Hopeless (Chestnut Springs, #5)(24)

In the dark, the burns appear less angry. They’re mottled, a little twisted at the seams where the newly grafted skin meets the old skin, but less red, shinier now.

It’s the first time I’ve been barefoot around someone new.

“I thought you said they weren’t healed yet,” Bailey whispers, eyes tracing my feet propped on the sandy ground.

“I lied. I’ve just been too shit-scared to take the fresh feet for a spin in dirty water.”

Her face turns, lifting up to mine. “Why tonight?”

I shrug and wiggle my toes on the loose ground. It feels good to get them out of those fucking compression socks and hot shoes. “I had a good reason to get across the river.”

She swallows loud enough for me to hear.

“What’s going on, Bailey?”

She turns away now, like she’s too embarrassed to face me. “My brothers.”

My spine goes rigid.

She holds her left hand up, diamond glinting, and wiggles her fingers in front of us. Her voice comes out in a resigned hush. “They heard about the ring through the grapevine, I’m assuming from someone at the bar. I heard them talking about pawning it as I was heading down here for a swim. They came to knock on my door, so I hid behind a tree until they went inside, then I bolted to the river.”

“I’m going to kill them.”

Bailey’s responding smile is sad. “They aren’t worth it. And that would fuck with your hero status in town.”

I wave her off. “It’d be fine. No one would care.” I say it without thinking, with no regard to how it might feel to her. I say it because it’s true—and that’s the worst part.

The words land and I hear her grunt when they do. A soft thud, like a limb hitting the dirt in front of me.

“I’m sorry.” My shoulder presses against hers, but she doesn’t nudge me back.

“Don’t be. It’s true.”

“I don’t know if I’d say—”

“Beau, stop. The whole cheery, rose-colored persona you fake does nothing but annoy me. I’ve always seen past it. The way you switch from all happy-go-lucky and goofy to stern and uneasy. The way your face drops when you stare off into space for a beat too long. I do it too, and maybe that’s why I see it. But honestly, don’t bother around me. It’s almost offensive. It’s okay to not be okay.”

My chest aches. I feel the cracks in it, the fault lines of all the hurts I’ve suffered, all the bad shit I’ve seen, all the things I mostly rationalize or tuck away. They come roaring back to the forefront in the presence of someone who doesn’t care if I get lost in them for a minute.

“You’re not going back to sleep at your trailer,” I say, not wanting to acknowledge what she’s just said to me. Instead, I fall back on what I do best: taking care of people.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

“What were you going to do?”

Bailey shrugs. “Probably just sleep here.”

“By the river?”

“Yeah.” Her response is nonchalant as she tugs the sweater down over her head and settles in.

My brow furrows as I take in our surroundings. The warm air carries the scent of wet rocks. I can hear the crickets chirping above us. See the moon reflecting on the water. Feel the supple press of Bailey’s body beside mine.

I could insist that she come back to my house. I could insist I go back to hers.

But this doesn’t seem like a bad place to spend the night.

“Okay.” I shift closer, deciding that—fuck it—I’m going to sling an arm over her and tuck her against me. I can’t remember the last time I held someone who wasn’t on the brink of death. Someone who I just wanted to hold.

This time, she doesn’t flinch when I touch her. Without Gary and everyone else in the bar watching us, she doesn’t act unnatural at all.

“What are you doing?” she asks, but her body doesn’t resist. Her small frame melts right into mine without a single complaint.

“Holding my fiancée, duh,” I say, thumbing the diamond on her finger.

She snorts a laugh to cover for the way she’s cuddling into the shelter of my arm. She can’t be cold, but there’s something desperate in the way she presses herself against me. “Okay. Fine. Is this practice?”

Practice.

One simple word shouldn’t make me hard. But somehow practice does it. It fills my head with many things that Bailey and I could practice. The things I could show her.

“Yeah, Baby Doll. It’s practice.”

Silence descends between us. Tension builds.

And then, “Hey, Beau?”

“Yeah?”

“Not that one, either.”

I laugh. And then we don’t talk. We don’t need to.

We sit on the riverbank, side by side. Both of us practicing being okay with not being okay—together.





9


Bailey


Lance: Where you at? Come have a drink.

Aaron: Yeah, we came looking for you, but you weren’t home.



I wake up held tight against something hot and hard. I rub my cheek against cotton, wanting to nuzzle back into one of the best sleeps of my life. A soft breeze fans over my cheek, and before long, I realize my pillow has … a heartbeat.