Powerless (Chestnut Springs, #3)

by Elsie Silver

trying to force his line of sight up to my own. “Jas. I’m right here. You kept us safe. Everything is okay. You did so good. Thank you for always looking out for me.”

“It wasn’t a moment of insanity,” I say matter-of-factly. “Sorry?” She sounds incredulous. “I definitely meant to kiss you.” She scoffs, crossing her arms and turning beet red. “You were barely responsive mere seconds beforehand. You were in shock, so you’ll forgive me if I don’t believe you.” “I don’t need you to believe me for it to be true.” I don’t know why after years of keeping my mouth shut, I’m now blurting this all out. Most likely, it’s because I saw our lives flash before my eyes back there. When I looked over at Sloane beside me and saw her beautiful blue eyes clamped shut, fingers gripping the seat, shoulders scrunched up to her ears, I realized it could be my last moment with her.

But fuck, losing someone and having them not know that you care about them? Wishing you could go back and tell them? That’s a special hell. One I have no intention of living in because I’ve given my demons enough of myself already—they can’t have her too.

“Ha! Un-fucking-believable.” Her jaw pops, and she stares out the passenger window. “I’ve known you for what? Eighteen years? Almost half your life? And this . . . this feeling is just occurring to you now?” A humorless laugh bubbles up out of her and she shakes her head. “Someone else came to play in your sandbox and you got all territorial after years of not giving me a second look? Love that for me. I’m not a fire hydrant for you to piss on, Jasper.” Her hands shoot up beside her head. “Like . . . I’m supposed to buy that you’ve just had some sort of awakening and your childhood friend is suddenly hella kissable these days? God. That’s hilarious. If I didn’t like you so much, I’d kick you in the balls for this.”

“It’s not just occurring to me now.” She rolls her eyes, shimmying her shoulders up taller, as if straightening in her seat might make her feel less vulnerable. “It’s true.” I wish the roads were better so I could give her my full attention and look her in the eye. Wipe that petulant expression off her face and kiss her again. Make her believe me. Because I know I haven’t been imagining these moments between us. The ones where the air grows so heavy that it feels like more than I can bear. “I don’t believe you,” she repeats, but this time her voice is a little hoarse.

“They’ve always felt this way for me!” she explodes, arms flung wide, eyes shining with emotion. “And you’ve never noticed. But now you do? What am I supposed to do? Jump for joy and say thank you for blessing me with your interest?” I pale, hands going clammy on the wheel. I respond in a stream of consciousness, trying to explain myself in the wake of what she’s just said. “I mean . . . we all knew you had a childhood crush. I was a teenager. But you were just a kid. And then you outgrew it. You had boyfriends and ballet. I had hockey and endless training. We became friends in the city. You got engaged.”

voice hits me like a punch to the fucking gut. “I never outgrew it, Jas.”

processes things. What I didn’t know is her childhood crush never left. I should feel bad for never noticing. I should feel like an idiot. But I feel . . . relieved.

“Years, Jasper. Years. For years I have been the little cousin, the little sister, the good friend. For years I have seen you. Waited for you every summer. Watched you go on dates with women who weren’t me—who would never be me. I was sick over you. And then I came to terms with what we were. I accepted I would always want you and you would never want me back. I convinced myself that sometimes the greatest loves of our lives will

be our closest friends. And I was okay with that.” My stomach drops, my chest seizes, and nausea roils. “I got really fucking comfortable in my head where I could want you that way but had the safety of knowing you didn’t want me back. And now? You just change your mind? Willy-nilly? When emotions are already running high for us both? This is insane.” “I didn’t just change my mind.” I dread what I’m about to tell her. She’s already angry with her dad, and I loathe the thought of being the one to make her hate him. Because hearing what she’s just told me, I know this will hurt her. “Make this make sense for me, then!” My voice drops, and so do my eyes. “It was your dad.” “What?”

