devereaux.”
Emboldened, Beau leaned forward. “You can’t make me do it. I’m gonna be eighteen soon. I can leave and be whatever I want.”
Instead of shouting or taking a swing, his father drummed his fingers on his green blotter, staring down his son. He said nothing for what felt like an eternity. Gage’s silence was more insufferable than his lectures.
Beau looked out the long picture window, down at the red rug beneath his feet, his fingernails, the edge of the desk, anything to avoid his father’s disturbing gaze.
Gage stopped drumming his fingers. “Okay. I’m going to make a deal with you. I’ll give you one shot at football. I think you will fail, but if you prove me wrong, I will relent and let you try playing college ball to see what you can do.”
Beau perked up, not sure if he believed him. “You’re kidding?”
“If you blow this shot, you will devote yourself to attending college and working summers here with me.” Gage pointed a long, threatening finger at him. “And you will take your place as head of the company when I give it to you. No more talk about what you want. Your ass will be mine.”
His rebellious streak resurfaced. “I’ll prove you wrong.”
Gage gave his son a cursory once over. “I’ve got a friend in the athletic department at Tulane. I’ll give him a call. I’ll ask him to send a scout to look at you for the next game.”
He couldn’t believe it. Joy shot through Beau like a bolt of lightning. He jumped in the air, almost toppling over his chair.
“Are you serious?”
Gage showed no emotion, not even a raised eyebrow. “They will determine if you’re good enough to play. If they pass on you, you will give up this dream of playing football.”
Beau went around the desk to his father, holding out his hand. “Yes, sir. If they tell me I’m no good, then I’ll give up. But they won’t, I know it.”
Gage Devereaux studied his son, the doubt swimming in his eyes, but he did not shake his hand. “I think you’re in for a rude awakening, Beau. And when that happens, you’re to promise me one more thing. No more outbursts.” His father stood, rising to his full height, just a smidgen over his son. “You will control your anger, and if you can’t, I will take action this time.” He then took his son’s extended hand and shook it.
Beau didn’t give a damn what his father said. He was going to impress the scout from Tulane and make the team. Then he could kiss the brewery goodbye and do what he wanted with his life.
Nobody’s gonna tell me what to do.
* * *
“Can you believe my old man has got a scout coming to the game?”
Too excited to sit still, Beau paced in front of his bedroom window.
“Fan-fucking-tastic news.” Mitch’s voice grew louder with every word.
“Josh is game to celebrate tonight at the river. You in, Mitch?”
Beau had called each one of his teammates to let them know about the scout, hoping to motivate them to be in top form. If they played well, he would play well. Mitch and Josh were stoked.
“Anythin’ you want to do. You know me, I’m always up for a party at the river.” Mitch’s voice rose a little. “Hey, have you heard about Kelly?”
Beau’s enthusiasm sputtered. “Kelly? What about her?”
“Cops picked her up. Word is she got knocked around a bit at the river.” Mitch hesitated. “My parents heard about it and started asking me all kinds of stuff about what we do there.”
Beau tapped his finger on his phone, not happy the crazy bitch from Covington had rained on his parade.
“My dad asked me about it too. We’ll just have to start being more selective about who we let into our parties.”
Mitch’s deep laugh came through the phone speaker. “Sounds like a winning game plan. What time we headin’ out?”
“After dinner. I’ll pick you up.”
“Cool, I’ll be waitin’.”
Beau hung up and continued to pace. He couldn’t sit still. Everything he wanted was within reach.
He wondered who else he could brag to and remembered Dawn. He debated texting her but wanted to hear the jubilation in her voice. It would make his victory even sweeter.
She answered on the first ring.
“Hey, Beau.”
She didn’t sound excited to hear from him, but he ignored it.
“Sweetheart, I have some great news.”
“What’s going on?” Her voice ticked upward. “Is everything okay?”
“It’s fantastic. I just found out Tulane is sending a scout to the game Friday night to see me play. Can you believe it?”
He waited for her to shatter his eardrum with a jubilant scream, but she didn’t make a sound.
“That’s great, Beau.”
Her flat, emotionless tone almost knocked him to his knees.
“What? Why aren’t you happy for me?” His mouth went dry with disbelief. “This is a big deal. It could mean I—”
“I am happy for you,” she cut in, her apathy oozed from the speaker. “It’s just that I was hoping you were going to go to LSU with me. We talked about this.”
