, and worry continued to pile onto my shoulders.

It felt good to put the nightmare of spring break behind me, to come clean to my friends about Cato and introduce them to Mama Martin, who embarrassed me by guessing everyone's names before I even had a chance to tell them to her.

But returning to OSU after the ashes had cleared hadn't proved easy. Things hadn't magically gone back to normal, not that I'd expected them to.

"What's up?"

Cato's voice was muffled and dragging a bit, making me wonder if I'd woken him up even though it was fucking dinner time.

One of those things that hadn't returned to normal? Cato—he wasn't ghosting everyone anymore. Imagine that.

"A question has been swirling in my brain."

A heavy sigh came through my phone. "Yeah?"

"Did you know?"

I'd taken a lot of time to think about what Collins had said, about knowing when to cut people off when it was for the best.

She was right, to an extent. But I couldn't do it to Cato. Not yet. Not when he was just starting to redeem himself. For over a year, he did everything he could to avoid my parents for, and when he finally caved, he did it for me. But if he pulled anything else—anything—I'd reconsider. I'd have to. He sure as hell wasn't getting any more money out of me.

"Did I know what?"

"That I was about to fork over millions to the Baileys? That we were both fighting the same goddamn enemy?"

"No." He sounded genuinely confused why I'd even ask. "Why would I be on your ass about money if I'd known you were just as fucked as I was?"

I paused, wondering if I dared to be honest. But fuck it. "It did cross my mind that maybe you and Denver were fucking me over together."

"What?" There was a bunch of rustling on the other end of the line, confirming my suspicions that he'd been in bed. "I hate that asshole. I'm guessing he knew what he was doing with the two of us, but I sure as hell didn't. Why would I do something like that?"

I shrugged even though he couldn't see it. "You always seemed to resent me for...I don't know, being..."

"The golden boy?"

I wrinkled my nose. "I didn't want to say it."

"Maybe a little bit," he said. "But not bad enough to actually fucking do anything about it. Besides, if you go broke, who am I supposed to go to when I need money?"

He laughed, and I rolled my eyes.

"I'm kidding, Beau."

"You're not," I chuckled. "But I do appreciate the self-awareness."

"What can I say? I've been working on myself."

"That's good because you're not getting any more of my goddamn money, Cato." Shaking my head, I sighed. "Look, I have to go. I have a thing to get to. I'll talk to you later."

"Later, man," he said.

I hung up, liking that I could hear the smile in his voice.

Cato and I were on a bit of an upswing.

But as for Collins...

That was the other thing that hadn't gone back to normal. At least the normal that I liked.

With summer coming up, our lease officially had a countdown. And the last couple of weeks living with Collins had felt like those first ones. I was right back in hell. Possibly the deepest circle, too.

Me, giving her space. Her, deciding to take it.

Fuck you, Dante.

She made it clear that this—whatever was happening between us—wasn't permanent. That this wasn't our ending. That she still wanted it. She still liked together.

Which was really fucking good because I needed her. Nothing was the same without Collins Bryant, and I'd had to learn that lesson the hard way too many times.

I was worried I'd hear those words again...

This won't work, Beau.

I'm not interested in making it work, Beau.

But she didn't say that. Thank God she didn't say that.

I thought about groveling. About getting down on my knees and begging her to forgive me faster for all the things I kept to myself. But she asked me to love her enough to wait until she was ready. And so, loving her more than anything on this goddamn earth, I waited.

I hated waiting, though. I missed sleeping in her bed, missed kissing her late into the night, missed bringing her dinner in the art studio.

That was where she'd spent most of her time, preparing for the spring exposition—where I was heading right now. Collins hadn't talked about it much, but I knew the exposition was part of why she was so distracted and distant. Tonight meant a lot to her. Which meant it also meant a lot to me.

I only hoped she wouldn't be mad that I was here.

After rolling the sleeves up on my white dress shirt, I shoved my hands into the pockets of my nicest black pants and wandered into the exhibition hall on campus, weaving through the crowd. It was relatively packed, which I figured was a good thing; all the attention drummed up for these art students who had undoubtedly poured their souls into the works lining the hall.

"Oh, hell."

I halted, mid-step.

That was me, over there, on the wall.

It was a little bit ironic. I was pretty used to seeing my face look back at me. It came with the territory of having an identical twin—growing up and always seeing double.

But this felt different. This was different.

Because the painting staring back at me was...me. It wasn't Cato, wasn't someone with the same bone structure or same color eyes. It was me. It was how I smirked, how my feelings reached my eyes. It was my hair and how long it had gotten. I stepped closer, appreciating how the colors swirled, how the energy of the painting radiated toward me.