“It was the fall you got a spot with your company. Finally went pro. Got a role in The Nutcracker. I came to help you move into your new condo downtown. You were eighteen, and I was twenty-four.” “I remember.” Her voice is quiet, hollowed-out sounding. “We had fun setting everything up.” She nods. “We did.” “I had secured a spot on the Grizzlies. Clawed my way up off the farm team.” “I remember,” she repeats. “Everything was going so well for both of us. I was so happy for you. So excited to see you on stage. To have a friend from back home in the city with me.” Her eyes are shiny now. “But your dad found me leaving your place.” I swallow, staring down at my hands, arms limp at my sides before crossing them and slipping them beneath each other like a shield. “He threatened to pull strings with his friend who owns the team and have me cut from the roster if I ever crossed that line with you. He told me to stay far away from you. That he never wanted to see me in your presence alone again.”

“You were still a kid to me back then. I really didn’t think of our relationship that way, but he scared me all the same. Sloane, you have to understand, I had nothing to my name except being good at hockey. Being really fucking good at hockey. Good enough to pull myself out of the gutter I got left in. And your dad? He’s just powerful and connected enough to follow through on his threats.” Her bottom lip wobbles and her eyes blink. “But why would he want you to stay away from me?” My face scrunches, and I wipe a hand over my stubble, hearing the rasp in my ears. “You really can’t guess, Sloane? It’s because I’m not one of you. I’m from, I believe he called it ‘the wrong side of the tracks.’ I don’t take six figure trips to hunt lions or drive a Maybach. I came from nothing and made something of myself by working my ass off and putting on a show for the masses. I’m beholden to men like your father, but I’ll never be one of them. I’m an Eaton at heart. A small-town boy. And I always will be, no matter how many zeroes are on my paycheck. And to be frank, I’m happy with that.”

“But I don’t care about your paycheck. I never have.” Her voice is so small, so brittle. I sigh and reach up to squeeze at my brim, wanting to comfort her but not wanting to overstep either. “I know you don’t. But this is what I’ve been trying to tell you all along. He doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t care that Sterling is a shit match for you. He doesn’t care about what you want. He cares about what he needs. He couldn’t risk me or you ruining his plans or his reputation with my dirty upbringing and fucked-up family dynamic. And I was too young and too desperate to defy him. I missed your first professional ballet on the big stage because I was scared. I kept you in the friend zone for years after because I was scared.”

“Times have changed, Sloane. I’m not scared anymore. You’re not my fucking friend. You’re just mine.”

My body screams at me to go back to him. But I don’t want to be that ballerina in a jewelry box with him. I don’t want him to feel like he needs to save me. I want to save myself.

He’s done a good job of looking at me like I’m a friend, but he isn’t right now. He’s looking at me like I’m his.

neck, cool sweat on my temples. I swallow and push ahead. “I’m talking about the tattoo, Jas.” He glances up now, seeing where I’m pointing, and lifts his left arm. I get a full view of the tiny ballerina inked on his skin. It looks like the ones inside a jewelry box I’d been thinking about earlier. “Oh.” He sighs. “That.” “Yeah. That.”

“What is this?” “I thought it would look familiar to you,” he quips, just letting me soak it in as his hips bump against the inside of my thighs. His thick cock so damn close. My head tilts and I peek up at him. “Why?” He knows I mean why does he have a ballerina inked on him when the rest are patterns—scales, lines, and geometric shapes that remind me of a kaleidoscope. His Adam’s apple bobs. “Because I missed your first professional dance.” He clears his throat, staring at my hands and avoiding my eyes. “I wanted to be there so badly after all the times you’d been there for me, so I went and did something that night to commemorate it in my own way.” I blink my lashes rapidly to clear my eyes. “You said you were reviewing game tape.”

