Chapter 8 #2
This shuts him up for a moment, though he’s right—me dating or pretending to date Molly did come out of nowhere.
And from his text, I’m still not clear on what she even told him about our situation.
I assume she told him the truth, but I don’t know for sure.
And considering I avoided talking to my family about any of it, I can’t fault her for whatever she said.
I file this fact away to ruminate on later.
Chase: You and I will talk later. Also, tomorrow’s our last day before we head back to Austin. I’d like my sister back for some part of it.
Collin: I’m not holding her hostage or asking for ransom
Chase: I’ll ask Molly about that tomorrow.
I’m shaking my head in irritation when a text from Harper pops up.
Harper: I’m going to ask Chase if we need to get cash from the bank for the ransom. Or do you think he wouldn’t find that funny?
Collin: I find it funny but I don’t think your husband would
Collin: Remind him I’m a nice guy
Harper: Oh, ARE you? Hm. I didn’t know.
I shut off my phone, snickering, and return to the couch with the bowl of warm water. Molly has rolled over on her side, mouth open as she breathes heavily.
A true sign of beauty, I decide as I gaze at her, is the ability to look adorable even when sleeping with your mouth gaping open, softly snoring.
Crouching beside Molly, I set the bowl on the ground and give her shoulder a soft squeeze. “Can you sit up for me?”
“I’m up,” she says, sitting up without opening her eyes. The movement was perhaps too quick, as she sways a little before cracking one eyelid open. “Are we on a boat?”
I chuckle. “Nope. That’s a side effect of the Fireball, I’m afraid. Here—let’s get a little more water in you.”
I uncap the bottled water and help curl her fingers around it. Helping her lift it to her lips seems like a few steps too far. I watch her drink, my eyes following a drop that escapes and runs slowly over her chin and down her neck, disappearing into the collar of her shirt.
“Mmm,” she says, handing the bottle back. “Thank you. Still feel like the world is tilting, but that’s better. I didn’t drink that much.”
“According to Wolf, you drank plenty.”
“I get the feeling Wolf says a lot of things.”
Her words make a flurry of questions appear in my mind. What, exactly, did Wolf say to her tonight?
“So, you didn’t drink a fourth of a bottle by yourself?”
“No!” Molly looks horrified, and my worry for her eases slightly. “I mostly passed out shots to people. Though I did drink more than I usually do. And it was strong. I’m definitely not a whisky girl.”
She presses her fingertips to her temple, gently massaging. I notice her nails are short and unpolished. They look like they’ve been chewed down almost to the quick. A nervous habit? When she groans, I snap back into the moment and stop staring at her hands.
“I’ll give you some aspirin before bed. But first, let me have your feet.”
Molly eyes me with suspicion. “What are you going to do with them? You’re not like … into feet are you?”
I chuckle. “No. But yours need a little bit of TLC or they’ll be hurting as bad as your head tomorrow. I’ve got an Epsom soak for them.”
Though she’s still giving me a look, she doesn’t fight as I reach behind her calves and swing her legs over until I can lower her feet into the warm water.
Molly groans, sinking back into the couch as I gently massage the unblistered parts of her feet.
I try not to pay attention to her long legs extending from the same dress she wore earlier.
It is a challenge.
“So, what are our takeaways from the last day or two?” I ask. “Any life lessons we’ve learned?”
“No wearing boots you haven’t broken in for starters. And no more Fireball. Or accepting rides with men only wearing chaps who promise to show you their bunker.”
I’m glad she didn’t say dating—or pretending to date—me was a mistake. Yet again, a jealousy I don’t really have the right to roars awake inside me. “Wolf drove you to his bar? When did you even meet him?”
She must hear the edge in my voice because she looks at me through one heavy-lidded eye, the tiniest smile lifting one corner of her mouth. “Calm down, cowboy. I met him at the coffee shop. Do you know Kalli?” I nod, though my jaw is still tight. “She vouched for him. He was just being friendly.”
I harrumph. “Sure.”
“And he told me I’d probably find you or your brothers there.”
“You were looking for me?”
