Chapter 15
Fable
Oh my God. My head was throbbing.
“Why is it so sunny outside?” I groaned, squinting against the light as I rolled over. My eyes landed on a note and two pills resting on the bedside table.
Oh good. Someone robbed me and left me medicine. What a nice robber they were.
I carefully lifted my head off the pillow, wincing at the pounding in my skull, and glanced at the note.
Kline’s gone this weekend.
Going to show you around the ranch tomorrow.
–Beau
P.S. Take these. Your head’s going to be hurtin’ in the morning.
P.P.S. You snore loud as fuck when you sleep.
“Ha,” I grunted, grabbing the pills and the water from the bedside table. I downed them, letting the cool water soothe my dry throat.
Whatever. He could be nice when he wanted to be, and I owed him for driving me home, even if I’d been reluctant at the start.
The whole Gatlin thing? That had been a drunken mess. Conjuring up a plan to have him hit on me just to make Beau jealous was stupid, completely out of character, but I needed to set better boundaries between us.
No more flirting. No more mixed signals.
As much as I’d like to avoid him entirely, that wasn’t realistic because he worked with Kline and lived in town. I could make sure we kept our distance—at least emotionally. I needed to, for my own sake.
I grumbled as I got out of bed, my head pounding and my chest tight. My shoes and socks were gone, my shirt still clung to me, and my pants were missing. The shirt hung long enough to cover me, but the thought of Beau undressing me made my stomach twist.
“Ugh,” I groaned, the panic rising.
Did he see? Did he see my undies?
I glanced around the room, and it was like the walls were closing in. The air felt thick, dirty. Germs. Everywhere. I could see them—on the bed, on the sheets, on my skin.
My skin.
Sleeping in yesterday’s bar clothes—in bed—was unbearable. The sheets needed to be stripped. I needed to be stripped. My heart pounded harder, and my breathing quickened as the weight of it crushed me.
I bolted to the bathroom, yanking my shirt off the second I crossed the threshold. The mirror caught my reflection, and I turned away, focusing on the sink. My hands were under the water before it even warmed up, scrubbing furiously.
No one will love me. No one will take care of me. I don’t deserve it. I’m nothing. I’m no one. I’m dirty.
Dirty.
Dirty.
Dirty.
The word throbbed in my head, and I scrubbed harder, my knuckles aching as I dragged my hands over my arms, my chest. I couldn’t get it off.
Happy Birthday to me . . . happy birthday to me . . . happy birthday, dear Fable, happy birthday to me.
I sang it under my breath and tried to drown out the thoughts, the noise, the panic clawing at my throat.
The mirror caught my eye again, and this time, I couldn’t look away. My naked body stood there, trembling, raw and exposed. I hated it. Hated the way I looked, hated the way my skin felt, hated the flaws screaming back at me.
Mike was right.
No one would love me. No one could love me. Not like this. Not the way I was.
I was deep in thought, tears streaking down my face, when I swore I heard someone in the front room.
Perfect. Mid-panic attack, my skin rubbed raw and red, tears still falling, and I had to deal with someone breaking and entering into my house. I lived in the middle of nowhere, and of course, my phone was nowhere to be found.
I grabbed the first weapon I could find, a towel, naturally, and bolted out of the bathroom, waving it in front of me like it was some kind of weapon.
My somewhat brilliant plan was to whip the intruder into submission.
I was going to hope for the best and distract them enough to get my phone and call 9-1-1.
I burst into the living room, flinging the towel like a lunatic, and froze.
“AHHHH,” I screamed. Full-on shrieked, because there, standing in my living room, was Beau.
His mustache was neatly trimmed, and he was dressed like some goddamn cowboy calendar model—jeans, a massive belt buckle, a denim button-down that clung to him in all the right places. In his hands, he held two coffees and a brown paper bag, like him being in my space was completely normal.
And then there was me. Naked. Towel in hand. Mid-breakdown.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I shouted and clutched the towel to my body, fully ready to die from embarrassment on the spot.
Beau started laughing, the hearty noise filling the room as he set the coffee and brown paper bag on the table.
“I was never able to see you naked in daylight, and baby, I am not mad about this.” His lips curved into a smug grin. “You can greet me like this anytime, but maybe with less theatrics.” He winked.
“What are you doing in my house?” I snapped, spinning around so I could tuck the towel securely around me. “You can’t just barge in here.”
