Powerless (Chestnut Springs, #3)

by Elsie Silver

Cade, Beau, and Rhett jog down the front stairs, joking and shoving and roaming like a pack. And then they’re followed by one more boy. One I don’t recognize. One who immediately has my attention. One with long, lanky limbs, caramel-colored hair, and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. The saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. When that boy slides his gaze over to me, there’s nothing but curiosity on his face. I jerk my head away all the same, feeling hot splotches pop up on my cheeks.

“Who’s the other guy?” I ask, unable to look away. “Oh.” Violet’s voice gets a little quiet. “That’s Jasper. He’s one of us now.”

“What do you mean?” She rolls up to sit cross-legged on the bed and shrugs. “He needed a family so we took him in. I don’t know all the details. There was an accident. Beau brought him here one

day last fall. I like to think of him as one more stinky brother. You can just think of him like a new cousin.” My head cants

I look anyway. What I don’t realize is that I’ll be fighting the urge to stare at Jasper Gervais for years to come.

Sloane Winthrop’s fiancé is a royal douchebag. I’m familiar with the type. You don’t work your way into the NHL without encountering your fair share. And this guy has the act down pat.

The rest of the Eaton crew couldn’t make it into the city tonight, but I promised her I’d come. And for Sloane I keep every promise, no matter how badly they hurt.

“Basically, she knows if she needs something, I’ll be there,” I add without thinking. Sloane shoots me a look, probably wondering why I’m acting like a territorial asshole. I’m wondering the same thing, to be honest.

“Wait, but you’re her cousin, right?” The drunk guy’s scotch spills over the rim of his tumbler and onto his hand as he points at me. I don’t know why Sloane and I have always been so adamant that we’re friends and not cousins. If someone tried to tell me that Beau, or Rhett, or Cade wasn’t my brother, I’d write them off immediately. Those men are my brothers. But Sloane? She’s my friend.

slacks now so I don’t grab her shoulders and shake her, demanding to know what the hell she’s doing marrying a guy who treats her like Sterling Woodcock does. Because it’s really none of my business. Her toned, bare back is to me

“I mean, you look beautiful,” I rush out, grimacing when I note her eyes widening. “You always do. You just don’t look . . . happy?”

“How does he know him?” Her eyes meet mine. “Sterling’s dad is a new business partner of his. He’s focused on making new connections now that he’s back in the city.” “And you’ve known this guy for how long again?” Her tongue darts out from between her lips. “We met in June.” “Five months?” My brow arches and I rear back. If they seemed madly in love I could buy it, but . . . “Don’t judge me, Jasper!”

“I’m simply curious how things happened so fast. I’m curious why I’ve never met him until now.” My voice is quiet, all gravel, almost drowned out by the hush of cars rushing past us. “Well, it’s not like I have a lot of free time with the ballet. And it’s not like you’ve been in touch lately either.”

“Where’s the wild girl I remember? The girl who danced in the rain and would crawl onto the roof so I didn’t have to be alone on the bad nights?” They’ve molded that girl into a pawn. And I hate that for her. 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.

But I’d rather she show violence than apathy. That means the wild girl is still in there somewhere.

She hurled words at me that should hurt. But I just hurt for her. Because my biological dad is an asshole. But the man who really raised me? Harvey Eaton? He’s the best of the best. He showed me love, and I can identify it just fine.

Plus, I remember how Sloane looks at a man when she really wants him. And she isn’t looking at her fiancé ...

I feel sick. The day I’ve dreamt of since I was a little girl is finally here, but it’s nothing like I imagined. It’s snowing. And I’ve always wanted a spring wedding. It’s in an ornate church downtown. And I wanted a cozy country affair. It’s a spectacle with hundreds of people in attendance. And all I wanted was something small and intimate. Worst of all, the man I’m going to walk down the aisle toward isn’t the one I see when I close my eyes. He isn’t the one I’ve wanted for the better part of my life. I’ve given up so thoroughly that I’m settling for a person I don’t love. One who I’m sure I don’t even like, and it makes me sick. No, this day is nothing like I imagined.

