Hopeless (Chestnut Springs, #5)

by Elsie Silver

“Trust me, Bailey. If you sat on it the other night, you’d still be feeling it today.”

She’s going to be the death of me. And my restraint.

“It was 2:11 a.m. when I walked out of that bunker with Micah draped over my shoulders.”

I don’t want to get out of the water. Bailey makes 2:11 better.

“Therapist told me it’s because 2:11 is the visual representation of the choice that forever changed my life in ways I wasn’t prepared for. Every night I wake up and feel the fire on my feet. The burning is so hot it almost feels cold.

“Only boring people get bored,” she replies, flipping herself up to float.

“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.”

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 yo...

“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.”

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.”

“Part of what wakes me up is the sensation of my feet burning. I scorched them when I walked through that fire to get back through the tunnels. They were so mangled, so infected that I was sure the infection would kill me. I may have saved Micah, but in the days that followed, when we holed up in that cave? He took care of me.” “You ever talk to him?” Beau nods. “Yeah, we email now and then. I think I’d like to visit him sometime.”

“Bailey—” I don’t want to hear from him right now. I want him to be as uncomfortable as I am, so I guess that’s why I toss back, “Besides, if you weren’t so lacking in creativity, you’d know there’s lots we can do that isn’t sex.” Then I leave him there without taking a single glance back.

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. There’s a pretty obvious parting of ways on the horizon. One that doesn’t feel very amusing at all.

never want to see that look on her face again. I want to patch her back up and send her out into the world with confidence, knowing she deserves respect and is strong enough to demand it.

“You set your alarm?” I inch toward him, fingers curled around the doorframe to keep myself tethered, as though holding onto the molding might keep me from reaching for him. “Yeah, but I didn’t need to. I keep waking up at two every night now.” “But not 2:11?” “Well, I don’t know. Haven’t made it there.” I worry my bottom lip. “Then why do you keep letting me set an alarm and come wake you up for a swim?” He shrugs and drops her gaze. “I enjoy going swimming with you.” “So you just lie there waiting for me to come knock?” His lips twist in a mischievous smirk. “Yeah.” A disbelieving laugh bubbles up out of me. “Beau. Eaton. Do you know how fucking tired I am?”

“Is there a reason you’d be okay with kissing my shoulder but not my lips? Is it me? I know people talk a lot of shit about me, but did I do something that—” “Bailey, don’t finish that fucking sentence,” he grinds out, back to scrubbing a hand over his mouth.

“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.

“Bailey,” he murmurs against my damp, swollen lips. “You are doing nothing wrong. You have done nothing wrong. Anyone who talks shit about you is cruel and small-minded and not worthy of your attention. You are fucking perfect.”

“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.” And with that, he shuts the door.

“My dude.” My head snaps toward the voice I recognize. Willa, Cade Eaton’s fiancée, is standing beside me. She has her baby slung on her hip, wild red mane flowing around her stunning face, and indignation rolling off of her in waves. “I know you did not just cut my sister-in-law off and pretend like you didn’t see her.”

“Yeah, my ultimate plan is to get outta here and go to school in the city. Probably kinesiology and then chiropractic school.” “Oh my god, I would love to be related to a chiropractor.” Sloane moans the words. “I could ask you to fix my back any time I want.”

“I’ll hire you.” I jolt in my seat, hand turning to clamp onto Sloane’s as I stare at Summer. “What?” “At the gym. I barely have time to do my own workouts anymore. I’m always at the front desk, or answering emails, or ordering this thing or that thing. Why don’t you just tell me what time of day is good for you and I’ll work with that.”

“Did Beau put you up to this?” “You kidding me? Beau works all day and then rushes home or to the bar to hang out with you. I barely see him, let alone talk to him. He doesn’t even bring you around to the main house that often. He’s hogging you, if you ask me. This will be fun. We’re going to be sisters-in-law. We stick together now.”

Summer smiles brightly, holding her champagne flute up to cheers me. “You’re hired!” I need this. I need this to get out. I need this to survive, and I’ll get over the guilt eventually. Leaving Beau behind, though? It feels like I’ll never get over that.

“I know you’re scared of losing control around me.” Her chin tips up as though she’s told me something that will make me back down. Run me off. It doesn’t. “No, I’m scared of you becoming something I can’t live without.”

“I’m scared of taking something I don’t deserve, something we both know will lead to a bigger mess than we’re already in.”

“This isn’t a mess—” “I’m scared of having to go to work tomorrow and spending all day with a hard-on because I’m wondering if you went for a triangle or strip.”

“And I’m fucking scared of what I’ll do when the day comes I find out some other fucker gets to help you decide these things.”

“Okay, but tonight … are you helping me or leaving?” I mull the question over, telling myself I should leave while admitting to myself I’m not sure why I think I need to. Is it because she’s younger? Is it because I’ve become borderline obsessed with helping her and I worry that this will all just hurt her in the end?

“New rule, Bailey.” He points at my left hand, slung over the edge of the tub, and then between my legs. “So long as you’re wearing that ring, this pussy is mine.” My heart thunders at how base he sounds, staking a claim to my body. “Next time you find yourself thinking you’re going to pull that box of toys out and play with it all by yourself, you’re going to offer it to me first.”

