Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Jasper
You’ve got to be kidding me.
I run my hand over the top of my head and, sure enough, there’s a wet glob of paint sitting on top.
Real nice. Standing, I turn and glance up at Wade, who’s standing two steps up on the ladder, a look on his face that’s half-wince, half-grin, while his hand keeps the paint tray from falling.
The brush sits on the floor beside me, paint splattered all around us.
“Really?”
“That was Chesney’s fault, I swear,” he says in a hurry.
“What?” Chesney hisses from the other side of the room. “How the hell was it my fault?”
The smirk tugging at his mouth grows. “If I wasn’t so distracted watching you watch”—he tips his head in my direction—“him, then the paint brush would’ve successfully made it back into the tray.”
My gaze snaps toward Chesney. He’s glaring at his friend with cinched eyebrows and a tight jaw. “I was not watching him.”
Wade snorts. “Oh, yes, you were, my friend.”
I look between the two men, my cheeks growing hotter by the second. It suddenly feels like I shouldn’t be here, or like I should look away. But I can’t.
“If anything, I was making sure he was doing it properly,” Chesney mutters, the annoyance clear in his voice.
Arching a brow, Wade says, “Making sure he was…cutting in properly?” Then he chuckles and adds, “Okay, man. Whatever you say.”
The heat from my cheeks spreads down to my neck and up to my ears. Chesney was watching me?
“Yes. I was making sure he did it right because I’m not trying to have to re-do this whole room because he didn’t know what he was doing.” His gaze flits over to me for a second as he gestures in my direction. “Does he look like someone who paints a lot of rooms to you?”
“That’s rude,” I scoff. “I’ve painted plenty of rooms, jackass.
” It’s a lie. The closest I ever got to painting anything was hanging out with my dad while he painted my bedroom when I was little.
He wouldn’t let me do anything other than watch him and occasionally fetch him a beer out of the fridge.
“Riiight.” Wade snorts. “We’ll go with that.”
Chesney sucks his teeth, glowering at his friend. “How about you shut the hell up and get back to work before I kick your ass.”
He barks out a laugh. “Awfully defensive for someone who wasn’t checking out the cowboy.”
This is so awkward.
“I wasn’t—” Heaving a sigh, Chesney shakes his head. “You know what? Fuck off.”
Wade glances at me, amusement wrinkling his forehead, and I can’t help the chuckle that bubbles past my lips. This conversation is so ridiculous, it’s comical.
“How about we all get back to work,” I say, grabbing a rag out of the bucket to wipe as much of the paint out of my hair as I can. What’s left is going to have to sit there until I can take a shower later.
Chesney mutters something I don’t catch under his breath, but after that, we all get back to it.
The three of us have been here since sunrise and have spent our entire Saturday working on these cabins—installing trim, painting, arguing over measurements.
When I found out they planned to do this today, I offered to help.
I can’t stop thinking about how much Chesney has on his plate lately, and I figured another pair of hands will speed up the process and maybe his whole day won’t be a wash.
I was wrong. But surprisingly, he accepted the offer.
The plan is to get as much done today as possible so we don’t have to come back tomorrow.
We’ve made pretty good progress, and I’ve learned that Wade and Chesney communicate almost exclusively through insults.
It’s oddly impressive and wildly entertaining to watch.
Classic rock plays quietly from the speaker sitting on the kitchen counter, a playlist Wade put on this morning. Pizza boxes cover the plastic-wrapped dining room table, and empty soda cans are scattered around them.
I’m intrigued by Wade, and their friendship.
And maybe a little jealous because he knows a whole version of Chesney that’s a stranger to me.
While I knew his childhood and adolescent years, Wade knows the man he is today.
We manage to work through the next hour productively and without much small talk, but my curiosity eventually gets the better of me.
“So, Wade,” I say, setting the brush in the tray. “Bet you have some funny stories about Chesney over the years, huh?”
Wade glances at Chesney, a smile that looks more than a little mischievous curving his mouth. “Oh, do I ever,” he says with a laugh. “I thought you’d never ask.”
My pulse kicks up, and my stomach gets all fluttery. I feel like a kid on Christmas. “Do tell.”
