Chapter 26
Beau
My back ached, my wrist was on fire, yet Dalton dragged my ass to The Dive on a Sunday night to celebrate our wins. I’d driven three hours home from Dallas after our flight, and the last thing I wanted to do was go out.
The only thing pushing me forward was the thought that maybe I’d see my “friend.”
I grabbed a beer from the bartender, Brooke. She leaned against the bar, her blonde hair in a messy bun, eyes sharp and unreadable.
“Seen Gat?” I asked, taking a swig.
She shook her head. “I think he’s out for the month. Florida or something?”
Dalton strolled up, tossing Brooke a wink as he leaned an elbow against the bar. “Am I gonna get you to come back to my house tonight, B, or are you gonna play hard to get?”
Brooke barely spared him a glance, grabbing a bottle from the cooler behind her. “You always ask me, and I always say no.”
“Until you come a knockin’ . . .” Dalton laughed.
They’d been on and off for forever, their whole relationship built on a cycle of teasing, tension, and the occasional night they didn’t pretend they didn’t want each other. It wasn’t a question of if Brooke would show up at his place again—it was when.
She shook her head, amused. “You boys are exhausting.”
I chuckled, taking the bottle and settling onto the stool. I glanced up at the TV above the bar, where some basketball game was playing. Not that I cared much about it, but it was better than watching Dalton try and fail to charm Brooke.
Two hands grabbed my shoulders, and I winced before I turned around to see who it was.
“There’s the big money winner.”
Harleigh’s dark hair was piled onto her head, a few loose strands framing her face, and she was dressed in a long, denim dress with a fringe jacket.
“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, shaking my head.
She slid up beside me, wrapping me in a quick hug before plopping onto the stool. Without hesitation, she grabbed the next one, pulling it closer.
My head snapped up, eyes tracking the empty seat to see who was with her.
Fable.
Her long, honey-blonde hair was straightened and fell down past her shoulders. She wore a flowing skirt, delicate little flowers scattered across the fabric, with a simple white top and a denim jacket. It wasn’t her outfit that caught my attention.
It was the way her cheeks flushed the second she sat down, her gaze stubbornly fixed anywhere but on me.
“You gonna buy us drinks with your big-ass check or what?” Harleigh grinned.
I chuckled, lifting a hand to wave at Brooke, signaling for two more beers. Harleigh leaned forward with her elbows on the bar top.
“So, who’s your friend?”
Fable’s elbow shot out, jabbing Harleigh square in the ribs.
Harleigh yelped, half laughing, half groaning. “Ow, damn, alright.”
It was a stupid move on my part, calling her out like I did. I doubted she’d even put the pieces together—at least, in the moment, I doubted it. Yet, the entire night, I kept wondering.
Kept thinking.
Did she realize I’d missed her?
“You watch me, Cowgirl?”
She shook her head, still refusing to meet my eyes.
Liar.
I leaned back on the stool. I loved watching her squirm, knowing she knew what I knew made everything I said worth it.
“It’s too bad you didn’t tune in, Fable.”
She slowly drew her eyes up to meet mine. “Why’s that?”
“Because what your friend over here is telling you is that I had to shout out a hometown friend who I dedicated my winning ride to.”
“Good for them,” she muttered, grabbing the beers Dalton had dropped off at the table.
“You know what happens when you dedicate a ride to someone?”
She didn’t look at me. Instead, her gaze snapped to Harleigh, eyes wide, like she was silently begging for help.
I grinned, enjoying this way too much. “Well, I’ll tell you, since you’re a city girl and probably don’t know the custom.” I chuckled, watching as Dalton pulled his stool closer to the table.
“It means that the person you dedicate the ride to . . .” I let the words hang for a second, watching the way her fingers clenched around her beer. “Owes you a kiss.”
“Or a fuck,” Dalton added with a wink.
“A kiss,” I said, shooting him a look.
“Ha.” Her eyes locked onto mine. “Good, then, for the . . .” The corner of her lips lifted into a tease. “Good for the friend you dedicated your ride to, then. Too bad you weren’t more specific.”
I leaned in, my grin widening. “I think I was specific enough—”
“I’m over this conversation.” She cut me off, hopping off the stool so fast it nearly wobbled. “I gotta go to the restroom.”
Harleigh started to say something, but Fable was already gone, disappearing into the crowd.
Dalton whistled low. “Damn, she’s squirming.”
Yeah.
I fucking loved it.
“Be nice to her, asshole.” Harleigh punched me in the shoulder.
“Ow.” I feigned injury and rubbed it.
“Fuck off,” she grumbled. “Seriously. She doubled the Twisted Spur’s auction yesterday, and we came out to celebrate. You’ve upset her.”
“She went to the bathroom,” Dalton said obliviously.
“She went to the bathroom,” I repeated.
Harleigh nodded and crossed her arms.
Last time she got upset—at Roger’s house—she left to use the restroom then too.
That uneasy feeling settled in my chest.
“It’s not my place to say anything, but that’s not cool. Either of you,” Harleigh huffed, already sliding off her stool. “I’m going to go get her.”
My heart lurched.
Before I could think better of it, I reached out, catching her wrist.
“I’ll go,” I said softly.
I clenched my jaw because I’d seen this before.
My mom, sitting at the kitchen table, staring at nothing, holding everything inside because my dad was never there. He’d been physically and emotionally absent, so he never knew how much she’d suffered. I’d be damned if I let Fable feel that same loneliness.
Regardless of how I felt about her—whether it was a mistake to keep pushing or not—I didn’t want her to be alone.
Something was wrong.
It wasn’t my place to pry. She’d tell me when she was ready.
But something was wrong.
I exhaled sharply and headed toward the back of the bar, shoving open the women’s restroom door. I was grateful it was a single stall and unlocked.
From the back, Fable looked like she was washing her hands, but when I stepped closer and peered over her shoulder, I saw the angry red of her skin. She wasn’t just washing—she was scrubbing the same spot repeatedly.
“Baby.” I wrapped my hands around hers, stilling the movement.
Her hands were mine. Her pain was mine.
I’d seen this before—the way her fingers rubbed at her palms, the compulsive motion. My chest ached at the sight of it. The weight she carried, whatever it was, was too heavy. I wanted to take some of it, to ease it, to give her even a moment of relief.
“I need to stop messing around. I was being dumb. There was a lot of adrenaline . . .”
I reached forward, pressing my chest lightly against her back, my arms caging around her as I turned off the faucet.
She didn’t fight me. She stood there, hands shaking beneath mine. Our reflections stared back at us from the mirror—an old thing, cracked in the corner, barely holding on, just like the girl standing in front of me.
I met her gaze in the glass. “I didn’t mean anything BY the comment. I hadn’t seen you in a bit and was excited to get back home and ask you about the auction.”
She dropped her arms. I should push her, ask her what’s up with the bathroom scrubbing, but it wasn’t the time. It wasn’t my burden to carry until she was ready to give it to me.
“It’s not that. I—”
She turned so we were face-to-face. From here, even in the dingy lighting, her green eyes sparkled brightly.
“I’ve had a long week, Beau.”
I nodded. “Me too, Cowgirl. Me too.” My smile dropped. “I heard you got a record amount sold at the auction,” I whispered.
“Mhmm.” She nodded and reached up to my chest, slowly placing her raw fingers against my shirt. “Hey, Beau?”
“Yeah?”
She let out a slow, tired sigh, her hands falling back to her sides. “Can we get out of here?”
My chest tightened, a slow warmth spreading through me at her words as I reached for her hand, lacing my fingers through hers.
“I know the place.”