She doesn’t answer, her eyes dropping closed again. “What’s Wolf’s bunker like?”
I snort. “No one’s actually seen it. I don’t think it exists. Wolf probably has a trailer or hunting camp way back in the woods—not a bunker. And though he is generally a safe person, I don’t want you accepting an invitation to whatever his bunker actually is.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?” Molly’s voice is quiet, carrying a hesitation that cracks me open. “And don’t just say because you’re friends with my brother.”
Her brother definitely has nothing to do with my growing affection for Molly. In fact, I can almost imagine his face if he walked in right now and saw me rubbing his sister’s feet.
Based on his earlier texts, I have a feeling he might object. Even if I think he’s overreacting.
As for the real reason I’m currently giving her a mini spa treatment, well, I plead the fifth.
I’m not willing to answer that question, nor any of the other whys for things I’ve done today.
I’d prefer to not think about them too deeply.
Between that and the field Tank showed me earlier, my mind is too full.
I shove all thoughts and worries aside and consider Molly’s question. And what I’m hearing underneath it.
“Are people not normally nice to you, Molly?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light and gentle.
“No, they are,” she says quickly. Too quickly. When I make a small hmm in response, she leans forward and pokes me in the shoulder. “People are nice to me. Totally.”
Again, and maybe it’s the late hour, but I feel like I’m reading the subtext of words as though they’re painted on a billboard.
Who would be mean to this woman? From what I’ve seen of her today, she’s bright and fun and kind.
Beautiful. The kind of person who lights up a room with only her presence.
Or maybe she just has that effect on me.
“But someone isn’t.” Because my hands are on her feet, I can feel her whole body stiffen. “Who? Is it an ex?”
An easy guess. And it will give my simmering anger somewhere to go, thinking of some awful ex with a very punchable face. I mean, not that I would punch anyone. Probably.
She’s quiet for a long moment. I don’t make eye contact, and keep gently rubbing her feet, careful to avoid the angry red blisters.
“My dad,” she says softly, and my fingers instantly stop moving on her feet. I force them to start again, massaging a little gentler than before.
I hazard a glance at Molly’s face, but her gaze is pinned on her hands clasped in her lap. “Your dad isn’t nice to you?”
Without getting too worked up, I try to think back through things Chase has said about their father. Not much, which may actually say a lot.
Chase never likes going home for holidays, and when he does, he only talks about Molly. Maybe a little about his mom, but I can’t actually remember. I met their father at Chase and Harper’s wedding, and he seemed stiff. Standoffish. A little judgy.
Then again, he did get knocked into the pool by a goat, so … being a little out of sorts is understandable.
Though I think he was like that before the goat.
Molly sighs. “My dad has a very rigid way of thinking, that’s all. He wanted Chase and me to be different kinds of people.”
“How could anyone want either of you to be different people?” I shouldn’t interrupt—I can tell she has more to say. But I can’t help the words that fly out of my mouth.
Molly’s smile is faint, and she’s still looking at her lap instead of at me. “You barely know me.”
“Not true.” I give her arches a little squeeze. “I know your brother pretty well. I got to be your boyfriend for a whole afternoon and am now up close and personal with your feet. I mean, how many people can say they’ve rubbed these feet?”
I realize only after I ask the question, of course, that I don’t want to know. I’m repeatedly getting worked up and jealous over Molly with no right to do so.
Molly is gorgeous and fun. I’m sure she’s had dozens of boyfriends.
I am not her boyfriend.
And yet thinking about some other guy taking care of her or touching her has me hot under the collar, as Tank would say.
My dad’s corny expressions have taken firm root in my head and are harder to shake than fleas from a dog—and there’s another one.
Despite the ridiculous sayings, Tank has done so much for me. For all of us. And all on his own after Mom died.
I think about the field he showed me earlier, and how he just knew that I wasn’t happy with my life. He basically gave me a blank canvas and said, Here, son! You get to choose what’s next! I believe in you!
What would it be like to have grown up without that support? And not just without support but with a father trying to force you into a different shape, rather than handing you an empty field and telling you to dream big?
The thought makes my heart squeeze and my gut twist. Is that how it’s been for Chase and Molly?
