But more than his mind delivered him. Jeanne-Marie had come along at some point, maybe even scared his attackers away.
“You saved me.” Beau moved his face away from Jeanne-Marie’s back and repeated, “You saved me.” He kissed his neck again and forced him, with his hands on Jeanne-Marie’s shoulders, to turn around. Beau stared into his eyes with gratitude, with love, with compassion.
“I did what anyone would do.” Jeanne-Marie pulled Beau to him, positioning Beau’s head so it rested on his chest. Jeanne-Marie stroked his hair and spoke softly. Beau felt the rumble of the deep voice in his chest as much as he heard it.
“I heard them taunting you, calling you names. ‘The pussy faggot artist from down at the waterfront,’ one of them hissed. I got there just as one of them hit you over the head with a sock filled with coins. He hit you so hard, it opened a big gash on your head. I saw you drop, but I still wasn’t close enough to stop them from kicking you as you lay on the ground.