He almost pitched his phone across the room.
Here he was, the opportunity of a lifetime handed to him, and all she could do was think of herself.
His grip tightened on his phone, willing his calm to remain in place. Perhaps she didn’t understand what he was up against at a big school like LSU.
“I told you I can’t get on the team at LSU. But at Tulane, I could shine. They love small school players, and I’ll be a big deal there, instead of a nothing at LSU.”
“But I’ll be there.” Her whiny tone shredded his placid poise. “Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
He let the seconds pass without giving her an answer. His fingers twitched to release his pent-up rage, but he held back.
“I thought you would understand, baby.”
“I do, and I’m thrilled you will have a chance to play. I just wish we could be together at college. That’s all.”
She wasn’t going to support him. He had believed Dawn a touchstone, someone he could count on to tell him what he needed to hear and to never question. The change indicated she’d outgrown her usefulness. Perhaps it was time to go after the woman he really wanted. His dreams of playing football were at hand—he needed the woman of his dreams by his side.
“I got to go.”
He hung up before Dawn could say goodbye.
Dropping his phone on his bed, he muttered, “Time to find me a new cheerleader.”
* * *
Dawn sat on her bed, staring at the black screen of her phone, debating if she should call him back. Perhaps she should have been more enthused about his news, but why did it have to be Tulane?
Leslie walked into their bedroom at the lake house, carrying a soda.
“Who died?”
Dawn slapped her phone on the blue bedspread. “He hung up on me. He’s cut me off before, but he’s never hung up on me. I thought he was a gentleman.”
“Who? The asshole?” Leslie came up to the bed. “What did he do? Dent his BMW?”
Dawn listened to her sister’s cocky attitude and shook her head. Why couldn’t she be that way with Beau? Might be good for her to hang up on him once in a while.
“He called to tell me a scout is coming to the game Friday night to check him out. A scout from Tulane.”
Leslie sat on her bed, a crease across her forehead. “I thought you two planned on going to LSU together.”
Dawn got teary-eyed as she came to terms with the fact they would not be in school together. She sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
“He made it very clear he wants to go to a school where he’ll have a chance to play football, and LSU is not it.”
Leslie dipped her head. “Sounds to me like the guy is putting football before you.”
Her heart sank like a stone in a pond. Leslie was right. She had never wanted to see it before, but the truth stared her right in the face. Beau put football, his friends, and the river before her. The realization hurt.
This can’t be love.
“Is it too much to ask that he think a little more about ... me.” She gazed up at her sister. “Am I being selfish, Leelee?”
“No.” Leslie put her arm around her shoulders, tucking Dawn’s head into her neck. “He will always put himself before you.”
Her sister’s embrace eased her heartache somewhat but did little to silence her regret. Beau’s mood swings, the anger, his disregard for others, and how he hid it all behind a charming smile—how much longer could she put up with such a guy? Would a life without his constant rules, and expectations be so bad?
“Come on.” Leslie coaxed her from the bed. “Let’s go tell Mom and Dad about Beau’s news. I’m sure Mom will be elated.”
* * *
Sparkling pinpoints of sunlight skimmed the surface of Lake Pontchartrain, and a mellow breeze stroked the water’s surface. Leslie studied her father as he stretched out on a wicker chaise lounge, reading messages on his phone. Shelley sat next to him, her nose in a book.
“Hey!” She announced coming onto the deck, dragging her sister by the hand. “Dawn has good news.”
John lowered his phone and raised his eyebrows. “What is it?”
Dawn came out from behind Leslie. “Beau said a college scout from Tulane is coming to the game this Friday to see him play.”
“It would seem Beau Devereaux is going to be a green wave and not a tiger.” Leslie pumped her fist in the air. “I, for one, am very thankful.”
Shelley put her book aside, her face impossible to read. “Dawn, as always, we’ll be there watching you and Beau on Friday night.” She looked over at John. “Won’t we, dear?”
“Of course.” John nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
“It would be nice if you went as well, Leslie.” Shelley patted her husband’s leg. “Don’t you agree, John?”
Her poor father. How could he answer and keep the three women in his house happy?
“Yes, that would be nice.” Dawn thankfully stepped in, saving him from a fate worse than hell. “But it probably won’t happen.”
Leslie folded her arms and smirked. “If Derek could sit with us, I would come.”
Shelley’s face turned a deep shade of crimson. It was John’s turn to pat her knee, attempting to calm her down.
