Hopeless (Chestnut Springs, #5)

by Elsie Silver

A train horn blares, and I freeze in place. For years, I’ve covered the way loud noises startle me, but it’s different this time.

Civilians can’t fathom the shit I’ve seen, the decisions I’ve been forced to make.

I turn it so one elbow rests on the bar and I’m facing the door.

Gary slaps his palm on the bar, and I flinch at the sudden noise.

Must have missed the way he went taut and never relaxed again when a booming thunderstorm rolled through not thirty minutes ago.

“There are still good days to come, Beau.” “Of course, I know.”

The sound of him swallowing is what hits me first. Then him taking a sip of tea. When I finally glance back at him, I can see the amusement swirling in his eyes. “Shut up.” His lips press together, barely containing the laughter that threatens to spill from him. “I didn’t say anything.”

Which is why she doesn’t notice me sliding onto my regular stool. The one at the end of the bar that puts my back to the wall and gives me a view of the room—and the door. A way out.

“Gary, please. Beau is a tier one operator. He would never be so obvious.” She sends me a sly wink at the end of her sentence. A dry laugh lurches from me. Sarcastic Bailey never fails to knock me off my feet. And it would appear I’m never living that one down. “Yeah. My years spent in the special forces impress most people. Bailey though? Bailey just makes fun of me for it.”

It’s okay to not be okay.”

We sit on the riverbank, side by side. Both of us practicing being okay with not being okay—together.

We’re clinging to each other. My cheek against his heart as he curls himself around me. Top arm caging me in like a shield. I might as well be a teddy bear getting snuggled by the hottest super soldier of all time.

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.

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.

“I’m sorry.” She faces the front again and slouches down into her seat. “For what?” “Being the most high-maintenance fiancée in the world.” I snort at that. “You are so far from high-maintenance, it’s not even funny. You slept on the ground with me last night.” A soft smile touches her lips as she looks out the window. “Yeah, I liked that, actually.”

“And stop calling me sugar tits,” she adds with a stubborn lilt to her voice. I don’t mind at all, because it’s a hell of a lot better than hearing her cry. “Sugar it is.”

Bailey: I actually don’t need your permission, sergeant. Beau: I’m not a sergeant. Bailey: Captain? Beau: Not that either. Bailey: . . . Sir? Beau: Watch it, Bailey.

“If he acts like an asshole, let me know.” Cade is all gruff, protective vibes. It makes me smile against the rim of my glass as the ice melts in my mouth. “I’ll set him straight.” I cross my legs and lean back just a little. “That’s okay. I’ll set him straight myself.” Now Cade grins, pointing at me as he turns to walk away. “And that is exactly what he needs.”

“Bailey, I’m not walking through a door ahead of you. That’s just rude. I’m pretty sure it would summon Harvey. He’d pop out from behind a shelf and cuff me in the head.”

Everything about the man is big and coarsely muscled. Scars pepper his skin, but they only add to his appeal.

But not before his voice cuts through the silent house. “Sugar, there’s a spare bedroom upstairs on the left.” I have never wanted to keel over and die as badly as I do right now. Of course, he’d figure out I was here. He probably heard me breathing. I’m startled enough that I shoot up and watch him walk away, round ass bunching with every step.

“And if you want to see me up close, just knock on the door across the hall and ask.” And I officially want to die even more than I did a few seconds ago. I’m embarrassed enough that I skip the guest bedroom and lie on the couch, silently berating myself until I finally fall asleep.

“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.

Normally, I’d hate the sensation of being boxed into a corner where there’s no view of the door and no easy escape. It’s a terrible defensive position.

“Beau Eaton, don’t you dare pick something huge.” I turn to face her now. She shakes her head at me as I walk backward, straight into the waiting arms of . . . a giant stuffed raccoon. The biggest toy they’ve got. “Why not, future Mrs. Eaton?” I call back, grinning so hard my cheeks hurt. “You love that massive rock I put on your finger, don’t you?” “Beau.” I guess it’s her turn to use my name as a single-word scolding. “You also like my massive⁠—” “Beau Eaton!” She rushes forward, clamping a palm over my mouth. Her eyes sparkle while her loose hair dances in the breeze—she’s fucking glowing. “I was going to say motorcycle, sugar,”

I almost laugh. We both know what’s going on here. Age difference be damned. Bet be damned. Bailey and I like each other. We want each other. But we both know we shouldn’t complicate things when this agreement has a pretty firm end date.

