KYLE #2
“I think I’m ready to hit the dusty trail, too,” Kyle said quickly, pushing off the couch. “You can sleep back in the bedroom. I’ll take the couch.”
“You sure? I can take the couch if you want.”
Wow, she didn’t even hesitate to offer. He hadn’t expected that.
“Positive.” He patted one of the nearby cushions. “This is like a luxury bed compared to last night. I’ll sleep like a rock.”
She hesitated still, watching him like she could tell he was trying too hard to make it casual.
“It’s fine, Sloan. I really don’t mind.”
Yawning, she stood, and then she shut off the television. “All right. I am pretty tired. But all our stuff is still out in the Jeep. Could you bring it back to the room?”
“No problem.”
He grabbed his coat and keys and headed out into the cold.
The night air snapped at his lungs, each breath aching as he trekked through the snow toward his car.
Maybe it had been Francesca and Dean and how easygoing and happy they were but, given the circumstances, the day had turned out a lot better than he’d thought it could.
Unlike the previous night, with all its snow, the stars shone brightly tonight, Orion easy to find and Scorpio, too.
One of the things he’d appreciated the most in his travels had been the ability to see the night sky.
He’d never realized how much he hadn’t been seeing as a kid growing up in the suburbs.
Only when he’d been forced to step outside of the comfortable world he knew had he seen everything he’d been missing.
Everything that had been hiding under electric lights.
He was supposed to be the funny one, so he never talked about these things when he traveled. The quiet. The way it made him feel both tiny and painfully aware of how fleeting it all was.
The loneliness of his humanity in the vastness of the universe.
He was just one more person, making his way through this life . . . like an ant with a breadcrumb far from the nest. By himself.
To what end?
A shooting star caught his attention, blazing across the sky in a blink, and he swallowed whatever thought had been forming and gathered the bags he needed from the back.
Once inside, he headed toward the guest room, trying to stamp out the melancholy that had come with that self-reflection.
Sloan was in the bathroom with the door closed when he stepped inside the room, so he set her bag down on the bed, then hesitated. Should he just leave it there or say good night?
Trust you to overthink everything.
The bathroom door opened. Sloan stepped out, hair brushed, face bare. And his body did that stupid hitch again, like at the salon. Like the memory that made his chest ache.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and glanced at her bag. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, lifting his own duffel bag. He fished out a pair of sweatpants and a shirt. “I might borrow the bathroom for a quick shower and then I’ll get out of your way.”
“Sure. I’m just going to brush my teeth.”
Kyle ducked into the bathroom and turned on the shower on. The water was cold at first—apparently God wanted him to build character this weekend—but it loosened the ache in his shoulders and soothed the bruised sting in his cheek.
When he finished, he dressed and cracked the door. “In case you need to spit, I’m just finishing up, but you can come in.”
“I just decided to go to the kitchen,” Sloan said from the bed.
The silence made him suddenly aware of the weight of the quiet when it was just them. No Dean or Francesca. No TV to hide behind.
He stepped out and his gaze tracked the shirt she wore—one of his short-sleeved T-shirts. Following his line of vision, she bit her lip. “I helped myself, sorry. I didn’t exactly bring the best PJs with me.”
He hesitated. Seeing her in his shirt shouldn’t have an effect on him, but it did. “It’s no problem,” he managed. “Well . . . good night.”
Her face flickered, then she jumped off the bed and took a step toward him. “Will you stay with me?”
Kyle froze.
She must have seen the surprise in his face because she moved back to the side of the bed like she was giving him distance even while asking for closeness.
“There’s really no reason for you to sleep out on the couch, you know.
It’s not like we haven’t slept in a bed together before.
And you took a nasty spill there at the end today. ”
He weighed the question.
Respect. Safety. Boundaries.
A million invisible rules existed now that hadn’t when they were teenagers. But she didn’t look like someone trying to seduce him. She looked like someone who wanted . . . not to be alone tonight. Like someone who just needs a friend.
And the goddamned truth was that his body ached. His brain ached. He wanted sleep more than he wanted pride.
“All right.” He moved around to the other side of the bed. “I’m keeping the sweatpants on,” he said gruffly, half-joking. “Just so we’re clear.”
A tiny smile turned the corners of her lips up. “Noted.”