His gaze flits over to Chesney again. “Remember that time you tried to jump that dirt bike over Tyson Creek?”
“Don’t you dare,” Chesney groans.
“Don’t listen to him,” I say. “What happened?”
“Nate had just gotten home from basic, so they had to have been, like, twenty-two. We were celebrating with some friends, all of us absolutely toasted, when someone dared Chesney to do it. He was always known as a daredevil back then, but I’m sure you know that.”
Nope. Sure don’t. I don’t bother saying that, though, because admitting I don’t know him as well as his friends in Honey Creek feels embarrassing for some reason.
Thankfully, Wade keeps going, so my lack of response isn’t noticed. “I swear to god, he was convinced he was immortal back then.”
I lean my shoulder against the far wall we haven’t gotten to yet. “What happened?”
Wade’s grin is blinding. “He made it ’bout halfway.”
Chesney flips him off, and I bust out laughing before I can stop myself, earning me a scowl from Mr. Grumpy himself.
“It was more than halfway,” he grumbles.
“Whatever.” Wade waves him off. “The point is, he didn’t make it across. The bike landed sideways in the water.”
“Oh my god.” I snort.
“Somehow, he caught air mid-crash, and it threw him into a blackberry bush on the other side.”
My jaw drops. “You’re joking.”
“Nope. And mind you, it’s pitch-black outside, so none of us could see shit, other than where the small phone flashlight was pointed toward the bike.” He shakes his head and breathes out a laugh. “The sound that came out of him when he landed was hysterical. He squealed like a child.”
I nearly choke laughing, the picture in my mind too much.
Chesney’s eyes narrow as his gaze flits between me and Wade. “Fuck both of you,” he mutters, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“How bad was it?” I ask.
Wiping tears from his eyes, Wade says, “Let’s just say, there were thorns in places no thorns should ever be.”
The room erupts. My stomach hurts from laughing so hard. And despite his best efforts, Chesney even chuckles a little. The sight catches me off guard. Mostly because I’ve spent months now watching him carry the weight of everything—his dad, his family, his grief—never once letting himself relax.
Now he’s standing here smiling.
And laughing.
My stomach dips, and I force myself to look away before he catches me. Taking a drink, I shift my gaze over, finding Wade watching—no, studying—me. Of course he noticed. The man apparently notices everything.
“So,” he says. “Your turn.”
I frown, my eyebrows pinched. “My turn?”
“Yeah. Gimme your best embarrassing Chesney story.”
My smile returns as a dozen memories flit through my mind. “Oh, I’ve got plenty.”
Chesney points at me. “No.”
Ignoring him completely, I look at Wade and say, “We were probably fifteen. This was right after the school year started.”
Chesney groans and scrubs a hand down his face, like he already knows which one I’m going to say, while Wade gives me his full attention. “Go on.”
“He’d somehow convinced himself that he could tame a wild raccoon.”
“He wasn’t wild,” Chesney argues.
“Yes, it was.”
The same argument we had back then. It’s like no time has passed at all.
“He followed me down to our spot. He was practically begging me to take him home.”
“Because you fed it,” I quip.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. He liked me.” The way he stubbornly juts his chin out reminds me of the old him. My stomach dips.
“Chesney, the animal had rabies!”
“It had rabies?” Wade’s eyes are wide as he looks between us.
“No, he did not.” Chesney scoffs. “He only bit those kids because they were messing with them.”
“The raccoon bit people?” Wade blurts out. “What? Were they okay?”
“They were fine,” Chesney grumbles, at the same time I say, “They had to get a rabies shot just in case.”
Wade loses it. Chesney glares at him, almost looking…offended? Which only makes Wade laugh harder.
“Holy fuck,” he says, trying to catch his breath. “What happened after that?”
I shrug. “I’m not sure. I think animal control came and got it. We never saw it again.”
“The raccoon didn’t have rabies, damnit,” Chesney mutters. “He was alone and misunderstood.” He says it so seriously and with so much conviction that all three of us practically keel over from laughing.
“Okay, I definitely need more where that came from,” Wade says with a shit-eating grin as we get back to work.
I’m not sure how much time passes. The paint dries, the pizza disappears, but the stories keep coming. I can’t remember the last time I laughed this much. By ten-thirty, even Chesney looks relaxed.
