“WWBD,” she says with a sure nod.
“Pardon?”
“What would Beau do? We both know he’d drink the beer.”
I’m sure if I even glance at her, I’ll break down, so I crack open the stupid Buddyz Best Beer and take a long pull.
“This tastes like shit.”
She drinks, and from my periphery, I see her nod. “Matches the day. Shit is the theme.”
I grunt my agreement. “You’re not wrong.”
Her shoulder bumps into mine but she doesn’t move away. She tucks in closer, pulling the same patchwork quilt we used as kids around us. And just like when we were younger, she doesn’t poke and prod. Or try to get me to talk about my feelings like a therapist I never asked for.
She’s just there.
“Do you think he’s dead?” I blurt, trying to cover my fear by chugging more beer. It’s the question that’s been dancing around in my head for the last couple of hours. The one I didn’t want to give voice to, but it leapt from me all the same.
I chance a look at Sloane now to see how she might react to my dark question. But as usual, she doesn’t shy away from my darkness—after all, she’s my Sunny. She chases away the dark just by being herself.
“I think . . .” She rolls the can between her hands, creating a loud crinkling sound in the quiet night. “I think that’s not the type of energy I want to put out into the universe for him right now.”
A strangled chuckle rumbles in my chest, and she jabs an elbow into my ribs. “I’m serious! Do you go into a game thinking you’re going to lose it? Or do you envision yourself winning? I obsessively run through a dance in my head before a performance, but I don’t let myself see a miss or a trip. And I’m going to treat this the same way.”
She nods, small dainty features pressed into a determined expression. “If Beau is out there, he needs our good energy. He’s too . . .” One hand rolls around in front of her as she searches for the word. “I don’t know. He’s larger than life. He won’t go down without a fight. I have faith in him.”
Unshed tears prick at my eyes. Larger than life. He is that. Determined. Relentless. That fucker doesn’t take no for an answer. And wherever he is, I hope he doesn’t right now either.
I lean into Sloane, and she rests her head against my shoulder. I don’t know how long we sit in a companionable silence, just staring out. No sounds except the intermittent hoots from an owl, the odd huff of air from a cow, and the quiet nicker from a horse.
“I love the moon on nights like this,” she murmurs. “It makes everything appear almost silver. It makes everything glow.”
Tipping my chin up, I peer at the sky full of creamy white stars so thick in spots it almost looks like a blanket. It reminds me of when we were in front of the steakhouse and I couldn’t see a single star on a perfectly clear night.
After our argument, I drove out to Chestnut Springs and spent the night in one of the small house I bought in town. Tonight I’m too fucked-up to go anywhere, but there’s this part of me that doesn’t want to sleep in my childhood bed.
It feels like too much right now. It feels too real.
Sloane’s body heaves a heavy sigh, and I wonder how she’s feeling after the shit day she’s had too.
“I’m sorry about Sterling,” I offer, not meaning it.
“Don’t bullshit me, Jas.”
A quiet chuckle rolls from my lips. “Okay. I’m sorry about your wedding.”
She sighs again, petite shoulders rising and falling with such tiredness. “I’m not.”
Her blunt response takes me by surprise.
“No?”
“Nah. Spending my life barefoot in the kitchen as Mrs. Woodcock sounds fucking terrible. I’d rather be barefoot in a dirty liquor store with you.”
I want to laugh but jealousy lances through me. Followed by relief. Relief that she hasn’t taken that path.
Relief that she’s sitting here with me instead. Because, wrack my brain as I might, I can’t think of a single other person I’d rather be with in the wake of this news.
I feel her shiver beside me and turn to press a kiss to the crown of her head, but her hair is wet and cold.
“Your hair is wet.”
She shrugs. “Yeah. I came straight here after my shower.”
An ache hits me in the center of my chest, and I shake my head at myself, not wanting to read more into that than I should. After all, she almost married someone today.
“Let’s go, Sunny. You’re gonna freeze with wet hair out here.” I stand and reach a hand out for hers, small and cool in mine, as I pull her up. I squeeze once and try to let go.
But I can’t. I want her close. I just don’t know how to go there.
She doesn’t suffer from the same confusion though. Without a second thought, she steps into me. My arms fold around her along with the thick blanket that rests over her shoulders as her hands slide over my ribs. Her forehead presses to my chest, and I cup the back of her head.
Maybe it’s our height difference. Maybe it’s just tradition. But I’ve always hugged her like this, and she’s always let me. There’s a comfort in it somehow. A familiarity.
“You’ll be here in the morning?” This is what she’s always asked me on bad nights. Like she wanted to make sure I wouldn’t drop too far into my sadness. So far I wouldn’t come back.
“Where else would I be?” is what I’ve always responded with as my hand slides over her damp hair. Because I will be.
Because she’s a tether that has never let go, even when I’ve wanted her to. Before I joined the Eatons, I felt like no one would miss me if I were gone. But now I know that’s not true. They would. Sloane would. And that’s always kept me grounded in a way I needed so desperately as a grieving teenager.
She pulls away with a quiet sniffle and downcast eyes. “Goodnight, Jas. Just knock if you need me.”
“Goodnight, Sunny.” I ruffle her hair and turn away.
We head to our own rooms. The same way we did as kids.
I crouch to fit through my window and curl up on my bed. Then the insistent pressure in my chest cracks and the tears come.
Just like they did when I was a kid.
The difference is, I wish Sloane were still pressed against me, and I never wished for that back then.
6
Sloane
*27 missed calls from Sterling*
*12 missed calls from Dad*
Sterling: Where’d you go? Come back. We need talk about this.
Sterling: Sloane, this is humiliating. Everyone is waiting. Can you have your temper tantrum later?
Sterling: Your dad is furious. We’re going to have to cancel all the caterers. Everything. I’m not dealing with this shit.
Sterling: This is fucking bullshit. Get your ass back here and sign the paperwork so we can move on.
Sterling: I’ll go to Grand Cayman by myself.
Sloane: Take the stripper. She deserves a vacation after putting up with you for even one night.
I wrench the passenger door of Jasper’s SUV open. I almost missed him.
“What are you doing?” His eyes widen beneath the brim of his maroon Calgary Grizzlies cap pulled down low.
Ignoring his question, I toss my purse into the back and crawl into the seat beside him. He smells minty and fresh, but the circles beneath his eyes are dark and his handsome face looks drawn. He looks sad, but edible in a pair of torn jeans and a downy plaid jacket. I glance down at my simple gray sweat suit that could fit two of me inside it.