Chapter 23
Betty
Nash: I can’t meet up tonight.
Nash: I’m sorry. I’ll call you later.
My heart sinks. Nash and I were supposed to get together after the rodeo to walk along the beach. He’d said he hadn’t done it in years, and it was likely where we’d be free from the crowd and prying eyes.
It’s only been a week since we became… well, I don’t know what we are, but it feels like we’re moving in the right direction.
No, it felt like we were moving in the right direction until he just texted saying he couldn’t see me tonight. There wasn’t even enough time for me to respond to his first text before the second one came in, effectively cutting off any attempt to question why.
So here I am sitting on the edge of my bed, alone, trying to pretend like I’m not upset. Like, I’m not worried he’s pulling away from me all over again.
Was it something I did? Something I said?
Is he already bored with me?
Tears burn behind my eyes, and I hate myself for crying, especially when I don’t know what’s going on. He mentioned his mom isn’t doing well. Maybe it was an emergency with her, or an animal was injured. It’s happened before. Last season, River practically operated on a bull before Gray showed up.
It could be nothing. It’s fine, Betty.
It’s a fight to go through the motions before bed. My limbs seem to be filled with cement as dread weighs me down. The minutes stretch as I stand in the shower, my head tilted against the wall. I’m too scared to move, because I might collapse on the floor and no one would find me.
When I finally do move, I don’t even bother drying my body or hair, simply slipping into my robe and then under the covers of my bed. I lay there hugging my pillow, staring at the ceiling. My mind won’t quiet. It keeps replaying every moment I have ever interacted with Nash over the years.
Every second plays through my mind. From the night he found me in the grass staring up at the stars to the night of his last football game, when my dad and Beckett held him up on their shoulders, and he’d hugged me because he loved the hand-drawn sign I’d made for him.
Then to every Sunday night dinner, and a few days ago, when he took me out in the fields with one of his horses.
He’d been so surprised I’d never ridden one, so he helped me up before hopping into the saddle behind me.
His firm hands guided my movement as he coached me on how to use the reins and my legs to direct Casper.
Turns out that was his favorite movie growing up, so when he got his first horse, a stunning white beauty, he named her after the friendly ghost.
Before I know it, the morning sun peeks through the curtains. Still, I don’t move. I don’t feel like I can.
I didn’t hear from Nash again. Not a call or a text. Nothing.
Part of me wants to call him and demand he tell me why he blew me off this time, but I also don’t want to lose whatever we found. So I lay here, clutching that same pillow, telling myself I hadn’t made a mistake giving him a chance instead of trying to repair things with Ward.
It will all be fine.
If only I believed it.
I can barely keep my eyes open as I slug into my parents’ house, ready for our weekly Sunday dinner.
Nash was supposed to be here.
He’d asked if it was okay, which I thought was so sweet.
Neither of us thought that his showing up would look suspicious.
Still, I wanted to hold off on telling Beckett anything was going on.
He understood. “When we tell our families about us, I want you to be sure you’re mine,” he’d whispered against my lips.
I already was. I always have been. But it meant so much that he respected my fears. He understood I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, and it seems as though that was with good reason, though he assured me he would prove himself to me.
My eyes press shut as I fall into the kitchen doorframe, the thud forcing my mother’s gaze up to me.
“Betty, sweetheart, are you okay? Are you ill?” The back of her hand immediately presses to my forehead.
I didn’t think I looked that terrible. Then again, I barely managed to slip into sweatpants, a ratty off-the-shoulder t-shirt, and a bra.
There was no tugging the brush through my knotted hair, so it sits in a lopsided bun at the top of my head.
“I didn’t get any sleep last night.” I try to wave her off, but she insists on pressing her hand to both cheeks, my forehead again, and then to my lymph nodes. “Mom, I said I’m fine. I’m just tired.”
“Don’t you snap at me, Beatrice Hughes.”
My head bows, chin pressing to my chest. I’m not one to dive into the extremes of my emotions, but it seems that’s all I’ve done since that first kiss with Nash. “I’m sorry, Momma. Can I help with anything?”
“Just go sit down. You look like death. I’ll make you some tea.”
A weak smile tugs at one corner of my mouth before I shuffle to the living room, checking my phone for the millionth time. Still, there’s nothing from Nash. The morsel of hope I was clinging to fades away as I stare off into space.
Noises filter in and out of my consciousness in the background, but there’s no focus. There’s no real comprehension as I wallow while berating myself for falling for his charming smile and warm hugs.
I knew better.
And I still dove headfirst. The worst part is knowing I would do it all over again. When it comes to Nash Donovan, I’m putty. I’m weak.
“Betty!” Beckett waves his hand in front of my face. “What’s wrong with you? Are you sick?”
“Can you all stop asking me if I’m sick?” I grumble, shoving up off the couch. “I’m tired. Running the inn is a lot of work.”
Beckett holds his hands up, backing away, and I instantly feel horrible for snapping at him, too. It’s not their fault that my heart is in shambles at my feet all over again because I’ve gone less than twenty-four hours without hearing from my…
“I’m sorry, big brother.” I hug him around the waist, giving him three squeezes the way I always did as a kid.
He holds me back, resting his chin on my head. “If it’s too much…”
“It’s not. It was just a busy weekend with the Miller’s ceremony and the rodeo. I’m okay, I promise.” It’s a lie, but I hope he believes it because I can’t fathom telling my family the real reason I look like a zombie’s cousin.
“Betty, I know you’re tough and will work your ass off.
It’s probably the only thing we have in common.
You can’t keep running yourself into the ground, though.
Have you talked to Jim about quitting the bar altogether?
” There’s so much concern in his eyes. So much love.
I want to tell him everything. Beckett and I have always been close.
He’s always been someone I could confess my worries to, and he’d give me his advice and then hold me afterward.
Many never understood how we could be so close when we’re five years apart, but it’s the Hughes way. We support each other. Family is everything and always comes first, no matter what.
“I’m slowly phasing out of the bar,” I say as we move toward the dining room. “I rarely work more than once a week these days.”
“Good,” he hums, kissing the top of my head. “You’re too smart to be a bartender.”
I know he means nothing by the comment, but it stings.
Astronomy has always been my passion. It’s the only field I ever wanted to work in, but there’s no place for it here in Cole County, unless I wanted to teach, and that is definitely not for me. Even then, it’s not a solo subject. It wouldn’t be my sole focus.
I might be smart, but not smart enough to avoid falling into Nash’s trap again.
It’s only another ten minutes before we sit at the table to eat.
My mouth waters as my stomach growls loud enough that my father’s stare snaps up to me.
I haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon.
It wasn’t on purpose. I’d spent most of the rodeo in the stands with Harper and her daughter as we watched the kid consume popcorn, cotton candy, a massive soft pretzel, and two hot dogs. She could put grown men to shame.
But I was also watching for glimpses of Nash. He caught my eye once, grinning widely before tipping his hat to me. We seemed fine. What changed?
I busy myself, keeping the small talk light, as the conversation revolves around the Millers and the competitors from last night. It’s almost enough for me to forget about my aching heart until my father brings up the source of the pain.
“I thought Nash was coming tonight.” My father stabs another piece of pork chop before popping it into his mouth. “Did you see him before you left?” he asks me.
My mouth goes dry, my heart hammering in my chest, wondering if they suspect that there’s something between Nash and me.
“Oh, shoot. I forgot to tell y’all. He went back to Montana,” Beckett interjects before shoveling a forkful of mac and cheese in his mouth.
And my heart sinks. “Excuse me.”