Hopeless (Chestnut Springs, #5)

by Elsie Silver

The new Beau sits at the bar with the shy neighbor girl, who wears a pair of acid-wash Levi’s better than anyone he’s ever seen.

She’s always been sweet, shy little Bailey Jansen. Sadly, born into the least respected family in town. Her dad and brothers have dabbled in it all—drugs, prison, theft—and her mom took off years ago. Worst of all, their land borders ours. I can see it from my house on the ranch, just on the other side of the river, where I’ve put up a barbed-wire fence, so those assholes know where to turn back around. But Bailey has always been different in my eyes.

I’ve always felt bad for her, always felt protective of her from afar. The stares, the whispers. I imagine living in a small town where almost every resident has a story about your family must be fucking brutal. So, I’ve always been nice to her. I like her—have no reason not to—even though I barely know her.

Bailey is the only person in town who hasn’t fallen all over herself to tell me what a hero I am since I got home. She doesn’t gawk at me like I’m a rare animal in a zoo.

I’m sick of people talking to me, but it strikes me that listening to Bailey talk might not be so bad.

A warm blush paints her cheeks when she softly replies, “Yeah,” and then blinks away. Her eyes, that one little word—it . . . makes my blood pump faster. It makes me feel something in a sea of numbness.

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. And yet, he’s here every damn day since the afternoon he walked in looking like a caged animal who broke free.

man he is. Head held high, shoulders perfectly straight. 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.

Beau: Willa doesn’t run my show. Cade: You must be new here. Willa runs everyone’s show.

“I’m struggling.” She nods. “Trust your struggle, Beau.” “What does that mean?” “If we’re struggling, we’re still in motion, yeah? Heading somewhere better. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway.” My chest tightens. I don’t want Bailey to struggle. I’m where I am by choice. She’s where she is by birth. It seems profoundly unfair. But I lift my glass to her all the same. “I’ll cheers to that. To struggling together.”

And then I head straight for where the best part of my day always is. The place that I’ve come to associate with both peace and purpose. The stool at the end of Bailey Jansen’s bar.

“Have you ever had anal sex?” As Bailey’s sugary voice cuts through the loud music at The Railspur, I spray hot tea from my mouth. My attempt to cover it with my palm only results in me getting soaked. Hot water drips down my forearm and lands on my lap. Pretty sure my eyes have popped right out of their sockets onto the wooden bar top that separates me from sweet, quiet little Bailey Jansen. Sweet, quiet little Bailey Jansen, who I now spend a good three to four nights a week around. Sweet, quiet little Bailey Jansen, who just asked me about anal sex like she was asking about whether I take cream in my coffee. She tosses a rag onto the bar. “Clean that up.”

That’s what I like about her. She’s not a kiss ass, she’s not a pushover, and she doesn’t tiptoe around me. She also might not be as sweet and quiet as I thought. In a world that feels horribly boring and mundane, Bailey Jansen has proven to be incredibly interesting.

“Welcome to being a Jansen. No one cares if I’m comfortable or not. And if I’m anything short of pleasant, I’m just like my brothers.”

I hate this for her. I hate that a town that’s been so good to me and my family has been so hard on a girl who didn’t ask for the hand she’s been dealt.

“Ahh,” she says, arms crossed under her breasts, the white cotton of her shirt making her tan skin glow. “The Eaton effect.” She gives me a smug smile. “If I had that last name, people would ask me how high when I said jump too.”

So it irritates me that Bailey can be this fucking great and people can still be so fucking shitty to her. 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.

I promised her I wouldn’t make any more scenes at her bar. But I’m about to break that promise. Because gawking at her while watching porn is bad enough. But laying a single fucking finger on her without her consent? That’s a death wish.

I don’t know what startles me first. The feeling of an unwanted hand taking a firm grab of my ass or the crash of glass against the floor. “Remove your fucking hand. Or I’ll do it for you.” Beau’s voice is lower than usual, quieter. More menacing. I lurch away from the table, shaken, cheeks hot, and realizing shit could be about to go bad. I don’t know who Seth is, but if my brothers are here to wine and dine him, chances are he’s not a good dude. All it takes is a few long strides for Beau to be towering over Seth. His lean wrist twists in Beau’s impossibly big hand, and a high-pitched squeal spills from his lips.

Beau has spent years portraying himself as a happy-go-lucky goofball and it’s at this exact moment I realize that was part of his cover. Part of how he protects everyone he loves from the fact this is who he is. Beau is lethal.

I expected it to be one of those Jansen assholes. But no. It’s their little sister with the wide eyes that stare at me from the other side of the bar. The one who doesn’t take my shit but tolerates my presence. Even when it’s stormy.