“You really think I’d miss your big night to review game tape?” “I . . .” I trail off because, no. If I really think about it, I know he wouldn’t. He’s always been there for me, and that night was an outlier. Looking back, it doesn’t make sense for him to miss it at all. “But you’ve come since then.” “I started coming when I figured your dad wouldn’t be there to catch me. Your debut night was too risky. I saw the show though. I came a few weeks into the run and sat in the nosebleeds by myself.”

And walk out of the bathroom. After years of longing for Jasper Gervais, I’m in shock. And I can’t think straight with his naked body against me. I feel wrung out. I feel sad. I feel angry. I feel so fucking horny I could burst.

I lie here thinking about how this entire night is quintessentially us. Highs and lows, pleasure and pain, happiness and sadness. Secrets and truths. With Sloane the rest of the shit in the world doesn’t matter because when I’m beside her, it always feels right. It soothes me. She soothes me. She always has. She’s that person for me. I’m out of my depth with her but this is Sloane. My Sloane. No matter what, we’re there for each other. My Sloane. I think it again and god it feels good.

“That’s what I want. That’s what I get off on. Telling you what to do and having you listen. Control.” His cheeks flush bright under his stubble. “I’ve tried not to. But with everything that’s happened in my life, it’s just become . . .” He runs an agitated hand through his hair. “Part of me. But I don’t want you to do something that makes you uncomfortable just to give me that. That’s not what you need. It’s not what I want for you. I see you. I see what you’ve been through. I’ve seen these men in your life telling you what to do, using you as a pawn. And I don’t want to be another asshole telling you what to do.”

“Don’t you get it, Jas? I’ve seen all the darkest parts of you and I’m still here. I still want more. Stop trying to scare me away. It isn’t going to work.” He looks pained now. “I don’t want to be another man who⁠—”

“You talk about not telling me what to do, that you don’t want to let me down, but I’m sick of being treated like I’m too fragile or too pristine. I don’t want to be a damsel in distress! So stop treating me like one. I’m not a trophy. You aren’t telling me to do anything! I’m telling you I want you to take me, and you’re sitting here, patting my head like I’m stupid, telling me I don’t know what I want. If I don’t like something, I will fucking tell you. But for the love of god, stop deciding what I like or don’t like. What I can or cannot endure. What feels good or doesn’t. Stop holding back with me.”

“It’s always been you, Jasper. It will always be you.” I sigh heavily. “Please tell me what to do with that.”

“Sloane.” “Mm-hmm,” she hums, still sucking on her finger, giving me blue doe eyes. I want to ask her how it tastes. Instead, I snap. I point at the floor beneath my feet and say, “Lose that fucking ring and crawl.”

“I’m yours, Jasper. I always have been.” Satisfaction flares in his dark irises, and he unleashes on me, one hand slipping down to rub my clit while he fucks me hard enough to make my body slide and stick against the marble. “And you always will be,” he grunts out as we combust, each of us belonging more to the other than to ourselves as I feel him jerk and spill himself inside me.

“We’re both adults, Sloane. Let’s not pretend we haven’t lived our lives. We’ve both been with other people. But the real question is . . .” His thumb strokes my jawline as he tugs the towel away, exposing my body to him while his eyes devour every inch. “The real question is, do any of those other people matter when I only ever see you? When I only ever think about you? When I’ve done nothing but become more and more obsessed with you since I was told to stay away from you?”

“Do they, Sloane? Do they matter? Does any of that seem like it matters in the face of what you and I have happening right now? In the face of eighteen years of friendship? In the face of wanting each other for so long? Is a single other person even a factor? Even a blip on the radar?”

But I always laugh at the wrong moment. And right now I laugh because I don’t hate Jasper at all. I love him. I love him like that girl ten years ago never could have imagined.

“Sloane.” His voice is authoritative, and that’s “The Daddy” voice, I decide. There’s a switch that gets flicked and he goes from quiet, aloof Jasper to that. Whatever the voice is, it catapults me into action. My boots are already off, and I pull away the soft thermal socks, dropping them in the footwell before lifting my heavy wool sweater’s hem and peeling the black leggings from my body. His eyes stay on the road, but when I go to discard my panties, he says, “No, those stay.”

