Hopeless (Chestnut Springs, #5)

by Elsie Silver

But he’s still the town prince, and I’m still the town trash. He’s the hero, and I’m the bartender. He’s an Eaton, and I’m a Jansen.

But he doesn’t leave. He drinks tea at my bar for the rest of the night. For two hours, he sits there, keeping watch. And when I kick everyone out at midnight and shut things down, he stays behind, silently guarding me.

Like he’s some sort of knight in shining armor. One who starts pulling up a stool every Sunday through Tuesday to drink chamomile tea until midnight, so I don’t have to close by myself.

But I relax when I’m looking at her.

“If we’re struggling, we’re still in motion, yeah? Heading somewhere better. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway.”

I’m where I am by choice. She’s where she is by birth. It seems profoundly unfair.

I wish it was her I’d been out there dancing with.

I’ve always liked Bailey, but over the past several weeks, she’s become something of a comfort blanket. A friend even.

It even irritates me that part of the reason I sit here four nights a week is because I’ve developed a totally inappropriate crush on my bartender, like I’m a fucking twenty-year-old bro waiting to make his move.

But laying a single fucking finger on her without her consent? That’s a death wish.

Part of how he protects everyone he loves from the fact this is who he is. Beau is lethal.

She’s stronger than I remember her, but I wonder if it’s all for show. I wonder if we’re the same that way.

I offered my last name because she looks like she needs someone in her life right now. And, shit, it might be time for me to admit that I need someone too.

“That’s fast, boy. What are your intentions? She’s a lot younger than you. Nicer. A hell of a lot prettier. What are you up to?”

Aw, Gary ily😭

“Brought me back to life. Can’t imagine my days without her.”

She looks very engaged wearing that rock, and it has the caveman inside of me beating his proverbial chest. Someone should tell him this is fake.

I can’t remember the last time I held someone who wasn’t on the brink of death. Someone who I just wanted to hold.

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

But it’s the sound of his laughter that gets me. It’s warm and full. It vibrates through my body. It makes my stomach flip.

When I finally come to face her again, she’s holding a stuffed horse that looks so well loved it’s coming apart at the seams. Except it doesn’t need to anymore. There’s a slash down the side of it. Bailey’s eyes lock with mine while her hands continue trying to shove the stuffing back into it. I don’t even need to ask her what it means to her. 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.

The sight of her crying makes me want to hurt someone.

“I’m just so tired,” she says, her voice small and wrung out. Her shoulders droop, and a tear races down her golden cheek. “I work hard to rise above it all, but I am so, so tired of struggling.”

Like she feels safe enough to be tired around me. To let her guard down.

I wasn’t lying when I said it’s the best I’ve slept in months. No pills. No alcohol. Just hard ground, fresh air.” And her. The only thing that’s come close to working.

It doesn’t matter, though, because I don’t think she’ll be living there for long. She’ll give in and move over to my place. And then I won’t have to be alone.

“Let her go. You’ve already peed on her. No one is gonna take her from you.”

My muscles bunch as I force myself to resist lifting her up and carrying her the hell out of here to have her all to myself.

I did it because I don’t think I want the first time we kiss to be fake.

But admitting this sucks feels good. Being allowed to admit it sucks without everyone rushing to patch me up is a weight off my shoulders.

Jealousy hits me hard and fast. I have no right to it. I can’t rationalize it. All I know is I don’t want her sharing moments like this—quiet and unfiltered, safe and trusting—with some other jackass. I want to be the only jackass who gets this version of her.

“Not a big fan of sharing something once I decide it’s mine.”

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. Bailey: If it’s all the same to you, I’ll be taking a cab. Thank you for your help, sir.

With Beau, I can sense the tension radiating off him, the energy, see the chaos that hums through his veins. He covers for it well, but I see it. I’m drawn to it.

She curls into my body the same way she did the other night, like she can hide behind me. Like she feels safe with me.

“Do you know my Bailey?”

🤩🤩

Because no one has ever taken care of Bailey Jansen before. But I think it’s about time she got used to it.

“Shit, sorry, Mom.”

AHHH😭🫶🏻🥰😍❤️‍🔥

Bailey makes 2:11 better.

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.

“Well, I broke my hymen with a toy some time ago. So I’m not sure what’s so sacred to you. It’s my virginity. Feel free to take that benchmark of mine off of your pedestal anytime now.”

The girl flat out told me we could do things that aren’t sex, like I didn’t know that was an option. But I’ve always known it was. And I’ve always known it wouldn’t be enough.

She sounds bratty. The tilt of her head makes me want to fist that thick ponytail, give it a tug, and tell her to watch her fucking tone.

DO ITTTT

But not before I stop at her chair, fist her ponytail, tug her head back to drop a kiss to her forehead, and say, “Let’s go give ‘em something to talk about, sugar tits.”

I don’t know how no one else sees it. Sees her. It’s like we’re all staring at the same painting and every other person in this town is missing the point.

I feel Beau’s hands touching me like I’m his for real.

I want to yell at him to put them back. I want his hands on me. All over me.

“We are opposites. I think my mom’s body saved all the personality for me and gave all the nerdy, overachiever drive to Ford. He probably ran numbers and created business plans in the womb. If he ever meets someone, she’s going to have to speak bitch. Because he can be a real bitch. Sometimes I miss working for him. Driving him nuts was the best.”

Might have to go try that book again now that I know he’s Willa’s brother lol

She’s a breath of fresh air. She’s excitement, and innocence, and a purpose all wrapped up in one. I missed her today. I couldn’t wait to get home and see her. I spent all day sitting on the back of a horse plotting out ways to kiss her again.

The earthy tile surround matches the tones of her hair and skin so well. If I didn’t know any better, I would say I designed this bathroom knowing how perfect she’d look in my tub.