“Even if I could get the job back, I don’t want to work in a place where people see me that way. Don’t you get it? That’s how I’m perceived here. The Railspur is the only place that doesn’t feel that way, thanks to the fact that none of the workers are local. That’s why I’ll leave as soon as I’ve saved up enough to pay a year’s rent.”

“For someone who has seen some dark shit, you’re sure naive. Living in some sort of magical fairy land over there, Eaton? Why don’t you wave your wand, give me a different last name, and we’ll put this theory to the test.” The heavy thud of my heart in my chest accelerates, pumping faster as the thrill of a new idea courses through my veins. A new mission. “Is that a bet?” “What?” She glides her hands through the water, giving me a confused look. “That things would be different if you had a different last name?” “It’s not a bet. It’s a fact.” “I’ll take that bet.” My body thrums as this new idea takes shape in my mind. I’d also be willing to bet a therapist wouldn’t approve of my plan. But I stopped seeing one a couple of months ago, so nothing is holding me back. “What bet? For a guy who drinks chamomile tea all night, you seem awfully confused.” “I’ll give you my last name and we’ll see if people treat you differently.” She goes deathly still. “How?” “We get married.” There’s a pregnant pause. It seems like even the creek stops babbling. And then, “I’m not marrying you. That’s insane.”

“I’m thirty-five. And I’d definitely go for you.”

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.

“Are you going to take the bet?” Her eyes land like heavy weights against my skin. I can’t see them clearly, but I swear I can sense her internal struggle. “I’m going to sleep on it. Meet me here tomorrow night.” “Okay.” I nod, fingers squeezing against my hip bones as if that might quell the itch in them.

What else am I supposed to do? She’s the most confusing combination of innocent, curious, and forthright.

I told Beau I needed to sleep on it, but I lay awake in my hot-as-fuck Boler trailer, turning his insane offer over in my mind. I alternated between stressing over going through with the bet and stressing over the prospect of passing it up. Then I stressed about the fact we didn’t set a time to meet up.

“We should do it,” I call back. He goes deathly still. “Yeah?” I nod, taking tentative steps toward the water, trying to act more casual than I feel. “Yeah. But we need to talk about it.” The column of his throat works as he swallows, eyes narrowed in on me, like he can see right through the calm and collected facade I’m trying to put up. I struggle not to let my eyes skate down over his broad chest. Instead, I fixate on the day’s final rays of sun and how they hit the thick stubble over his jaw. “Your place or mine?” I joke, trying to cut the tension. His gaze drops to the water. “I don’t know if I can go in the water. I thought I wanted to, but . . .” My head tilts, urging him to explain. “The burns. They were infected so badly before. I don’t know if I want to chance it.”

He’s beautiful almost always. But he’s blinding when he smiles.

I remind myself that Beau is older and charming and about to be my fake fiancé. He’s always been a flirt—a showboat—and it’s nice to get a peek at that side of him. It feels good to be the one who can bring it out in him, but if I’m going to go through with this bet, I’ll need to keep reminding myself that we’re pretending. And that Eatons don’t mix with Jansens.

“You sure you’re okay with lying to your family just to help me get a job?” “There’s lots I could never tell them. Lots I never will. This is just another one of those things. And I really need . . .” He trails off, glancing around the pristine kitchen. It’s truly so clean I could eat my meal off of almost any surface. It almost looks like it hasn’t been lived in. It’s sterile. “ . . . I really need to feel something.” I start in my seat, eyes snapping up to his. “And honestly?” He scrubs at the back of his neck, lips twisting in a wry grin. “This already feels like the most fun I’ve had in a long time.” I decide in this moment that if he’s not going to bug me about my virginity, I’m not going to bug him about whatever haunts him. We’re both getting something

I slide my hand across the table, and he envelops it in his large palm. We shake. We exchange numbers. And just like that . . . I’m engaged.

“How goes it, Sweet Cheeks?” Might as well rip the Band-Aid right off. She freezes in place and Gary’s head whips my way. “The fuck did you just say to her?” Gary’s jaw is practically on the floor. I grin. Yep. This already feels good. I can do this. A show. A mission. “We’re trying out new nicknames.” She turns slowly, and the menacing expression on her face indicates she’s going to kill me. “Why on earth?” The older man sounds genuinely flabbergasted. “Did Bailey not tell you the exciting news?”

“You’re not wrong. She’s all of those things. But she’s also . . .” My eyes slip back to her. She looks fucking terrified. “Brought me back to life. Can’t imagine my days without her.” It’s not a lie. In fact, every word is true. I don’t only spend four nights a week sitting here like a loyal guard dog because I hate the idea of her working alone. I’m not quite that noble. But I can’t bring myself to hold her gaze after I’ve said it.

Every time she catches someone staring, I see the corners of her mouth twitch before she presses her lips together and averts her gaze. And that right there makes the ring worth the ridiculous price tag. I’ve saved my money for years and was never sure what I wanted to spend it on. This seemed like a worthy investment.

