Chapter 67
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
Ace
Song- The Grey, Bad Omens
The bar is packed. Jett has dragged Colten onto the dance floor, and they're line dancing in the middle of a crowd that's cheering them on.
Jett's in his element, boots stomping, hat tipped back, grinning at every woman within a ten-foot radius.
Colten looks like he wants to be anywhere else, but his footwork is perfect, because a Sterling doesn't do anything half-assed. Even reluctant line dancing.
And I've got a girl called Monica chewing my ear off about the color of her new car and how it matches her panties.
I'm trying so hard to look interested. She's pretty. Brown hair, nice smile, freckles across her nose. She seems really nice. She was raised here in New Falls and works at the vet clinic on Fourth Street. She's the kind of girl my mom would have approved of.
But she ain't it. My dick is not interested in partaking in this conversation.
I take a deep breath.
"So, what do you say?" she asks, tilting her head.
I blink at her, trying to recall what the fuck she said just before.
"Uh. Yeah?"
Her eyes light up. She bites her lip. Oh shit. Wrong answer.
I finish the rest of my water. I decided if I’m doing this, I need to be sober and be able to drive home. I haven’t had a drink since I got here. Her hand lands on my thigh, and it takes everything in me not to flinch.
She leans in. Her floral perfume almost chokes me. Too sweet. Too sharp. Not coconut. Not vanilla. Not her.
"Your place or mine?" she purrs.
I clear my throat and set my bottle back on the table. Shove my hand in my pocket, searching for my phone. I need a rescue mission. Immediately.
Fuck. It's not there.
What if Harper called? What if she—
No. No. This isn't why I'm here. I can't keep letting her have this voodoo hold over me from hundreds of miles away.
"My place," I tell her, pulling back.
It's just sex. One night. It's not like I'm marrying her.
"I just need to find my cell. I'll be right back."
She blows me a kiss as I head to the bar, finding Hunter nursing a whiskey and watching me.
"Seems to be going well," he says, arms crossed.
"Yeah. I guess it is."
Hunter chuckles. "You got a condom?"
"Just one?" I joke.
But then I frown. I don't know. I never used one with Harper. Never needed to. It was always just us. Just trust. And her birth control.
"Ace, what's the matter?"
I rub my stubble. "Never used one with Harper. Might need to borrow one."
Hunter bursts out laughing. "You've seen how pregnant Lola is. You think I own any?"
"Shit," I hiss.
He slaps his hand on my shoulder.
"Is this where we have a chat about the birds and the bees, bro?"
I shake my head. "Nah. We're good."
"Well, you've spent weeks having unprotected sex with your ex. I think we need to."
I roll my eyes. "Harper is different. She isn't a random girl in a bar I'm taking home."
Even saying her name sends a pang through my chest. I glance over at Monica, who's watching me with that hunger in her eyes.
"Jett will have some," Hunter tells me.
I nod.
"Her friend gave me your cell. Said you left it up on the bar. Don’t leave your shit places, they don’t belong, Ace." Hunter holds out my phone.
Relief washes over me. I check the notifications. Nothing that remotely interests me. No missed calls. No messages. Nothing from the only number that matters.
I pocket the phone and grab the condom Jett apparently keeps in his wallet like a man who's permanently optimistic. He winks at me from the dance floor when I wave it at him. Colten just shakes his head.
"You don't have to do this," Hunter says quietly, and for a second the big-brother voice cuts through the bar noise.
"I know."
"But if you want to—"
"I know, Hunter."
He nods. Steps back and lets me go.
I walk back to Monica. She stands, slips her hand into mine, and we head for the door. I stop just before when I see the guy in the corner, looking in my direction but not at me.
He’s got a hat on, a dark beard. I’m sure I saw him in town yesterday when I went to pick up some ice cream for Wyatt.
I’ll store that for another day.
The drive to my place is fifteen minutes of her talking and me nodding. She's telling me about her roommate's dog, or her roommate's boyfriend's dog, or something. I'm not listening. I'm watching the road. The same road I drove Harper down. The same fence posts. The same stars.
I pull up to my house and cut the engine, just sitting for a second. Working up the courage to have sex with someone who isn’t my Harper.
"This is cute," Monica says, looking at the porch. "Very cowboy."
"Thanks."
We go inside. The house is dark. I flick on the kitchen light, and it casts a warm glow across the open plan, the living room, the couch where Harper used to curl up against me, the blanket she left draped over the armrest that I haven't moved.
"Drink?" I ask.
"Sure. What have you got?"