“Sounds like a fine idea to me, hon.”
Slowly, the hard line across Shelley’s lips smoothed. “If that’s what it will take for Leslie to come and watch her sister cheer, then he’s welcome.”
Her father beamed. “We can make it a family event.”
Dawn elbowed her sister. “Does that mean you’ll come?”
Leslie grinned, glad to see her father happy.
“I have to see if Derek wants to go.”
John stood. “Well, this will be a first. The entire Moore family at a St. Benedict football game.” He dramatically placed his hand over his heart. “I might die of shock.”
Shelley returned to her book. “That makes two of us.”
Leslie chuckled. That makes three of us.
* * *
His muscles throbbed with excitement for the coming evening as Beau gripped the steering wheel. With the wind in his hair, his best buds by his side, a choice song blasting from his speakers, and a shot of living his dream in his grasp, life had never felt so good.
All eyes turned to his car as he drove down Main Street. Beau figured word had gotten out about the scout. Finally, it was his time to shine. Not as the senator’s grandson, or Gage Devereaux’s boy, but as himself—a high school kid with talent and a chance to go pro.
He pictured the sweet satisfaction he would get after the game when the scout praised his performance. The invite to play ball at Tulane would shut down his old man. Seeing his father eat his words would bring him more pleasure than raping ten Taylors.
“You called Eddie and let him know we’re comin’?” Mitch demanded.
Beau held up his cell phone. “Just left him a text, but he’ll have it ready. Eddie never lets me down.”
Josh pointed out the window as they drove past the bright neon sign outside Carl’s Pizza. “Hey, isn’t that Bondage Bissell?”
Beau slowed down. Sara and a few cute girls in tight jeans appeared at the edge of the parking lot. She looked good in a short black skirt, showing off her trim legs.
“Let’s see what she’s up to,” he mumbled, veering the car toward the lot.
Josh leaned in from the back seat, wide-mouthed. “Dude, after the way you blew her off last night? She might scratch your eyes out.”
Beau liked the sound of the challenge in his voice. “She’ll forgive me. I can get her to want me again. I’ll even bet you guys I get her to come to the river tonight to celebrate with us.”
Mitch held out his meaty paw to him. “Fifty bucks she turns you down.”
With the gods of fortune smiling down on him, how could he lose? Beau took his hand. “You got a bet.”
He steered his car into the lot and parked right next to the Nissan Pathfinder Sara perched against.
He leaned out of the window and could see the hate roasting in her eyes, but that didn’t bother Beau. He got out of the car and went up to her, confident she would do exactly as he asked.
She tossed her brassy hair over her shoulder and sneered. “Look who it is, Mr. Pencil Dick.”
Mitch and Josh laughed in the car behind him. The two girls with Sara tipped their heads to the side, checking out Mitch and Josh.
Beau didn’t find the comment funny. He longed to teach her another lesson, one she would remember. He focused on her, a cocky grin affixed to his lips.
“You’re not still mad about last night, are you?”
“Is threatening me your definition of foreplay? Boy, have you got a lot to learn about pleasing women.”
If he’d been any other guy at St. Benedict, her interest in bondage would have been intimidating. But Beau understood the game of pain, considered himself an ardent student, and was certain Sara had not practiced what she professed to know.
“Then teach me how to please you. Show me how you want a guy to treat you. I’ll do whatever you ask.” His voice slipped into a smooth whisper. “Come to the river tonight, and we can slip away.”
Sara hiked her hand on her hip. “No thanks, asshole.”
Mitch and Josh had their heads sticking out of his driver’s side window. Mitch raised his eyebrows as if insisting he concede. Beau wasn’t done with her yet.
“We’re going to have a big celebration tonight. A scout from Tulane is coming to watch me play Friday night. I’m on the verge of being famous.”
“I’m not that big on football.” She took a step back from him, appearing ready to walk away. “Nice try.”
It was time to move in for the kill and offer her the one thing he knew she wanted. He rushed up to her and put his lips to her ear so no one else would hear.
“I can satisfy the curiosity burning inside you. The one keeping you up at night and asking how far you could go before you beg a guy to stop. Do you want to find out? Become a part of that special club where pain and pleasure are one.”
When he backed away, Sara’s mouth opened in an expression of stunned surprise.
“How do you know about ...?”
He grinned, taking in her face. He had been right about her—a wannabe who owned a pair of handcuffs but had never used them.