“I came to check on you,” he said, completely unbothered. “I rang the bell. Didn’t hear anything, and I thought maybe you’d choked on your own puke or something, so I came in. Used the key.” He held up a shiny key, dangling it between his fingers.
I marched over and snatched it out of his hand. “Thank you. That is mine.”
He chuckled again, watching me as I stepped back, clutching the key and my towel like they were my last defense.
Okay, maybe it was kind of nice that he was worried. He didn’t have to barge in, but still . . . it was nice. Annoying, but nice.
“For real, what are you doing here?”
“I brought you coffee.” He grabbed the coffee, and I reached for it, but before I could take it, his free hand shot out, capturing mine in his. His grip firmly held my hand hostage between us.
My breath hitched as I glared up at him. “Let me go, Beau.”
His thumbs brushed lightly against the raw skin on my hand, and suddenly, the coffee was the last thing on my mind.
“What is this? Are you okay?”
I tried to pull away, but his grip didn’t loosen. He wasn’t hurting me, but he wasn’t letting go either.
My shame grew stronger with every second he held me, heat rising in my cheeks as I avoided him. I felt like he could see straight through me, down to every messy thought and fear I’d tried to scrub away.
“Beau, let me go,” I mumbled.
He didn’t move, his hands steady as his eyes searched mine. “Talk to me,” he said quietly, the concern in his voice impossible to ignore.
How could I tell him about the accident?
About Mike? About all of it? It wasn’t just a conversation—it was a floodgate.
It would feel like dumping everything I’d kept locked away, and I wasn’t even sure I understood it all myself.
Half the time, I couldn’t process it, let alone explain it to someone else.
The shame twisted tighter in my chest, threatening to choke me. He wouldn’t get it. How could he?
I shook my head, the movement jerky and final. “No.”
Beau’s eyes searched mine, his voice soft as he asked again, “You okay?”
I tugged my hand free from his, the sting of his concern almost worse than if he’d just dropped it. Snatching the coffee from his hand, I forced a laugh that sounded hollow even to me.
“Just need some lotion,” I muttered, not daring to meet his gaze again.
I turned and headed for the bedroom, my back stiff, my heart pounding. I could feel his eyes on me, but I kept walking. Once I made it around the corner, I let out a shaky breath.
I didn’t need his concern. I couldn’t handle it. Not when I was barely holding myself together. I walked into the bedroom and shut the door, setting the coffee on the nightstand.
“I thought I could show you around the ranch this mornin’. Kline’s gone on an event, and you mentioned having to work,” Beau shouted from the other side of the door.
Mhmm. Perfect.
It was infuriating how he showed up unannounced. Why was he always around? The more he lingered, the harder it would be to keep my secrets under wraps. I had plenty of them, all carefully tucked away where no one—especially not Beau—could get to them.
I sighed, dragging myself toward the dresser, yanking out a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve shirt.
I didn’t even think about showering. I tossed on my old college sweatshirt over the top.
If he was going to barge in like he owned the place—my place—then he could deal with me looking like this.
I pulled my hair into a messy bun and left a few pieces out to frame my features.
“Alright,” I grumbled to myself, taking one last look in the mirror.
I grabbed the coffee and took a tentative sip, expecting it to be average, but it wasn’t. It was good—really good. Rich, smooth, with just the right balance of boldness and sweetness. My eyes widened as I took another sip, savoring it.
There’d been a diner we stopped at yesterday before heading to Dallas, and that coffee had been decent. This was next level.
I swung open the door, coffee still in hand. “Where did you get this?” I asked, brushing past Beau and into the living room, where the smell of the coffee mingled with something else—something buttery and sweet.
The brown paper bag was now on the small dining table, so I walked over and opened it.
“Made it,” Beau said, and when I turned to look at him, I swear he winked. He was so goddamn annoying and cheery.
“No, you didn’t,” I shot back.
He shook his head, grinning wider. “Sure did, Cowgirl.”
“Ugh, seriously, stop calling me that.”
As I reached into the bag, Beau took a small, hesitant step closer. Inside were a dozen pastries. I grabbed a Danish, took a bite, and groaned. My stomach practically did a happy dance.
“Wow,” I mumbled through a mouthful. “This is good.”
Beau laughed, leaning against the edge of the table. “Couple towns over, where your new boyfriend Gatlin lives, there’s a good bakery.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” I paused mid-chew, narrowing my eyes at him. “That’s where the coffee’s from too, isn’t it?”
He shook his head, his grin never wavering. “Come on, I actually made it.”