Hopeless (Chestnut Springs, #5)

by Elsie Silver

“How long you been working here, Bailey?” I ask, watching her shoulders go a little tense when I do. She clears her throat. “Just over four years. Started at eighteen.” Twenty-two. Fuck. I’m thirty-five,

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.

“Cool. Great. So, no more porn in public. Yeah?” “I wasn’t—” I cut him off by squeezing my fingers tighter on his shoulder. Hard enough that I hope it hurts. It feels good. “You were. I saw. Your lovely bartender saw. We’re not going to do that anymore, you got me? You come in for a beer, that’s fine. But you’re gonna keep your eyes off of her”—

“And when you get home and rush to your bedroom to fuck a sock, you’re gonna keep her body out of your head and her name out of your mouth. You got me?” I take my hand off the guy and prop my hip against the bar, staring at him to make my point.

“Anyway, for a long time, I didn’t realize I deserve better. But I do now, and I’m resigned to the fact my last name will always haunt me here.” She keeps saying that and I try not to take it personally. I refuse to accept that this community I’ve always loved could be so deeply prejudiced against a young girl. She’s wrong.

“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.

“We’ll get engaged. That will give you the promise of becoming an Eaton. We can plan a wedding that never happens.” “Fake engaged?” She sounds incredulous, and I can’t blame her.

“Did you spike your tea with something?” A deep laugh bubbles up out of me. “No.” “Are you high?” I roll my eyes now. “Bailey.” “Don’t Bailey me!” She slaps the water with both hands as she laughs—a high, unhinged sort of squeal. “You’re acting insane. Why would you want to pretend to be engaged to me? Why would you do this?” “Because it would get my family off my ass about how I’m doing, and where I spend all my time, and all that other overbearing shit they constantly ask me about. And I love a competition. What do I get if I win?”

“People won’t believe this.” “Why not?” “Because you’re like town royalty. And you’re … how old are you? You’d never go for me.” Wrong.

As soon as the thought springs up in my head, I shove it away. I sidestep every part of myself that knows there’s a self-serving aspect to this arrangement. Every part of myself that knows I don’t care about the bet at all. I keep telling myself I am in control when it comes to Bailey. I want to have control. But I don’t.

“Why don’t you get out?” “Because I’m not wearing anything.” My heart crashes against my ribs before coming to a screeching halt. “I won’t look.” Her head tilts. “Why don’t you get in?” “Why?” Her lips twitch. “So I can see what I’m signing up for. Are you husband material, Beau Eaton?” “Probably not.” I smirk. “But if you want to show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

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.

“What if someone sees us?” He snorts a laugh, scrubbing a massive hand over the stubble on his cheeks. “Well, if you’re about to be the future Mrs. Eaton, it would make sense that you’d be at my house, no?” My tongue darts out over my lips as I shift my focus to the embankment. He seems … happy about this. I can’t wrap my head around that. It all feels so fucking weird.

“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?” I turn to Gary now, appreciating that he has Bailey’s back. It’s about time someone did. “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 proposed with one, but Bailey told me the diamond wasn’t big enough and to take it back.” Her foot stomps. “I did not!”

“Gary, you should have heard her. Said something about how she wanted a diamond so big that she could barely lift her arm.” He nods. “That’s exactly what she deserves.”

With a dramatic sigh, Bailey steps forward and swipes the box from the bar. She seems indifferent. Truthfully, she isn’t a great actress. Which is why the way her mouth pops open when she sees the ring for the first time is so damn satisfying. Her cheeks turn pink and her hand quakes, but her eyes stay locked on the platinum ring with a massive teardrop-shaped diamond. Smaller diamonds frame the center stone. Smaller diamonds line the band. It’s totally over the top, and I love that for her.

She looks very engaged wearing that rock, and it has the caveman inside of me beating his proverbial chest.

“Okay.” I shift closer, deciding that—fuck it—I’m going to sling an arm over her and tuck her against me. 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.

“Okay. Fine. Is this practice?” Practice. One simple word shouldn’t make me hard. But somehow practice does it. It fills my head with many things that Bailey and I could practice. The things I could show her. “Yeah, Baby Doll. It’s practice.”

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

“Sugar tits, are you pressing your ass against me?” My hips shoot forward, and I squeak as I scramble to create space between us. “You can’t call me sugar tits,” is what I come back with as I turn to face him, palms on my hot cheeks like it might cool them down. Or maybe like I have a rewind button there. That would be ideal.

“I’m horny,” I blurt, deciding I’d rather not lie. What’s the point? He sees through it anyway. His gray irises latch onto mine for a few beats. I expected him to laugh, but he just stares at me. “What? Is that so alarming to you? Is it because I’m a woman? I’m twenty-two, and I swear I’m almost at the point where I’d fuck anyone just to try it out.”

