Chapter 8 Hope #2
“Babe, nothing could ruin the anticipation I have for seeing you naked.”
I dipped my head. “In that case, I’m having issues with a staff member.”
We exited the car as I explained the situation to him.
“I guess I can’t complain about two weeks paid leave,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.
He saw through my attempt at humor and reached for my hand, his touch grounding me in a way nothing else could. Turning me fully to him, he stepped into my space, wrapping arms around me in a tight hug.
Tears clogged my throat, and I clung to him, desperately needing his strength.
“This sucks. She’s completely wrong and I want you to know that.
You’re going through a tough time, baby, don’t apologize for needing to lean on me.
How you feel matters. Your feelings, your struggles—they’re not trivial.
You’re not alone in this, okay?” His voice was soft but carried a strength that enveloped me like a shield.
“I’m here, sweetheart. You tell me you need to rant or rave or cry, I’ll be there to listen. ”
I leaned against him, feeling the warmth of his chest against my face, the strength in his arms as they held me.
He’s my safe space.
The bustling fair around us faded away, leaving just the two of us standing there—a world of our own making amidst the chaos.
“I appreciate you saying that,” I replied, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders. “It’s been hard not to feel alone.”
He squeezed me gently. “I care, Hope. And I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”
I nodded.
With one final squeeze, he let me go but caught my hand, entwining our fingers.
“You know,” he said, his tone teasing. “She sounds like a Fabergé egg.”
I snorted. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You know, delicate and pointless.”
“You’re terrible,” I giggled, appreciating his attempt to lighten the mood.
“I am,” he agreed, pausing in front of an old-fashioned pellet gun sideshow stall. “Wanna shoot something to make you feel better?”
I chuckled, allowing him to draw me closer to the stall. “I’m a terrible shot.”
“Good, so am I.”
He handed the guy some cash then tossed me one of the guns. “Game on, Higgins.”
Laughing, I took up a position as the stall attendant hit the button to release the tiny metal targets.
We shot wildly, hitting some and missing far more than we hit until our time ran out.
“Game set match to the lady,” the attendant declared, handing me the tiniest prize in the world.
“What is it?” Justice asked, trying to peek at the item in my hand.
“Close your eyes.”
He did as instructed and I reached up to slip the pin into the soft fabric collar of his button up.
“You can look.”
He glanced down and laughed. “I think he might be on to something.”
The small pin was a circle that read, “Last is best.”
We continued to walk through the showgrounds, passing the bull riding and bronco bucking competitions and the roaring crowds.
Justice guided me toward the food stands, buying whatever delicious smells tempted us; hot skewers of various marinated meats, slow-cooked candied nuts served warm, delicious green beans mixed with salty bacon and slow-roasted chili.
We traded stories as we wandered through the grounds, laughing about shared memories and learning new tales about each other’s lives.
“Favorite thing about being famous,” I asked, placing a Stetson on his head.
“The money.”
I chuckled, discarding the hat for a slightly larger size. “And least favorite thing?”
“The money.”
I laughed, straightening the brim. “I can see that.” I stepped back, eyeing him.
“Okay, this is your hat.”
He chuckled, dipping it in a nod to me. “Yes, ma’am.”
Before he could pay, I had my card out handing it to the girl manning the stall.
“Hope, no. I can pay.”
I placed a hand on his chest. “I know. But I want to give you something to remember me by.”
The girl handed me back my card and I tucked it away but caught Justice watching me, his expression guarded.
“What?” I asked, reaching up to touch my face. “Is there something on me?”
“What makes you think I’ll ever forget you?”
I shrugged. “You’re a rockstar, Justice. Your life is big and bold and loud and exciting. This?” I waved a hand around. “It’s hardly worth mentioning in your memoirs.”
He caught my hand and tugged me out of the stall and across to a small, dark alley. I tried not to notice as his security followed, blocking access.
Justice backed me up until my back hit the rough wood of one of the pavilions. He stepped into my space, his green eyes on fire.
“Don’t you ever say you’re not worth a mention.
” He cradled my cheek, his thumb brushing my lips.
“You’re worth a sonnet, Hope. A song. A whole fucking album.
You’re worth the story that your life is writing.
Days like these are what make life worth living.
Being in front of screaming crowds is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced.
It’s next level. But that fades. This? These are the memories I hold close.
Life is too fucking short to not spend it with people who bring you peace, contentment and laughter.
” He replaced his thumb with his lips, gently caressing mine.
“You taste like laughter and sunshine and home. And for that I’m grateful.” He drew back. “We clear?”
I nodded, unable to speak around the hope that clogged my throat.
Maybe dreams come true.
He kissed my forehead then pulled away, catching my hand and tugging me into his side until he could wrap an arm around my shoulders, guiding us out of the alley.
“Now, where is this swing dance shindig?”