Black. Again, I laugh. I’d never have chosen black dresses for my wedding. I’d choose something light and whimsical. A celebratory color. But then, this isn’t really my wedding, and it isn’t really a celebration either. Maybe funeral colors make perfect sense. I haven’t been able to muster the energy to complain about the things I don’t want. And I realize now, watching the small orb of blood trickle into the center of my palm, that’s because I don’t want this wedding at all.

“If you don’t want this.” Her free hand signals around us. “If you need an out. If you need a getaway car. I’m your girl. I won’t say a thing. I won’t judge you. But if this isn’t right? If you need to run? Like . . .” She looks away momentarily, lips rolling together as she weighs her next words carefully. “Blink twice or something. Okay?” I don’t blink, but a tear spills out and runs down my cheek. “Fuck,” my cousin breathes. “I made you cry. I’m sorry. I just had to throw it out there.” “I love you, Violet. I’m not sure I’ve ever told you that. But you? Your family? Those weeks on the ranch every summer are some of the best days of my life.”

Today should be the happiest day of my life, but it’s not, and I don’t want to lie to her. My lips open before I even know what I’ll say, but my phone lights up and dings loudly on the vanity counter in front of us. Saved by the bell. Dropping her gaze, I lurch for my phone, relieved by having an out. It’s a text from “Private Number” and when I tap at it, the only message attached is: Thought you should see this.

“If I was going to be a good friend to you right now, what would I do?” Sloane sighs, relief painting every inch of her body. Like I just posed her the one question she so desperately needed someone to ask. “Jas. Get me the fuck out of here. I wanna go to the ranch.” I stare at her for a beat, hands shoved in my pockets, thinking I’d do anything she asked in this moment. And then I reach my hand out to her with a firm nod. “Let’s go, Sunny.”

Without looking up, he hands the sparkly heel to me as he taps the opposite foot. And not for the first time, I’m stuck staring at Jasper Gervais with my heart pounding while he goes about what he’s doing like it’s the most mundane thing in the world.

“Ready, Sloane?” “For what?” I whisper, leaning on the door like it might help me catch a few words. “To run.” My head flips in his direction. “You’re going to help me literally become a runaway bride?”

So I monologue, like I often do with Jasper. “You know I didn’t want an ugly fall wedding. I wanted a spring wedding. I wanted a flowy, feminine dress and an outdoor ceremony. No uptight tuxedos, and definitely no black bridesmaid dresses.” I hold up my hand, staring at the rock about the size of the iceberg that sunk the Titanic. “And I hate this ring. I saw one at a little boutique on Sixteenth Avenue—you know that funky area? It was a purple oval sapphire. How cool is a purple sapphire? And they set it sideways in matte yellow gold. Sterling said it was ‘weird’ and then gave me this ring the next week. I swear he picked the opposite of anything I’d ever want on purpose.” “Romantic,” Jasper says, his jaw ticking with tension.

She might not look it, but she’s strong. She’s a got a huge heart. A gentle soul. And watching her comfort Harvey right now, I let myself admit that the way I love Sloane might not be how one friend loves another at all.

I’m about to tell her I want to be alone, but when she wraps a blanket around my shoulders and plops down beside me, tucking herself in against me, my body releases a breath I didn’t even know I’d been holding. She presses close beside me, all downy and comforting. Her sweet scent wafts to my nostrils. Smells like coconut and icing on a cupcake.

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.

“You’ll be here in the morning?” This is what she’s always asked me on bad nights. Like she wanted to make sure I wouldn’t drop too far into my sadness. So far I wouldn’t come back. “Where else would I be?” is what I’ve always responded with as my hand slides over her damp hair. Because I will be. 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. She pulls away with a quiet sniffle and downcast eyes. “Goodnight, Jas. Just knock if you need me.” “Goodnight, Sunny.” I ruffle her hair and turn away.

“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. The one who has barely left my side for over a week. We both know she’s hiding from the realities of her life, but so am I. We’re kindred that way, and we don’t pick at each other about it.

I’m grumpy and miserable. The world is dark, but she’s like the moon when we sat on the roof. Bright and pure, shedding a silvery light over everything so that I can still see where I’m going.

Everything in the world feels wrong. But standing here with Sloane in my arms feels right.

