I turn my gaze down and breathe slowly. I’ve never told anyone about that dream before.
My hands sluice through the water. The river is dark, but not as dark as everything feels at 2:11. I don’t feel terror looking at the inky liquid, but it does echo the bleakness I often feel.
Then I lift my head and my eyes catch on Bailey.
And I feel a spark of hope.
With a fist to my mouth, I clear my throat and forge ahead. “I guess it signifies the end of the job I’ve loved forever—my identity in every way that I’ve come to know it. The beginning of a life that … well, I never envisioned what I’d do when I got out. Didn’t want to, so I never faced it. Kept telling everyone I’d leave the military soon, but in my head, that wasn’t the plan. I think that’s what haunts me. I never saw a different career, or a relationship, or having to act gracious to people who are congratulating me just for doing my job. It’s weird. I promised my family for years I’d come back and work on the ranch, but it’s boring.”
“Only boring people get bored,” she replies, flipping herself up to float. The peaks of her nipples crest the water as she does.
“Okay, harsh.” My voice cracks and I lick my lips, willing away the urge to reach out and palm her breasts.
“Those are possibly the only words of wisdom my dad ever imparted on me.”
“Sorry, taking advice from Mr. Jansen isn’t on my bingo card this year.”
She doesn’t react; she just keeps floating, staring up at the velvet night. “You’re a good guy, Beau. But you’re kind of out of touch.”
“Come again?”
“Do you know how many people out there do jobs they don’t like? Or are bored with their profession? They get up and go do a job they hate with every fiber of their being because they depend on that paycheck to live. They don’t have a supportive family and a beautiful house to fall back on. That’s real life. Being a shitty employee and unreliable at the job you said you’d do because it bores you … ” She moves to standing, reaching up to push her hair away from her face. “That’s a privilege. Recognize it.”
My molars clamp down as I swallow. For all my internal monologuing about liking how Bailey doesn’t treat me like everyone else, this feels rough.
Because she’s right.
“Maybe you wake up at that time every night because you know you need to make a plan. If that’s what brought you comfort before, why stop? If you hate working at the ranch, don’t. But have the balls to tell the people who’ve been supporting you. And then do something rather than wallowing around in misery.”
A dry, disbelieving chuckle bubbles up from my chest. “You really have no filter, huh?”
“You have too big of a dick to feel this bad for yourself. Literally, everything is at the tips of your fingers. Try a little gratitude, Beau. It will change the way you see things. Plus, someone needs to give you a dose of reality. Might as well be your fiancée.”
It’s my turn to push back into the water and float, looking up at the night sky. I’m hit with an intense wave of déjà vu. Floating here as a boy. I’ve always loved the river. The sound, the smell, the sensation of being weightless in the water. I’m not sure when I stopped going in and opted to just stare at it instead.
“Okay, fiancée, what do you think I should do? You’re the best example I can think of for a person who is taking charge of their life.”
Bailey comes up close before flipping on her back to float next to me. Her fingers brush against mine, sending a jolt of awareness through my limbs.
The two of us, in the water together, stripped down in more ways than one.
One of my biggest struggles is going from feeling so needed, so important, so integral to a mission to … not.
But with Bailey, I feel like she needs me, and I need her.
“I don’t know, Beau. I can’t make that decision for you. But I can hang with you while you figure it out.”
“I’d like that.”
20
Bailey
Bailey: See you at two, soldier.
Beau: See you at two, sugar tits.
My knuckles rap against the door. “Another night, another swim. Let’s go, soldier!”
This is our new normal. Every night, I set my alarm for 2:00 a.m. and come to wake him. And every time Beau yanks the door open, my breath comes to a screeching halt in my lungs.
Like now.
Big, golden, dopey. I want nothing more than to push him back into his room and crawl on top of him like we did a week ago. I want his big, warm palm sliding down my back and gripping my ass, but we seem to have mostly moved past that.