“I think I want to become a fireman.” She stops rubbing my foot as her head quirks. “Yeah?” “I thought a lot about what you said that night. About doing something I want to do, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life working this land. It seems weird to switch careers and start something new at this age—”

“Hey, Beau?” I sigh raggedly. “Yes, Bailey.” “Why didn’t you let me put your cock in my mouth earlier?” Good fucking god. “Bailey.” “I thought that was coming next. Ya know? You stood up, and it was right there. Pointing at me like I was the chosen one. And I was ready to practice. But you took off before I could make my vocal cords work again.”

Truthfully, I wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that he was gone when I woke up. Couldn’t tell if he really had work or was making an excuse. This all started out as a show, but the things that are happening behind closed doors make it feel like a hell of a lot more.

“Did Beau ask you to do this?” Summer rears back. “Do what?” I shift on the spot, suddenly nervous. Asking that was probably a bad idea, but I don’t back down. I asked, and I meant it. “Hire me.”

Every time we go out, it’s a huge spectacle with drama and whispers. I started at the gym today with Summer and worked a bit, so I’m all set.” My sentiment hangs in the air between us, and his gray eyes flash. I’m all set. We can both see that means we might not need this arrangement anymore. We can both see the point I just made flashing like a neon light between us. We both pretend it’s not there.

It feels a little like the straw house we built is starting to tumble. I don’t need the air conditioning, and yet I’m still here. I don’t need another job, and yet I’m still here. I don’t need to go out with Beau tonight, and yet I do.

I hold him close, the wind whipping against us as we race down the highway into the city. At every stoplight, he reaches back and rubs my calf until it turns green again. And nothing about any of it feels fake.

The light turns green, and within minutes, we pull up in front of Gin and Lyrics. Owned and operated by the one and only Ford Grant—world famous investor slash record producer and Willa’s older brother. Which is the only reason I got our names on the VIP list.

Platform sandals prop up her wide-leg, loose jeans, and the skin on her chest shimmers from the reflection of the lights out front. She’s wearing a black leather jacket with a little tear in the elbow and a corset-style tank top that has me fighting not to stare at her breasts like some basic asshole who sits at her bar every night. Even though I am one.

She’s standing taller. Her eyes aren’t darting around. It seems as though just getting her past those town limits has given her a boost. Even her voice sounds different—less sugary and fake. More sultry, like she isn’t trying to be someone else. She can be herself here. And I can’t stop staring at her.

She looks like a different person. With a little over an hour between her and her childhood home, and a face no one recognizes, she becomes a different person. I adore every version of her. But this? Suddenly, I want nothing more than this for her. Excitement dancing in her eyes, a warm blush on her cheeks, a casual smile on her lips.

It’s hitting me she can’t stay in Chestnut Springs, and I would never want her to. How could anyone want to keep her there when she blossoms into this vibrant woman the minute she’s away?

“Where to?” she asks. “Not sure,” I reply, tugging her back, not wanting her too far ahead. Not wanting to lose sight of her in the crowd. Not wanting to lose sight of her ever.

Hair almost like mine, but scruffy, dull, and boring, just like him. This man’s hair is more of a copper brown than Willa’s bright red. Tall, so he can glare down his nose at you. Okay, he’s about my height. Six-foot three or so, which I guess is tall enough to “glare” down his nose at Willa. Green eyes like mine, but darker like money—his favorite thing.

Decent fashion sense but clearly trying to dress like he’s salt of the earth when he’s actually a stuffy billionaire. Jeans. Scuffed boots. Some bracelets adorn his wrists. Leather strap on one side. Beads stacked over a Rolex on the other. I can’t help but chuckle to myself at Willa’s description of him. It’s so … Willa. And yet, I feel like it helped me pick him out.

“Wow, the genes in that family are something else,” Bailey says appreciatively while watching Ford walk away. It rankles me more than it should. I straighten and give her a pouty glare. She gives me wide eyes back. “What?” She lifts her left hand, waving her fingers to show off her ring. “I’m engaged, not dead. And you’d have to be dead to not notice that—” “Bailey.” I stare at her flatly, and she just smirks. “Jealous?” Her lips curve up, and I know she’s teasing me. I swallow and hear the crackle of it in my ears. “Yes.”

“Who do you want to be?” The question is so simple, but it bowls me over. “I don’t know. I was so tied up in my job. Now I don’t even know. A rancher? Part of my community? Around for my family? A good uncle? A good son?” She shakes her head at me slowly. “No, those are all things that you think other people want you to be.” She reaches across the table, index finger poking me in the center of my chest. “Who do you want to be? Be selfish. You already told me you want to be a firefighter. Why are you pretending that’s not on the table now?” I don’t know what to say, but she forges ahead.

“Me? I want a job I can’t wait to go to every day. One that isn’t dependent on how I look, one that I’ll have worked impossibly hard to get. I want to walk into a store or a cafe and have people be happy to see me. I want them to wave hello at me. I want a fancy-ass truck with leather seats and all the bells and whistles. I don’t want to work at going unnoticed constantly. I want to look respectable, but I also want to be respectable. I want to be respected.”