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What I don’t realize is that I’ll be fighting the urge to stare at Jasper Gervais for years to come.
But I’m here for Sloane, and that’s what I keep telling myself. Because seeing her right now, all downtrodden mere nights before her wedding . . . it feels like she needs someone here who actually knows her.
I don’t know how she ended up here. She’s my best friend. She’s eloquent, and smart, and funny—does he not see that at all? Does he not see her?
“Basically, she knows if she needs something, I’ll be there,” I add without thinking.
“I mean, you look beautiful,” I rush out, grimacing when I note her eyes widening. “You always do. You just don’t look . . . happy?”
“Are you happy? Does he make you happy?” Her mouth pops open in shock, and I know I’m out of line, or stepping in it, or whatever. But someone needs to ask her, and I doubt anyone has.
She’s spitting mad right now. Mad at me. But I think that’s just because she trusts me enough to let her anger out, and I’m okay with letting her. I’m happy to be that person for her.
Her voice cracks as she presses her forehead to my chest, like she always has, and I slide my palm down the back of her hair, cupping the base of her skull. Like I always have.
We’ve never fought, but suddenly my urge to fight for her consumes my better judgment.
“Your dad is an asshole. He cares about himself. His business. Optics. Not your happiness. You deserve better.” I could do better. That’s what I really want to say. That’s what I’ve realized sitting here tonight.
Plus, I remember how Sloane looks at a man when she really wants him. And she isn’t looking at her fiancé the way she used to look at me.
I’d happily let him put Sterling in his place. But I’d be even happier to do it myself.
“Raise your voice at that woman one more time and I will drop you like a stone, Woodcock.”
“You’re not marrying him.” I swipe a hand over my mouth and gaze around the ornate room. The crown moldings. The over-the-top chandeliers. I feel frantic. I repeat the only thing that’s running through my head. “Over my dead body, are you marrying him.”
Tonight and every summer night after, she sits with me. I don’t invite her. She’s just there.
I stare at her for a beat, hands shoved in my pockets, thinking I’d do anything she asked in this moment.
He just grumbles, picking up his pace and looking around like he’s annoyed by the idea of someone seeing what isn’t even showing. Annoyed by my hair being too tight. I don’t know when Jasper got so . . . overprotective?
But as usual, she doesn’t shy away from my darkness—after all, she’s my Sunny. She chases away the dark just by being herself.
Relief that she’s sitting here with me instead. Because, rack my brain as I might, I can’t think of a single other person I’d rather be with in the wake of this news.
Because she’s a tether that has never let go, even when I’ve wanted her to. Before I joined the Eatons, I felt like no one would miss me if I were gone. But now I know that’s not true. They would. Sloane would. And that’s always kept me grounded in a way I needed so desperately as a grieving teenager.
“Goodnight, Jas. Just knock if you need me.” “Goodnight, Sunny.” I ruffle her hair and turn away. We head to our own rooms. The same way we did as kids.
“Does that mean you’re going home? To Sterling?” His voice is thick and he sounds resigned. I press my lips together and force myself to stare out the windshield. “No, Jasper. It means I’m coming with you.”
I tell Jasper I’ll just zip in to grab what I need. He ignores me and unfolds himself from the driver’s seat, grumbling about not letting me go in alone.
“No.” Jasper says from behind me as I reach forward. “Yes,” I reply, grinning as I turn back to him, holding up one of his jerseys. Number one emblazoned across the back.
The only thing keeping me going is how badly Jasper needs someone to be there for him. And I’m determined to be that someone.
The woman’s hands clasp up in front of her chest. “Oh, you are a sweet boy,” she gushes, looking at him with hearts in her eyes. And I can’t even blame her. I am too.
“I thought I was your best friend.” The statement is so simple and yet it winds me.
“That’s probably what you tell all the girls, Gervais.” “Nah, Sunny. You’re my only girl.”
But there’s only one person waiting who I want to see. The beautiful girl wearing my jersey who feels like home.
I have tunnel vision and all I see is Sloane.
Everything in the world feels wrong. But standing here with Sloane in my arms feels right.
Violet: He needs you more than he realizes. Don’t leave him. You’re his person.
I know he’s more open with me than he is with most people. Softer, less growly.
Peeking over at Jasper, I reply, “I’m safe.” Because how could I feel anything but safe? The man literally broke me out of my wedding, carried me down the street, and never batted an eyelash.
Like he just knows I need him, he reaches across the center console and takes my hand. Fingers linking with mine.
His mouth twists. “Sunny, the last thing you need in your life is another man telling you what to do.”
I especially hate that someone took advantage of you, that he hurt you. Belittled you. Yelled at you. You’re one of the most important people in my life, and he treated you like shit. And I really fucking hate that.”
I should be able to let this go, but her arranged relationship with Sterling hurts so intensely that it aches deep in my bones.
“Jasper, why are you so angry about this?” She looks confused. “I’m fine.” “I’m angry because I want you happy and safe. You weren’t. I pulled away when I found out you were engaged.”
“Hell might be alright if you were there with me.”
She looks different than I’ve ever seen her. Or maybe it’s just the way I’m seeing her now.
“They’re not just blue.” He says it like it’s fact and not his opinion.
She’s the only one who knows that whole story, every dirty detail. Everyone else has bits and pieces, but with Sloane, I laid it all out.
I nod and twist my hands on the wheel, resisting the urge to reach out and touch her, to tell her how proud I am of her. To tell her she could be mine instead.
No, Sloane doesn’t need my approval. But goddamn, she has it anyway.
Sloane is outright glaring at the woman. She did this when she was younger, when she had the most blatant childhood crush on me. Beau made fun of me about it, and I’d have to tell him to shut his big mouth so he wouldn’t embarrass her.
I’m too tired to focus on anything other than how the water is the exact color of Sloane’s eyes.
I drift off staring at the crystal-blue water. Daydreaming about the girl with crystal-blue eyes.
“You don’t need to worry about me, Sunny.” I don’t look back when I hear her soft response. “I always worry about you, Jas.”
Because I’ve been staring at Jasper Gervais since I was ten years old, and suddenly . . . he’s staring back.