It felt like looking in the mirror for the very first time.

"You're here."

The lilt of surprise in her voice made it hard to tell if she was upset or not, so I turned to find those brown eyes wide with shock...and joy.

"I'm here, sweetheart." I cleared my throat. "Of course I'm here."

Collins patted down her black dress, smoothing it before folding her hands in front of her matter-of-factly. So put together, like always.

"Thank you for coming," she said demurely, making me frown.

The rigidness frustrated me. I wanted openness. I wanted those arms around my neck. I want pure, unadulterated Collins.

But I knew I couldn't push her into it, so I turned to the piece hanging on the wall. "Do you regret painting me?"

"Why would I regret painting you?"

"Because you've probably been staring at my face for the last couple of weeks and wishing you could look at anyone else." I grimaced, waving a hand over the painting. "I don't deserve...this."

"Beau..." Collins made a little side-step motion to inch closer to me, giving me hope. She smelled like coconuts and sweetness, and I ached for her. "This is the least that you deserve. Don't you see?"

I didn't. I really didn't see. I'd fucked up so many things when it came to Collins Bryant, and I just wanted another chance to show her that I could be the man she needed. I could love her enough to do anything she wanted me to do.

"You show your love in the things you do for others," she whispered, singing a tune I already knew. I felt the words brush across my skin and suppressed a shiver. "You show your love in big, grand gestures that are hard to ignore."

"I—"

Before I could argue that there were so many other ways I could learn to love her, she cut me off by putting one finger over my lips.

"I show my love in tiny brush strokes," she said.

Her finger grazed my lips as it fell, letting me talk again. If I could even manage.

"Tiny brush strokes?" I repeated. It was all I could find to say as I stared at all the places on the canvas where I could nearly see her paintbrush. In my hair, in my cheeks, on my lips.

My heart pounded.

"Yeah," she whispered. "Tiny brush strokes."

I licked my lips, which were suddenly dry. "There are a lot of brush strokes on this thing."

Collins released a tiny chuckle that rattled my insides and caused me to look over at her. The only thing separating us was a little bit of air, and it was the closest we'd been since we came back from spring break. I could feel her again.

"Well," she said, her voice soft and sweet. She blinked at me, eyes big like she could see right through me. Like she saw me. She must see me because this painting was the most real part of me that I'd ever seen. "A lot would be how I'd describe how much I love you, Beau Martin."

I choked on air. "How much you what?"

Her lips curved, and I felt torn between letting her slowly get around to saying the words or cutting her off with a kiss so I could feel them. So I could feel her. I needed that.

"How much I love you," she repeated.

Oh, yep. I was glad I waited because hearing her say those words weakened my knees. I didn't realize that was possible, but I couldn't feel parts of my legs, and if it weren't for the fact that her lips still sat in the shape of those soul-gratifying words, I'd be concerned. But as it was, I was dying from happiness.

I looked back at the canvas, the portrait of me. "This is the prettiest goddamn page I've ever seen, baby girl. Even better than The Princess Bride."

"Well." Collins shrugged, her cheeks growing shiny. "You know how I'm not very good with words. But I wanted to show you what my page looked like."

My restraint broke, and I leaned down to knock my forehead against hers with my hands still stuffed in my pockets. "And I'm on the same one." My eyes flicked up to the painting. "Quite literally."

Her eyelids fluttered shut, and we both seemed to forget that we were in a crowded hall. The people passing by didn't matter. Nothing mattered except all the tiny brush strokes and how they made our hearts beat faster. I breathed her in, my muscles relaxing.

"Thank you," she whispered with her eyes still closed, and I nearly sputtered at how ridiculous it was for her to be thanking me. It was me who should be on my knees right now. But then Collins added, "Thank you for waiting for me."

"God, Collins." I groaned and put a hand to her face, touching her for the first time in so long. I wanted to bottle up this feeling and save it for a rainy day. "You wanted me to love you enough to wait for you to be ready, but I love you so much more than that. There's no enough when it comes to how I feel about you."

Collins' eyes opened, lifting to mine as we continued to spin on our own little axis in the exhibition hall. "Really?"

"Yes, really." Really? She really wanted to ask if I really loved her? I frowned, resisting the urge to do more to convince her. Later, when university faculty didn't surround us. "I—fuck."

"What?" She laughed, and I wondered if I'd finally escaped hell once and for all. Collins was a goddamn angel, and her laughter was like a blessing.