Then Wade checks his phone. His eyebrows shoot upward as he glances at Chesney and announces, “Gotta go.”
“What?”
“My date’s here.”
Chesney’s face twists up. He looks horrified, or maybe disgusted. “You actually found someone?”
“What can I say?” He winks. “I’m quite the catch.”
“Found someone where?” I ask.
“On some dating app that seems to only produce douchebags and scam artists,” Chesney offers, his expression now bored.
“You never know when you’re gonna meet Mr. or Mrs. Right.” Wade strolls past us, swiping his keys and wallet off the counter. “Don’t have too much fun without me… Or maybe do. Lord knows Chesney could use a little fun.”
He waves once before walking out the door. The sound of his engine fades as he disappears down the gravel road and, suddenly, this cabin is too quiet. The music is still playing, but something shifts now that it’s just me and Chesney. It’s palpable.
Clearing my throat, I ignore all of it and focus on cleaning everything up. Across the room, Chesney does the same. Neither of us says anything for a long moment. The silence stretches, to the point where it’s almost unbearable.
Then Chesney shocks the hell out of me. “I forgot about that raccoon.”
“To be honest, I did too. Until tonight.” I chuckle, resting my hands on top of the counter. “Pretty sure that’s one of my favorite memories.”
His eyes meet mine, tired and soft around the edges, the look lingering longer than it should.
Long enough for my chest to tighten as I become painfully aware of every inch of space between us—or lack thereof.
I don’t remember him walking over here, but he’s here now, only the length of the countertop separating us.
I clear my throat. “I still can’t believe you thought you could domesticate a damn raccoon. You’ve always had a soft spot for wild animals.”
“I was optimistic.”
“You were an idiot.”
Chesney shrugs. “Two things can be true at once.”
A smile spreads across my face. I look down, trying to hide it, but I don’t miss the way he’s smiling too.
It’s genuine and hits me between the ribs.
This moment feels dangerously familiar, like we’re fifteen and standing beside the creek again.
Teenage hormones raging and nobody around to judge us. Just us and the full moon.
Chesney’s Adam’s apple bobs as he looks away, making me wonder if his mind went there too. “Think we’re done for tonight,” he says softly, like he doesn’t trust his own voice.
“Probably.”
Neither of us moves. My heart is pounding so hard, I wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear it.
Something about this moment feels significant, but not in a good way.
Eventually, I push off the counter, intending to walk around it toward the front door.
Except Chesney takes a step forward at the exact same time.
My breath catches as our bodies collide, and my hand flies up to his arm to steady myself.
I squeeze without meaning to, a shiver rolling down my spine at the way his muscles bunch under my touch.
It takes me a second to realize Chesney’s hands are on me too, grabbing either side of my waist, and for one suspended moment, the world around us ceases to exist. The room feels smaller, and a whole lot warmer.
Chesney’s close enough that I can see the freckles scattered across his nose, and the light stubble along his jaw.
I feel his breath on my face. My heart slams against my ribs when his eyes dip down before coming back up.
I can’t breathe. The space between us disappears, like the entire world narrows down to this one breath, this one decision.
My skin tingles, the blood running through my veins on fire as I wait to see what he does. But then the moment shatters like glass when Chesney steps back. His jaw is tight, and he won’t meet my eyes.
“It’s late,” he mutters, his voice rough.
Even though I know it shouldn’t, disappointment fills me.
“Yeah.”
Chesney takes another step back, putting more distance between us. “I should get home.”
Those four words are a boundary.
I nod, swallowing down the bitter taste on the back of my tongue. “Right.”
Grabbing his keys, he doesn’t look at me again. With his hand on the doorknob, he mutters a quiet, “Night, Jasper,” before leaving.
The door closes behind him, and I’m still stuck right here. The cabin feels too empty as I try not to replay the last thirty seconds. I fail epically. He was so close. It would’ve been so easy to just…
No.
I can’t go there. Not again.
Raking my fingers through my hair, I exhale slowly, then laugh at myself. Only, nothing’s funny. The last thing I needed was to develop feelings for Chesney Jennings again.
Great.
Just fucking great.