All at once, I’m faced with the question of what I want more. To get to Bailey? Or hang on tight to my anxiety? It’s not a question I need to think about for long. I’m not sure I think at all before I’m wading into the cold waterway to get to her, not caring about myself at all in the process. Very on brand for me. It’s why I am where I am.

My chin dips down, and I turn carefully in his arms, reveling in the heat of him against my back as I stare down at the diamond adorning my ring finger. It’s too much. It’s way too fucking much. Not only does it not belong on a girl like me, but it’s further proof that Beau doesn’t understand the way my world operates. Nice shit gets stolen. End of story. I don’t get nice shit. I wasn’t made for it. And it wasn’t made for me. As soon as I’m done basking in the feeling of being held, I’ll tell him. I’ll force him to take the ring back. I’ll sit him down and make him understand that although we have an agreement, there is still a line in the sand between us. One where⁠—

He shifts, smacking his lips in an almost child-like way as his top leg hooks over me and pulls me closer while he . . . Grinds his massive morning wood into me. Now I really freeze on the spot. A real man is pushing a real boner into me. I’ve thought about this nonstop. What I’d do. How it would feel. I’ve dreamed about this. Being a twenty-two-year-old virgin makes me sound . . . wholesome somehow. Living in my head is a whole different story. Because, yeah, I’m a virgin, but I’m not desperate to hang onto my V-card. In fact, I’d say I’m eager to get rid of it. I mean, have you seen my dildo collection? My YouPorn search history? A silicone vibrator I pretend is Jensen Ackles snagged my hymen years ago.

“You want to practice talking about sex? Let’s practice.” His raspy voice vibrates across my skin like a touch. Somehow, his cock fills even more of his shorts. I hesitate for only a second before I reach down and peel the sweater off, keeping it clutched in my lap. My fingers dig into it, using it as a shield for his question about . . . lower. When I glance down, my hard nipples are pointing straight at him through the thin cotton bodice of my dress, like my body is screaming, This one! Do this one!

“What, Beau?” she screams, turning to me. “You think I don’t know how fucked-up it is? I can’t rent anything in town because no one will approve me. I’m trying so hard to fly under the radar. I’m trying so hard to start fresh. And then there’s this part of me that feels guilty for it—like I owe them something. Like I don’t deserve to start over. Like how could I possibly think I’m better than the rest of my family and I deserve more than this?” She gestures around herself. “This is first-class living compared to what I grew up in.”

“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.”

expect her to cry, but she doesn’t. She relaxes in my arms, melting against my torso, just like she did all night long. Like she feels safe enough to be tired around me. To let her guard down. I want her to have that all the time, which is why I say what I came here to say in the first place, even more sure of myself than I was before. “You’re not fucking living here anymore.”

“I’m not having my fiancée live here.” “Beau.” Her voice chides me, but her body softens further. “What, Bailey? No one will believe I’d be okay with you staying here. Just rationalize it that way.” My arms tighten around her, a little firmer now. She’s not breakable. “What about my tires?” She sniffs and I rub a comforting palm over her head, smoothing her hair. “I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of it all.”

Although I grew up here, I failed to realize something . . . I’m not a rancher. I don’t care about the cows. I don’t find joy in working the land. My brother wakes up every morning dedicated to running the family ranch. I wake up every morning dreading it.

“Is the surprise that you two are going to eye fuck each other while we all watch?” Willa asks casually as her fiancé, Cade, scrubs a hand over his face and groans beside her.

deep and raspy, but he doesn’t look away. “No. The surprise is that Bailey and I are getting married.” You could hear a pin drop. I swear the birds stop chirping. Beau’s magic fingers massage the back of my head as he releases my hand, wrapping his thick arm around my waist and tugging me tighter against his chest. I feel like an awkward rag doll. Being held by a Ken doll.

“Well,” she slaps her thighs and pushes to stand, taking a few steps across the deck toward us. “Let me be the first to say congratulations to you both.” She holds her arms out for . . . a hug? “Welcome to the family, Bailey.” She shifts to peer around me at Beau. “Let her go. You’ve already peed on her. No one is gonna take her from you.” Her brown eyes gleam, and her lips are upturned in a knowing smile. I can’t figure out why she’d be smiling like that at me. Can’t she tell this is fake?

“You were perfect.” Our lips graze—barely a touch—as the words leave my mouth. I move mere inches to the left, pressing a very real kiss to the corner of her mouth, missing her lips entirely. Some people might consider it a mistake. Some people can’t tell what’s real and what’s not. But I did it on purpose. I did it to plant a seed. I did it because I don’t think I want the first time we kiss to be fake.

Little things she does—without even trying—make me feel like it’s okay to not be okay in her presence.