I brushed my nose across hers. "I'm so sorry about everything."

"I know you are, Beau," she said, and those words drowned me in relief. "But I understand. I understand why you did it."

"I love you," I said. I could say it over and over and over again.

She nodded, eyes bright and wet. "I know you do, Beau." She knew me. She really, really knew me. "I love you, too."

"Oh my god," I groaned. "Say it again."

Hearing her say those words was about to become my drug.

Collins smiled. A smile meant only for me. "I love you."

With her face still in my hands, I began searching the room. Because we were in a room, one full of people. And I needed an exit, an escape, a place to—

"Beau?"

I looked back down at her worried expression and tried to soothe it. "I really need to kiss you right now, baby girl. I need to kiss you, and then I need to be inside you."

"I can't leave," she hissed beneath her breath, reminding me to keep my voice down. "And you don't like getting it on in public places. Remember?"

"I can make an exception for—"

"Oh my god!"

Nessa. That screeching was Nessa, and I wanted to grab Collins' hand and run.

"This is amazing."

Madie. Not even Madie's sweetness could get me to feel warmly toward the fact that all four of them were definitely standing behind us right now.

"Would ya look at that?" Grayson's drawl slid in between the loud voices in the exposition hall. "It's another Beau."

Nessa came to stand at my shoulder, hissing beneath her breath. "I still can't fucking believe I didn't know there was a duplicate of you."

"Collins, is it for sale?" Bren. I glanced over just in time to see his sly grin before he looked up at the canvas. Through the teasing, I could see how genuinely impressed he was—how they all were. And damn, they should be. "I want a Beau on my bedroom wall," Bren added.

"No way," I snorted. "You don't deserve to look at my pretty face every day when you wake up."

Truth was, I hoped Collins wanted to keep it. I hoped it didn't go anywhere but with her. And with me. Because only she deserved to see that version of me, the real one.

But Collins didn't answer them except to exclaim, "What are you guys doing here?"

"What do you mean?" Nessa cocked her head to the side. "You've been working on this all year. Of course we had to come."

"This is amazing," Madie added, repeating herself as she stared at the painting in awe. "It's so...Beau-y. Like it's really, really him."

I supposed none of them had seen what Collins was capable of before. She usually kept her art in her room or the studio, and I was the only one who had been in those spaces with her. It made me smile proudly to watch the expressions of the others. I snuck an arm around Collins' shoulders to steady her, sensing she was about to tear up.

"I thought you were all at Julian's graduation party, though." Collins' last word cracked.

"We were," Bren explained, "but we snuck out for a little bit."

"Jules wanted to come," Grayson continued with a warm grin. "But someone who actually lived at our place had to stay, to keep the house down. He wanted me to pass along his congratulations, though."

"That's—" Collins cleared her throat. "That's really nice of him."

She was dying from the attention; I could just tell. But no one deserved it as much as this girl, and I couldn't keep the smile from growing wider and wider on my face.

"How late does the exposition go?" Nessa asked. "I hope you guys can make it over to the party afterward."

Nessa's eyes slid from me to Collins and back again. She was the only one in the group who knew how broken Collins and my relationship had been lately. The others seemed to have gathered that there was an apparent strain, but only Nessa knew how much space had stretched between the two of us these last weeks. Now, she smiled as she took in our ease as we stood together.

"It lasts for about another hour," Collins said. "We can definitely make it to the party."

I glanced sharply down at her. Of course I wanted to go to Julian's last party. But I also very badly wanted to get Collins alone before I fucking exploded.

I lifted a brow. "Doesn't it last for another two hours, baby?"

Catching my drift, she rolled her eyes. But then a pinch to her side had her sucking in her breath.

"Doesn't it?" I reiterated.

"You might be right," she said, looking up to catch my smirk. Heat flared in her eyes as they bored into mine, and it sizzled up tension in the air between us.

Nessa cleared her throat, and I glanced over to see her slipping into Grayson's embrace.

"Well, there's no rush," Grayson said with a cheeky grin. "Take your time, Martin. The party will be going late."

He punctuated that statement with a wink, but I didn't even care. As long as I got my lips on Collins' soon, nothing else mattered.

I lowered my voice, slipping it into her ear. "Do you have any paintbrushes at home?"

"Yeah. Of course I do." She frowned. "Why?"

The corner of my mouth tipped up. "I have something I still need to prove to you."

✨

one more chapter of beau shenanigans

and then the epilogue

(so basically two more chapters

of beau shenanigans)

I hope you liked this chapter!

I really loved writing it <3

xoxo amelie