She turned off the light. He felt for the covers, then slid in, keeping a careful inch of space between them like the mattress had a line drawn down the center. As his weight settled on the mattress, he stared up at the ceiling he couldn’t see, his heart squeezing tighter.
Then she shifted, and her hand found his arm under the blanket, hesitant. “So,” she said softly into the dark, “you’re an adrenaline junkie, eh? Maybe I should have guessed you’d still be athletic.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I’m just willing to try anything once.”
She made a sound that was almost a laugh. “I’d say it goes a bit further than that. And honestly, it’s impressive, Kyle. I didn’t really take you seriously when you said you were a travel influencer, but you were a bit too humble. I had no idea the extent of it.”
He set one hand behind his head. “Well, what am I supposed to say? I’m a big deal? How dare you to not have heard of me? But seriously. Do you live under a rock or something?”
Sloan shoved him lightly. “Gee, thanks. Actually, I don’t spend a lot of time on social media either. It makes my anxiety worse.”
“Granny always used to say that it lulls people into thinking they exist in the community they’ve stopped trying to build in real life.”
“That can be true. There can be community online for some people, but it can’t be your everything, I think,” she said and her hand tightened on his forearm. “You must miss Granny a lot. I know how close you were.”
He let out a slow breath. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry I’ve gotten in the way of you being able to put her to rest. Properly.”
“Is it weird that her ashes are out in the car? I feel like maybe I should have brought them in with everything else, but it also feels weird bringing my grandmother’s ashes into someone else’s home.”
“Death is weird.” Sloan’s words were simple, like that was the whole truth and it didn’t need decorating.
Then she turned her body toward him, her hand sliding carefully until her palm rested over his bicep.
“It takes time to figure out how to live through the grief. But it seems like you’re doing a good job handling it. ”
His chuckle felt a lot more bitter than it sounded. “What can I say, I’m an expert deflector.”
“You are. Just be careful. You have to let yourself live through it, too.”
He cleared his throat, desperate to change the subject. “Hope Francesca and Dean weren’t too intrusive or anything, by the way.”
“You kidding? I love them. They’re the cutest couple ever.
And they seem so happy together, too.” Her sigh was soft.
“The way they anticipate each other’s needs, are relaxed, happy, touchy, even the way they simply enjoy hanging together .
. . Evan and I never had that. We didn’t ‘hang’ like that.
We went to events . . .” She sighed again. “They make love look so easy.”
“It is.” And then, because his mouth always moved faster than his brain, he felt the need to add sarcastically, “But yeah, they make me sick.”
Sloan laughed lightly. “You’re such a romantic.”
“Look, romance is nice and everything, but a bottle of lotion and a tissue has never let me down.”
She poked his ribs. “Gross.”
“Honest,” he shot back with a chuckle. “But speaking of things we’re not talking about, what do you do with your time these days? Did you finish your degree in art?”
“Yeah, but I never did anything with that. I worked for my dad for a few years during and after college and then I moved out to Bozeman with Evan and quit. I talked to him about getting another job, but he didn’t really want me to.”
Kyle frowned into the dark. Someone else might think that was innocent enough. Loving, even. But for a dickwad like Evan, it had probably been about control. “So, what do you do to stay busy?”
“Go to the gym, read, decorate the house, help with charity projects for Evan’s family’s nonprofit. I started taking an oil class a year ago, and I’ve been painting.”
“That’s not nothing.”
“Uh-huh. Thanks for making me feel useless.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He rolled toward her a little. “It’s just you always had this brain that needed something to chew on. I can’t picture you happy being told what to do all day.”
Silence for a beat.
“No, you’re right. I hated it.”
Her honesty surprised him.
She went on quietly. “It bothers me. Not just because it hasn’t been fulfilling, but because I know how it looks. Like I’m not allowed to be unhappy because my life is cushy.”
“Well, you know what they say about money not buying happiness but making misery a whole lot better.”
A soft huff. “Oh, believe me, I’ve heard it all. That’s part of why I stay off the internet. Nothing worse than having a bad day and then watching strangers tell you you’re not allowed to have one.”
Kyle shifted, and their knees brushed under the covers. Neither of them moved away.
“If I posted right now about Evan,” Sloan continued, “I guarantee I’d get people telling me how my heart should hurt less because my dad has money. Like pain comes with a price tag.”
Kyle turned his head toward her. “It doesn’t.”