“Fuck it!” His hand rips away from his mouth, like he tore off a piece of tape that was keeping him from talking, and with two long steps, he’s here. In front of me. Cupping my head. Backing me up against the doorframe. And kissing me.

“Hey, Beau?” “Yeah?” He turns, gripping his door handle. “Why’d you kiss me with no one here to see it?” The subtle smirk that plays across his lips makes my stomach flip. It’s full of promise, and sensuality, and experience. “Because I wanted to.”

“No, I’m scared of you becoming something I can’t live without.”

She tugs back the covers and wriggles in with a grumbled, “I can’t believe our military thought you were cut out for special ops. Get in. I’m tired.” Her hand pats the mattress matter-of-factly, and she flops back on the pillows like she owns the place.

“How are your feet?” She pushes back into me, pressing her back flush against my front, and I drop a kiss to her hair. “Better. Thank you.” “You’re welcome,” is her soft reply.

“I’m sure my sister only sang my praises to you,” he says as he turns and unhooks the red velvet rope. “She’s got a real knack for that.” He snorts and gestures us through. I chuckle. “A special way with words, for sure. But I know she means well. Still, makes me wonder what she said about us.” He grins now, pointing at a table for us along the dropped dance floor. “I believe the text message I received mentioned her GI Joe brother-in-law and his jailbait fiancée.”

“Have you decided which version of yourself you’re going to be tonight?” Her question startles me, and I sit up straight again to look at her. “Pardon me?” I almost have to shout it across the space for her to hear me. “You. You’re inconsistent. I’m gonna need a neck brace to keep up with all the different personas.” I stare at her. Really stare. Being anonymous in a busy bar has emboldened her in more ways than one. The truest thing I’ve ever said to her pitches up out of my throat unbidden. “I don’t know who I am anymore, Bailey.”

I want to answer her question with the same kind of fervor and surety, but the only thing I can think is, “I want to be yours for real.”

As I watch her walk away from me, weaving through the crowd toward the dance floor with her head held high and her shoulders rolled back, she doesn’t look young or inexperienced. She looks like a woman who could bring me to my knees.

“Bailey,” I growl against her cheek and press a brief kiss there as she wraps her arms around my neck. “Beau.” She says my name like a sentence, as I do hers, and returns the one simple kiss to my cheek.

“I have no idea what I’m doing.” The dancing, my life, this deal with her—I mean all of it. I have no idea what I’m doing. And for a man who’s had a plan for so damn long, it terrifies me.

“I’m so fucking hung up on you, it’s not even funny,” I confess quietly,

I don’t expect her to say anything. Or to feel the same way. I’m too old. She’s too young. Too good for me when it comes down to it. Which is why it sends me reeling when she whispers, “Wherever you’re hanging from . . . I think I’m on the same hook.”

“Nah. It’s probably those new supersonic hearing aids Harv got.” “Dad got hearing aids?” Jasper chuckles, flopping back in his seat. “Goddamn, dude. You ask some seriously stupid questions for someone who was supposed to have been a super soldier.”

“You talk about Sloane all the time.” I sound defensive to my own ears. “Well, we are married. Were actually engaged at one point.” I straighten and twist my palms on the steering wheel. “Well, so are Bailey and I.”

“I’m not. We’re engaged.”

“Oh shit.” “Oh shit, what?” “You’re into her.”

“But you guys haven’t talked about it?” “No. Not yet.” “Then why are you talking to me about it?” “Because I don’t know who else to talk to about it,” I bite out. “Maybe try the girl who it involves?”

“Rich coming from you. How many years did you pine after Sloane before you came clean?” From the corner of my eye, I see Jasper shake his head. “That was different, and you know it. But even if it weren’t, I have enough perspective now to tell you I wish I’d told her sooner. I wish I hadn’t counted myself out or convinced myself I didn’t deserve something happy.”

“Right. But it would have been worse to spend my life wondering what would have happened if I told her. Or wishing I had.”

To the girl I might spend a lifetime wishing I’d told this thing isn’t fake to me anymore.

“Yeah. Makes her happy. It’s our thing. I’ll sit around and drink watery Buddyz Best with Sloane for the rest of my damn life if it makes her happy.” I swallow and blink away. Fuck. That’s really cute. Meanwhile, I’ve got the emotional equivalent of a rock sitting across from me after hightailing it out of my bed this morning like he couldn’t get away fast enough.

“Say what out loud?” “You two have the same fucked-up sense of humor, that’s for sure,”

“What made you think I was done talking to you?”