She looks at me now, and there’s a gratefulness in her blue eyes. “This is why I needed to lie in the interview,” she says. “I don’t want to go home. But I need a reason to stay.”
The job is her way out. This sheds new light on her actions today and the desperation practically leaking from her pores. Any hesitation or confusion I had about her need to lie in a job interview evaporates.
Because I understand the need to escape. I understand feeling trapped. But unlike Molly, I have support and help.
I make sure to hold her gaze when I speak again. “You don’t need to go home,” I tell her. “Even if you don’t get the job.”
“That’s the thing,” she says, her mouth twisting in what’s not quite a smile. “I got the job. They called while I was at the bar. Before the Fireball.”
“That’s great!”
Without thinking it through, I’m on my feet and awkwardly hugging Molly.
When you’re standing and someone else is sitting and you go in for a hug, especially when your hands are dripping with water, there is no way to hug un-awkwardly.
I end up kind of pitching into her with my torso, my wet hands on the couch cushion behind her.
She giggles. “I can’t decide if this is the most comforting hug ever or if I’m being mauled by a bear with alpaca.”
“I think you mean alopecia.”
“What did I say?”
“You said alpaca. Which is something like a llama, I think?”
Molly giggles again, reminding me of her current state.
The serious nature of our conversation sure seemed to sober her up, but the fact remains: she had a good amount to drink, and she’s tired.
I try to extricate myself from the awkward hug, but gravity works against me. Or maybe it’s Tank’s too-comfortable couch.
“Need help?” Molly asks from somewhere in my neck.
“Maybe. This was not a well-thought-out hug.”
“I appreciate it anyway.”
I try to shove myself back to an upright position without falling over backward.
It halfway works. Meaning I almost fall back until Molly grabs me by the belt loops of my jeans.
She doesn’t look so steady herself, but somehow, I manage not to fall.
Instead, I lower myself to sit on the coffee table, my knees bracketing hers, careful not to knock over the bowl of water and Epsom salts with my feet.
Molly drops her hands back to her lap and offers me a wobbly smile.
“What’s wrong, darlin? Aren’t you happy about the job?”
“I am,” she says. “Or, I would be, but …” Molly suddenly looks exhausted and very, very awake.
“But what?”
“I got the job because of you. To take the job, I need to keep lying and ask you to lie about being my boyfriend. And I don’t want to force you into a long-term lie with me.”
“Is that what you’re worried about?” I ask. “Because I’m happy to keep up the ruse. It’s not a hardship being with you.”
If Molly had straight-up asked me to stick with this, I would have said no. I don’t like lying, especially not to Jo. But I do like Molly. It’s clear she’s troubled by this and didn’t mean to put me in this position.
And it’s absolutely not a hardship to be with her—pretend or not.
She snorts. “Yeah? You’ve had to carry me out of a bar, rehydrate me, and you were just rubbing my blistered feet. All after being dragged into a situation where you had to lie. I’m a hot mess, and I don’t want to drag you down with me.”
“How are your feet, by the way?”
“Don’t change the subject.” Molly yawns, and I know it’s getting too late for this conversation. As sober as she seems, I’d prefer to wait until I know she’s fully present.
Handing her the water bottle again, I stand. “We can discuss tomorrow. Let me grab a towel for your feet, and then I’m putting you to bed.”
“You’re not taking me back to stay with Chase and Harper?” she asks, then takes a drink.
“Wasn’t planning on it,” I tell her. “Unless you want me to? You can stay in what’s normally my room. The bed has clean sheets. And I won’t bite.”
I snap my teeth at her, making her giggle again. A little water dribbles down her chin. I walk away to get a towel, resisting the urge to reach out and wipe it away with my fingers.
Molly’s almost asleep when I get back, eyes heavy lidded and the water bottle empty in her lap. I gently lift her feet, patting them dry.
“A little better?” I ask, and she nods, head lolling a little as she attempts to sit up. “Don’t move. I’ve got you.”
I sweep her up into my arms, where she snuggles into my chest with a sigh.
Nope, I think, this is not a hardship at all.