Hopeless (Chestnut Springs, #5)(96)

Love.

Whoever said love hurts wasn’t fucking lying.

“And that job? That job has always felt like proof I did something for myself, despite where I come from. Proof that I don’t need anyone’s pity. That I’m strong enough to rise above it all. That if I had the chance to show people how hard I work, they’d reward me. And you just tugged the one thing I thought I’d done with my life right out from under me. I’m utterly dependent on you, and that terrifies me. And it’s even worse because first you made me fall in l—you know what?” I wave a hand dismissively. “I need some time to get my bearings so I don’t say anything I’ll regret.”

Beau blinks rapidly, standing tall and proud. Like he’s prepared to face the consequences head on. He doesn’t tell me it’s okay, or that I’m overreacting. “That’s understandable.”

He takes all my frustration and swallows it. Like a man.

Like the flawed but good man that he is.

Like a flawed but good man who loves me.

Hold onto that.

I nod and go to close the door on him, but he stops me, stepping up and wrapping his hand around the edge of it, his fingers brushing against mine. “How long?”

My gaze bounces between the swirling metallic pools in his eyes. “As long as it takes for me to not be this mad at you.”

His lips press into a flat line as he bites down on whatever he was about to say. And then, after a beat, he repeats what he’s already told me. “Sugar, I am so sorry.”

I smile sadly and draw away from him. “I know,” is all I say as I lock myself into my lonely little trailer. And then I head back to the bed, where I lie awake all night long, analyzing my life from every angle and wondering how the hell I got here.

And how the hell I’m going to fix us so I don’t spend the rest of my life feeling like Beau Eaton’s pet project.





40


Beau


Beau: Gary wants me to tell you he’s on your side.

Bailey: He fucking better be.

Beau: I’m on your side too.

Bailey: You fucking better be.



I knock on Bailey’s door.

She said she needed time, and I don’t blame her. I’d want a break from me too. Unfortunately, I’m stuck with myself—hating myself—and obsessing over how to make this right. Last night, I went back to the bar to help out. Came back just in time to watch her swim in the river by herself from the top of the bank like a total creep. Then went to bed, where I didn’t sleep a wink and laid awake despising myself instead.

I see a swish of her curtains. Movement. A sure sign that she’s in there and knows I’m standing out here like a sad puppy.

“I’m not done being mad at you,” is what she calls from inside.

My lips twitch. She sounds so … huffy. And I can take this. I can take her being mad at me. I can wait her out. I will happily wait her out.

“That’s fine. I just came to bring you breakfast and your tips from last night. And a little something else.”

I glance down at the tray in my hands. Coffee. Scrambled eggs. Strawberries. Cash. Envelope.

Her door swings open and my heart lurches in my chest. Her eyes are puffy, thick hair drawn back in a high ponytail.

“Why are you bringing me tips?”

“Because it was your shift.”

“I quit.”

“I worked it for you anyway.”

She sniffs and her nose wiggles as she glances away. “Didn’t know you could bartend.”

“I can’t, and Gary was really mean to me all night.”

Her dark eyes laser in on me and I can see her fighting her lips into a downward curve at that tidbit. “Good.”

“Here.” I hold the tray out to her and sigh with relief when she takes it and I see my ring still on her finger.

“What’s in the envelope? Why does it say #teambailey on it?”

I shrug. “Some people from town dropped by with cash to help with your new unemployment status. Gary wrote the hashtag.”

“People from town? Gave me cash?”

“It would seem you going off on them had an effect. You may have inspired some … remorse?”

She sniffs. “I don’t want their cash. Don’t need it.”

“Well, good luck returning it. There’s a lot in there. From multiple different people and businesses. I don’t think they know how to say sorry to you, and this is the best they could come up with.”

Her irises widen as she stares down at the tray, lips lightly parted like she’s ready to say something but can’t find the words. To be fair, I was surprised too.

“Fuck me,” is what she settles on.

“I know.” I agree with a light chuckle, which just earns me a sour glare.

“Stop agreeing with me. We’re still fighting.”

I hold my hands up in surrender and start backing away from her. “Sorry. My bad. It’s just that I am also hashtag team Bailey.”

She shakes her head at me. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

And I just give her a salute and a wink. Because yeah, I am.

No one has ever showed up for Bailey, but she’s about to get the full experience.

“No, sugar. When it comes to you, I’m downright hopeless.”