“Where’s your hat?” I blink once, putting his question together. I reach up and run a palm over my hair to check for it. Wearing my team hat has been a part of my identity for the better part of my life. “I don’t know. I guess I forgot to put it on.” The man quirks his head at me and smiles before walking away. I told him the truth that time. When we got ready, I didn’t even think about putting my hat on this morning. I guess I didn’t feel like I needed it.

I’ve watched YouTube videos on how to install new faucets, and Jasper never tells me I can’t or I shouldn’t or that it’s something a man should do. No one does. Instead, he walks in, gives the house a little smirk with his hands slung casually in his pockets and tells me how fabulous it looks. What a great job I’ve done. How capable I am. He makes me believe in myself. Then he bosses me around in bed—but I like that part. The rest of it makes me realize how powerless I’ve been trained to be my entire life. It stirs an unfamiliar rage inside of me, one that keeps me from answering any of my dad’s phone calls.

hardwood floors beneath. I feel . . . found. I enjoy helping Cade and Harvey at the ranch. I enjoy doing odd jobs. I still love dancing but I’ve reclaimed it for myself. My body doesn’t riot when I dance now, it sings with it. I don’t know how this all looks for me long-term, but I am tentatively happy. Tentatively optimistic.

I rip through it all and shove into her as her legs wrap around my waist. “Fucking the fancy prima ballerina up against the wall like the filthy girl she really is? Much, much better than getting another tattoo.”

“Did you tell her that?” A stone drops in my stomach. “No.” “Why not?” I shrug noncommittally, feeling like a child getting a scolding. “You know why. You know this. Say it out loud.” My voice is strained when I finally say the thing that’s been holding me back. “Because the people I love either die or leave me.” Harvey sighs, creaking back into the big leather chair beside the fireplace in the expansive living room, “You’ve been the apple of that girl’s eye for going on two decades and she has yet to leave. No matter how bad you hurt her.” Nausea follows a sinking sensation. “I’ve never meant to. I swear I didn’t know . . . not when anything could have come from it anyway. I mean, we all knew when she was a kid. But as an adult? How was this so obvious to everyone but none of you assholes made fun of me about it until now?”

That girl has never left you behind, not for a moment. No matter how unlovable you’ve been, she’s loved you anyway. She’s loved you when you didn’t love her back and didn’t ask for shit. I think all she’s asking for is for you to love her back now. And you’re telling me you already do but are too chickenshit to tell her. She’s waited long enough, don’t you think?”

I love hockey, but it’s not even close to how I love Sloane. Two weeks off of hockey compared to a few days without Sloane proved two things to me: I can live without hockey but I can’t live without Sloane.

She’s never left me behind, and I’m not leaving her behind either. The only thought in my head as I make the hour-long drive back into the city is that Sloane needs me. She needs me to just be there with her. And I love her.

He’s here. All I can manage is a firm nod, one he returns before pressing a bristled kiss to my forehead and taking a seat beside me. My rock. My comfort. The boy with the sad eyes and the heart of gold. I turn toward him. “You have a game.” I glance down at the dainty Rolex on my wrist. “Right now.” “We made a promise in that truck, remember? I can’t go without you again. Nothing is more important than being here with you.” He palms my knee under the table and inclines his head toward my outfit. “You are stunning, by the way.” Nothing is more important than being here with you. I swallow a couple of times, unable to tear my eyes from the man before me. The promise. He’s right. And I promised him too. “Jasper . . .” His hand squeezes reassuringly. “The answer is yes, Sloane.” My head tilts. “Yes, what?” “I’ll take that gamble. All day long. Every damn day.”

“I love you, Sloane Winthrop. I always have. I love you so damn hard I don’t even know what to do with it. You’re my person. And I think I’m yours too.” “You have always been my person,” she chokes out. “I love you so much.”