Hopeless (Chestnut Springs, #5)(28)

Rage bubbles up, hot splatters of it lashing me.

When I turn the corner, it’s replaced by cold focus. The focus I pulled upon overseas. The kind that let me kill people and carry on relatively unscathed because I knew I did what had to be done to survive.

Bailey sits on the metal step of her trailer, wiping at her tear-swollen eyes.

I step out of my truck and turn on the spot, taking in what appears to be a sprinkling of her belongings all over the dirt ground.

Clothes, makeup, jewelry, papers.

When I finally come to face her again, she’s holding a stuffed horse that looks so well loved it’s coming apart at the seams.

Except it doesn’t need to anymore. There’s a slash down the side of it. Bailey’s eyes lock with mine while her hands continue trying to shove the stuffing back into it.

I don’t even need to ask her what it means to her. The small brown horse shows all the wear and tear of being a comfort to a little girl who, no doubt, has had little comfort in her life.

“Who. Did. This?” I bite out, my voice a low growl.

Bailey blinks frantically. “It’s fine. I’ll clean it up. I left my trailer unlocked when I fled last night. They got in.” She hiccups and hits me with the saddest smile, then tosses the stuffed horse into the plastic garbage bag at her feet. She can’t even watch herself do it. Her chin turns up, and she shifts her gaze in another direction.

I flinch. The sight of her throwing it away hits me low in the gut. It winds me.

“It’s just stuff. I can replace it.” Her eyes fill again as she stares over at her small truck. Despite its worn appearance, I imagine the old Ford Ranger handles the wild road that leads to her trailer well enough. Or it did. Right now, it sits on its rims, black rubber draped over the circular shape, spilling onto the ground, beyond deflated.

“It’s just that—” She presses the back of her hand against her lips as her voice breaks. “I can’t afford this right now.”

I itch to grab her and squeeze her, but I’m worried I might break her right now. She’s too fragile, and I’m too heated.

The sight of her crying makes me want to hurt someone.

Probably her brothers.

“Bailey, I don’t mean to overstep, but with the amount you’re working, why can’t you afford this? You shouldn’t have to pay for it, obviously, but … ”

She stands and starts swiping things off the ground, looking more angry than defeated now. “Because I’m an idiot. That’s why. My brothers charge me astronomical rent, so I—”

I hold a hand up. “Sorry, what? They charge you rent to live here?”

Her face flames. “Basically, I pay the mortgage on the property. Or the re-mortgage.”

“Why are you the only one paying for anything?”

“I don’t know.”

“Bailey … ”

“What, Beau?” she screams, turning to me. “You think I don’t know how fucked-up it is? I can’t rent anything in town because no one will approve me. I’m trying so hard to fly under the radar. I’m trying so hard to start fresh. And then there’s this part of me that feels guilty for it—like I owe them something. Like I don’t deserve to start over. Like how could I possibly think I’m better than the rest of my family and I deserve more than this?” She gestures around herself. “This is first-class living compared to what I grew up in.”

The explosive outburst steals her breath. Steals mine.

Her hands cover her face and then push up through the silky hair I spent the night with my nose pressed into. The smell of the cool rocks and something minty in her hair wrapped around me all night long.

“I’m just so tired,” she says, her voice small and wrung out. Her shoulders droop, and a tear races down her golden cheek. “I work hard to rise above it all, but I am so, so tired of struggling.”

Again, my hand itches. This time, to wipe the tear away.

I don’t bother resisting anymore. With three long strides, I’m standing in front of her. I tug her in, one arm around her shoulders, one hand palming the back of her head, and press her against my chest.

Because I can’t handle staring into her sad fucking eyes.

I expect her to cry, but she doesn’t. She relaxes in my arms, melting against my torso, just like she did all night long.

Like she feels safe enough to be tired around me. To let her guard down.

I want her to have that all the time, which is why I say what I came here to say in the first place, even more sure of myself than I was before. “You’re not fucking living here anymore.”

“I can’t just—”

“I’m not having my fiancée live here.”

“Beau.” Her voice chides me, but her body softens further.

“What, Bailey? No one will believe I’d be okay with you staying here. Just rationalize it that way.”

My arms tighten around her, a little firmer now. She’s not breakable.

“What about my tires?”

She sniffs and I rub a comforting palm over her head, smoothing her hair. “I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of it all.”

“I haven’t moved it anywhere in years. Are you sure it’s okay?”

Bailey is buckled in safely beside me but won’t stop staring out the back of my truck.