Hopeless (Chestnut Springs, #5)(98)

“Good lord, man—” I stop when I see Bailey step out of her trailer. She’s wearing a pretty white dress and a denim jacket, and her hair is all silky and freshly brushed. I know she’s been showering at the gym. Summer told me so with a piercing glare that dripped with don’t fuck this up.

I glance at my watch, realizing it’s pretty early for her to be leaving already. I don’t want to miss her.

“Gotta go, Jas. Bye.” I hang up on him before he can get another word in and toss the bacon in the waiting bun, complete with tomato, lettuce, and mayo. Then I wrap it in a paper towel and race to the front door, where I know the path around the side of the house will take her.

“Bailey. Wait!” I call right as I rip the door open and bound down the stairs. “I made you breakfast.”

She stops in her tracks and turns to look at me. “You don’t need to keep making me breakfast.”

“You were up late.”

Her head tilts, and she regards me with a confused expression on her face. “How do you know?”

“Lights were on. Checked on you.”

Bailey clears her throat and reaches forward to take the bun. Ring still on her finger. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” I say, tucking my hands into my pockets. “Where are you off to so early?” I kick at the driveway, feeling like a teenager talking to his crush.

She’s quiet just long enough that it has me looking up at her to see what’s wrong.

“To the city.”

“Oh, yeah?”

She nods, teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

“Can you wait five minutes?”

She sighs.

I can’t stop cataloging every move she makes. Like it gives me some insight into what she’s doing. What she’s thinking. When she’s going to let me come close enough to kiss her again. Leave a bite mark again.

“For what?”

“I’m heading in too. Can I catch a ride?”

It’s a moment when she could say no. There’s zero reason I couldn’t drive myself. Truthfully, I’d rather be the one behind the wheel, but I also just want to be near her. And if sitting in her shitty little truck while she gives me the cold shoulder is what I can get, then so be it.

I can also tell by the way she’s peeking at me that she’s curious about why I’m heading into the city. And the feeling is mutual.

Maybe if she’s stuck in a vehicle with me, it will force her to talk.

If nothing else, it will force her to listen.





41


Bailey


Summer: Have fun today! Send pics of the places you look at. And tell me which neighborhoods. I want to know literally everything.

Bailey: Okay. Thanks.

Summer: You alright?

Bailey: Yeah. I just wasn’t expecting you to text me.

Summer: Why not?

Bailey: Beau is the only person who texts me.

Summer: Well, now it’s Beau AND me.

Bailey: Thought you might be annoyed about me moving.

Summer: Why would I be annoyed at that?

Bailey: Uh, because I just started working for you?

Summer: I know a thing or two about going after what you want. I love to see it. Make that world your oyster, girl.



Beau pulls himself into the passenger seat and the air in my truck instantly gets harder to swallow.

He looks delicious. A plaid shirt, a mixture of greens and creams, with a khaki tee beneath. I can see the silver chain of his dog tags disappearing beneath his layers. Jeans. The leather boots I helped him pick out.

It’s cool this morning, and the nip of fall creeps across the flat fields around us. It gets hot midday, and then the temperature plummets in the evening.

I love this time of year.

Shifting into drive, I pull away from the house, trying to keep my eyes on the road rather than on him.

I miss him.

For three days, I’ve missed him. For three days, I’ve forced myself not to walk back into his house.

And not because I’m trying to punish him. I realized that on day two. This isn’t even about him.

It’s about me. It’s about my fear outweighing my desire. It’s about taking my own first steps to start fresh. Being able to know I did it on my own, without anyone holding me back, and without anyone giving me a leg up. I’ve been a victim of my circumstances for too damn long.

First, I got mad at how unfair my life was.

Now I’m getting even.

“What are you doing?” he asks after we’ve left the limits of Chestnut Springs.

“Driving.” My hands twist on the wheel.

“No shit. In the city, Bailey. What are you doing?”

My tongue darts out over my lips as I consider what I want to tell him. He’s so … overbearing, overwhelming, overprotective, and I don’t want him barging in on this day for me. He made it very clear the other morning that I need to leave town. That he wants me to leave town.

And him? He’s got a family. A home. Any job he wants—that he can casually pick up at the fucking gas station.

No, doing any of these next steps with him in tow would hurt too damn much.

“You can’t come with me.”

“That’s fine.” He settles back in his seat, thick biceps straining against plaid as he crosses his arms. “I have something I need to do anyway.”