"Whiskey. Beer. More whiskey. Or water?"
She laughs. "Whiskey is fine."
I pour her a glass. My hands are steady, but my chest isn't. There's a tightness behind my ribs that won't shift. I've had it since the bar. Since before the bar. Since the day Harper walked down an aisle to a man who wasn’t me.
I hand Monica her glass, and she takes a sip, looking around the room. Her eyes land on the photos on the shelf. The rodeo trophies. The hat rack by the door.
"You want some music?" I ask because the silence is deafening, and if I don't fill it with something, I'm going to fill it with her name.
"Yeah. Love some."
I hit shuffle on the speaker. The Bluetooth connects. And the first notes fill the room.
My blood goes cold.
It's the song. The song. The one Harper was singing in my shower a few weeks ago, soap suds running down her back, completely off-key, dancing under the water while I leaned against the bathroom door and watched her with my heart so full I thought it might actually burst.
It’s the song that, right there and then, made me decide it needed to be our wedding song.
She didn't know I was there. She was just singing. Happy. Free. In my house. In my shower. In my life.
And I stood there thinking, this is it. This is what the rest of my life is supposed to look like.
My hand grips the edge of the counter.
"I love this song," Monica says, swaying her hips as she walks toward me.
I can't speak. The melody fills every corner of the room, and it doesn't belong to Monica. It doesn't belong to this night. It belongs to a girl with honey-blonde hair and soap in her eyes, singing like nobody was listening.
Monica sets her glass down. Steps into my space. Her fingers trail up my chest, and she rises on her toes, pressing her lips to my neck. Her hands drop to my belt, fingers working the buckle.
"I've wanted to do this all night," she murmurs against my skin.
I close my eyes.
And all I see is Harper. Singing in the shower. Laughing on the ridge. Running through the dark so I could chase her.
I see the freckles on her nose. The nose ring. The way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she's nervous. The way she says Acey turns me into someone who doesn't recognize himself. The softer, better version, the man I'm only capable of being when she's beside me.
Monica's fingers pull at my belt. My hand comes down over hers gently.
"Stop," I say quietly.
She pulls back and looks up at me.
"Did I do something wrong?" she whispers.
"No." I shake my head. "No, you didn't. You're great, Monica. You really are. This isn't about you."
"Then what is it?"
I blow out a breath and run my hand through my hair.
"There's someone else," I say. "There's always been someone else. And I thought I could do this—I thought if I just went through the motions, it would fix something. But it won't. And you deserve better than being the woman I'm using to try and forget another one."
She's quiet for a moment. Then she steps back, picks up her whiskey, and takes a long sip.
"It's Harper, isn't it? My friend was telling me about her," she says. Not angry. Just knowing. The way everyone in this town knows. Because in New Falls, Ace and Harper's story didn't end; it just got stuck.
"Yeah," I say. "It's Harper."
She nods and sets the glass down.
"For what it's worth, Ace? She's the dumbest woman alive, leaving you twice."
I almost smile. "I appreciate that. I left her this time."
She frowns. “And yet… You still can’t move on?”
I shrug. “I guess not. Not yet, anyway. I’ll get there.”
She bites her lip, holding out her hand. “Give me your phone, Ace.”
I unlock it and hand it to her. She types in her number and gives it back.
“When you do decide you’re ready, call me. I’ll ease you back in real gently.”
A chuckle rolls out of me. “I don’t do anything gentle, Monica.”
She winks. “Good. That’s exactly what I want. Now, can you drive me home? Or should I call someone?"
"I'll drive you. Give me a second."
She heads for the door. I reach over and kill the speaker.
I stand in my kitchen. Alone. The two whiskey glasses on the counter. The condom still in my pocket, unused.
I tried. I really fucking tried. And I couldn't do it.
Couldn't even get close. Because my body knows what my brain won't accept—that there is no moving on from Harper Jones.
There is no post-Harper life. There's just the life I live until she comes back, or the life I live pretending I'm not waiting.
I grab my keys and drive Monica home. She's kind about it. Doesn't push. Doesn't ask questions. Kisses my cheek when I drop her off and says, "Good luck, cowboy."
I drive back alone.
The empty side of the bed is waiting.
It's always waiting.
I rest my head against the steering wheel and let out a breath that feels like it's been trapped in my lungs for weeks.
"Fuck, Goldie," I whisper to no one. "What have you done to me?"
The stars don't answer. They never do.
I go inside. Leave the lights off and fall into bed with my boots still on.
And I don't sleep.