I look over at Jasper again and catch him watching me. He’s listening and I don’t really care. There’s only one secret I’m desperate to keep from Jasper—that I’ve been pathetically in love with him for the better part of my life.

Her feet. My eyes trail down her legs to the floor, and I remember those days. The blisters. The redness. The swelling. I kept coming back to help her even when she didn’t ask me to. Even though I was told not to. In retrospect it was one of those nights when I first saw Sloane as a woman, and not the little blonde girl on the ranch. A cousin. A friend. It happened while I rubbed her sore feet and trailed a thumb up the arch of her foot. Her head fell back against the pillows on her plush, cream-colored couch, and the exposed column of her throat caught the warm glow of the floor lamp behind her in a way that transfixed me. Shadows played across her collarbones. Her cheeks turned a rosy shade. The moan that spilled from her lips had me shifting uncomfortably in my jeans. After that I stopped rubbing her feet. I realized she wasn’t a little girl at all. And I wanted what I couldn’t have.

“My head? My head, Sunny? My head is a fucking mess. I hate that Beau is missing and my family is hurting. I hate that my team is struggling and I’ve been sidelined. 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.”

“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.” What I don’t admit out loud is that my feelings were too jumbled and complicated to face in the wake of that announcement. It winded me in a way I never saw coming. “But you still needed my help, and I wasn’t there for you. You came

so damn close to being trapped in a life that would have been miserable for you.”

This last week has put me into a state where I’m practically frothing at the mouth to protect her, to rescue her—to ensure she never ends up in that position again. And I’m realizing that what I’m feeling is a whole lot more than...

trying to figure out what’s changed between us in these last several days. Did it all start that night at dinner when he met Sterling for the first time? Or was it when he charged into that room in the church, looking like a fucking superhero in a perfectly tailored suit? Was it when we sat on the roof? All I know is that something is different.

Because I’ve been staring at Jasper Gervais since I was ten years old, and suddenly . . . he’s staring back.

Jasper Gervais is so damn sweet under his standoffish exterior that it almost makes my teeth ache. That’s another side of him few people get to see. And I think I like that about him too. He doesn’t give his attention away willy-nilly. He doesn’t absently hum along to what you’re saying while scrolling on his phone. If you have Jasper Gervais’s attention, you’ve got it all, and that’s because he wants you to have it. He doesn’t just listen to me. He hears me. He sees me.

Jasper: I don’t like talking to people. Sloane: You talk to me. Jasper: You’re not people. Sloane: Lmao. What am I then? Jasper: My person.

It just is. The sky is blue. The grass is green. And I’ve loved Jasper Gervais from the first day I laid eyes on him.

If making yourself sick with jealousy were an art form, I’d be a master at my craft. Over the years, I’ve tortured myself by watching the NHL Awards. I’ve watched him year after year with a different woman, each one more stunning than the last. I’d watch them all dolled up, walking the red carpet, smiling for the cameras, and when it was over, I’d crawl into bed and imagine what they were doing at that very moment. I’d envision them clinking crystal flutes filled with fancy Champagne, surrounded by other players at some ritzy club, followed by a quiet hotel room, where Jasper would peel off her slinky, sparkly dress. Because they’re always slinky and sparkly. His lips. His hands. Her moans. Imagining is easier to take than seeing it up close. I wrap my hands around the slippery pint glasses that appear in front of me and walk back to our table.

Because friends don’t grind their cocks on their friend’s perfect asses. It’s just not done.

Everything about Sloane Winthrop is fucking distracting. And I’ve been trying really damn hard for a really long time not to notice.

I’m not sure what’s going on with us today, but we’re both going to feel like total shit tomorrow, regardless of alcohol intake. Because Sloane is going to be hungover. And I’m going to be tired from staying up all night fighting off thoughts about all the filthy things I want to do to her and those soft, puffy lips.

Willa: Nice. Shame spiral. Did you bang him? Sloane: No. We gave each other facials and passed out awkwardly. Willa: High five. I love it when Cade gives me a facial. Summer: Good god. Sloane: That is . . . not what I meant.

I gently remove his hat, tossing it onto the passenger seat. It’s too hard to see him from beneath the brim, and deep down, I know that’s the whole point of why he always wears it.