“You’re not the only one in school who wants to try kinky things. Maybe we could try them together.”
Sara said nothing but lowered her eyes.
Her relaxing posture told him she was debating his proposition. The outward hostility slid from her features, softening her lips and jaw muscles.
He gave her one more morsel to tip the scales in his favor. “Dawn won’t be at the river tonight, if you’re wondering. We called it quits today. She broke up with me in a text. I never expected her to turn into such a bitch.”
Sara tucked a ringlet of hair behind her ear. “I did.”
The high he’d been riding gained momentum.
“Say you’ll come to the river.”
Sara glanced at her friends, hiding her smile. “I’ll think about it.”
“We’ll have fun,” he whispered to her. “I promise.”
When Beau climbed into his car, Mitch patted his shoulder. “I gotta hand it to you. You had her eatin’ out of your hand.”
“And you owe me fifty bucks.” Beau steered the car back onto Main Street. “Now let’s get this party started.”
They arrived in the parking lot of Rouse’s Grocery Store and drove around back to the loading dock.
Beau turned off the engine, popped the trunk, expecting to see Eddie coming out the back door at any moment.
Standing by the open trunk, he waited. But the minutes slipped by and Eddie didn’t show.
“Hey, man?” Josh leaned out the back window. “Where is he?”
Beau retrieved his phone to text Eddie when the back door to the store opened and the bright lights illuminated Beau’s car.
Eddie dashed up to him without the usual box. In his hands were two bottles.
“I couldn’t score your booze tonight.”
Beau browsed the meager supplies. “What the hell, dude?”
Eddie shoved the bottles at Beau. “The cops came by today asking about underage kids drinking at the river. You guys left the bottles behind. They tracked them here.” He glanced back at the open door. “My manager is all over the checkout clerks about checking inventory and IDs on anyone buying alcohol.”
Beau took the bottles and held them against his chest, his soaring spirits suddenly taking a nosedive.
“I need more than this.”
Eddie took a step back, seeming uncomfortable with Beau’s curt tone. “I can’t get any more. Take those two bottles of vodka on me. When things calm down, and the cops stop coming by, we can go back to business as usual. Okay?”
Beau carefully appraised the store clerk and weighed his options.
“I’ll let it slide, Eddie, but give me a heads-up next time to make other arrangements. If you can’t fill my orders, I’ve got another guy waiting to step up. He really needs the extra cash.”
“No, Beau, no.” Eddie rushed up to him, the light from the store accentuating his desperation. “I can get you what you need, but let the heat die down. Don’t shut me out. I need that money for my girl and our baby.”
Beau opened his car door, intent on getting back at the store clerk for letting him down. “It would be a real shame if you have to leave St. Benedict after your kid is born.”
Eddie stared at him, with a scrunch-eyed look of bewilderment. “What are you talking about, leave? This is my hometown.”
Beau passed off the bottles to Mitch, his zeal for the evening returning. “Yeah but, imagine how hard it will be to raise a kid here without a job and a misdemeanor offense for selling liquor to a minor on your record.” Beau drove his point home with a smile. “They could take your license away for that.”
Eddie shook his head. “No, you bought the liquor, Devereaux. Not me.”
Beau kept up his grin as he got in the car. “I bought it from you, Eddie. There’s a difference. One the parish DA will be real interested to hear about if my next run isn’t just what I ordered.”
Beau rolled up his window as Eddie came up to his car.
“What’s his problem?” Mitch asked, nodding to Eddie.
Beau put the car in drive. “Eddie? He’s just having a bad day.”
He headed out of the lot as the bright light from the loading dock door faded behind them.
“This is it?” Mitch held up the bottles. “How we gonna party with two lousy bottles of vodka.”
“That’s all we’re going to get.” Beau navigated through the parking lot and back to Main Street. “The cops have been around. They were asking questions about our parties.”
Josh leaned in from the back seat. “So what do we do?”
Beau came to a stop sign and checked the road, his mind abuzz. “Keep the parties to just people we know. No more out of town guests.”
Mitch tucked the bottles under his front seat. “Good plan, but what do we do in the meantime for supplies?”
Beau was sick of Mitch’s whining. “Get creative. Perhaps it’s time for you to start scoring the booze.”
“Yeah, right.” Mitch put on his seatbelt, lowering his gaze. “I ain’t you, Beau.”
With an insolent grin, Beau turned onto Main Street. “Thank God for that.”