“We’re practicing talking about sex. I’ll need to be open about it one day when I do it, right? So I might as well get comfortable talking to a man about … ” I flail my hand around as I search for the right words. “Bodies. I should get comfortable talking about bodies. Seeing bodies.” “Yeah?” He replies from behind his hands. “Then tell me about how wet you are right now.”

“Don’t do that.” “Do what?” His brow furrows. I tug again, pulling him closer. “Don’t play stupid. And don’t be ashamed.” I try to step back, to give myself space, because the way he’s staring at me right now is disarming. But his big hands move fast, shaping my waist and gripping me. Immobilizing me.

I knew this property was a dump, but seeing it firsthand—knowing Bailey grew up in this squalor—makes something in my chest twist. She deserves so much better than this. She shouldn’t have to hide in the fucking riverbank from her own flesh and blood or worry about the people she should trust most in the world stealing shit from her.

“Who. Did. This?” I bite out, my voice a low growl.

“It’s just stuff. I can replace it.” Her eyes fill again as she stares over at her small truck. Despite its worn appearance, I imagine the old Ford Ranger handles the wild road that leads to her trailer well enough. Or it did. Right now, it sits on its rims, black rubber draped over the circular shape, spilling onto the ground, beyond deflated. “It’s just that—” She presses the back of her hand against her lips as her voice breaks. “I can’t afford this right now.”

“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.”

Because I can’t handle staring into her sad fucking eyes.

I 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 can’t just—” “I’m not having my fiancée live here.”

“Why would two people in love live in separate houses that far apart from each other on the same property?” It’s not safe is what’s really running through my head. In light of today? In light of last night? It would take too much time for me to reach her if something went wrong over there. I wouldn’t hear the noise. See the lights.

“Fine. Facing the river.” I grin at her before turning back to the wheel to line up the small trailer just right. 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.

“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.”

“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. A few other people chuckle, but it sounds to my ears more like nervous tittering. And me? I officially want to die. Beau chuckles, deep and raspy, but he doesn’t look away. “No. The surprise is that Bailey and I are getting married.”

Jasper, my best friend, my brother from another mother, stares at me with furrowed brows while everyone else swarms us.

“What?” Rhett gives his wife the same look back. “He has been a grumpy bitch. And now he rolls in all surprise we’re Beau-Bailey now! Sue me for not seeing this coming.”

“Beau-Bailey.” My dad laughs, stepping close to sling an arm over my shoulders. Everyone watches him with bated breath. He has a knack for saying inappropriate shit at the most awkward times. I suppose it’s part of his charm. “Sounds like a Disney movie about two golden retrievers who fall in love. Happy for you, son.”

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.

“Well, you are my fiancé. Maybe I should ask another guy instead,” she muses, the tips of her fingers now twirling over my skin as though dancing across the scar tissue. 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.” Her lips part. And fuck. I should stop, but the side of me that sees danger and runs straight toward it has made an appearance tonight. So I reach out and run my palm over her silky hair, cupping her head. “I’ll start leaving the back door unlocked for when you decide you want to find out if I’m a prude or not.”

In fact, I get the sense that part of Beau’s problem these days is that he hasn’t reconciled the before version of himself with the after version. It turns out, going missing in the desert for days on end changes a person. I’m not sure why this surprises anyone. And I’m not sure why anyone expects him to be the way he was before it happened. I guess that’s why I shrug and say, “I don’t know. Let’s go find out.”

I slide an arm around Bailey’s rigid figure and lean down over her again. 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.

“So I did some reading.” “So proud of you. I knew you weren’t just a pretty face,” I quip with a wink. She blinks away, muttering, “Dick,” so quietly that I barely hear it. Eyes back on mine, she tries again. “I did some reading about socks and blistering. Ways to reduce friction.” She pulls a plastic bag from her purse and shakes it at me. “We’ve got some options to try for that too. So sit down and start trying on some combos.”

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

“Beau, take that shit somewhere else. My feelings aren’t hurt. What I’m telling you is I don’t buy it.” The whoosh of air conditioning is all I hear for a few seconds as I consider my options. “Why not?” “That’s offensive.” I snort. It is. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to pull one over on you.” “For fuck’s sake, Beau. What are you up to?” I sigh, palms twisting over the steering wheel. “Bailey needed some support. She’s trying to get outta here, and people are so damn mean to her.”

“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.”

“What time is it, Bailey?” His voice is all gravel, his hold not loosening. I peek over my shoulder at the clock. “Two twelve.” One of his palms slides up the column of my spine to cup the back of my head. “Good.” Then I feel him kiss my hair.

Way too fucking far. I promised her I wouldn’t fuck her. I promised to help make things better for her. And I meant it. She’s young and sweet, and has her entire life ahead of her. I’m the last thing she needs complicating her situation. This arrangement? It’s a glorified bet. And she deserves better. I should have stopped.

“Is your penis normal big? Or like … ” She worries her bottom lip before holding her hands up in that twelve-inch spread again. “Big big?”