Chapter 33
By the time I reach The Dew Drop, the sky is fully dark, the last trace of sunset erased behind the low stretch of fields.
My boots slap against the concrete of the sidewalk as I make my way to the door.
The building glows ahead of me, neon beer signs flickering in the windows, casting pink and blue halos across the dust-coated glass.
Music seeps through the walls, bass low and steady, vibrating faintly beneath my ribs even before I step inside.
I pause for half a second, my hand on the door, before pushing it open.
The familiar hum of music and conversation spills out to greet me, wrapping around me instantly. It’s easier here. Simpler. There’s no silence to fill, no tension stretching between words, and no unanswered questions.
No Easton.
I move toward the bar automatically, weaving through bodies that sway and lean into each other, people brushing past me without really seeing me.
The barstool creaks faintly when I climb onto it, the worn vinyl familiar beneath my hands.
I’ve sat here a hundred times before, maybe more, but tonight it feels different. Tonight, it feels like I’m hiding.
“Whiskey,” I tell the bartender. My voice comes out steady, even though I don’t feel composed at all.
He nods without asking which kind and pours it quickly, sliding the glass toward me.
The amber liquid catches the neon light.
I stare at it for a moment, watching the surface tremble faintly as my fingers curl around the glass.
I lift it and drink without hesitation. The burn is sharp and immediate, dragging down my throat and settling deep in my chest. I set the empty glass down and signal for another before I can change my mind.
“Teagan?” The low, familiar call of my name startles me.
Boone slides onto the stool beside me before I manage to place his voice.
He smells like leather, cedar, and the almost overpowering cologne he’s worn since hitting puberty.
His hat sits low on his forehead, and his jaw is shadowed with stubble.
When I look over at him, his lips curve into the same easy half-smile that used to undo me effortlessly.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he says, his voice warm with surprise. “I thought that was you.”
I swallow, forcing something that resembles a smile. “Hey, Boone.”
His eyes rake over me slowly, like he’s taking inventory of something he remembers once owning. “You look good,” he shares, grabbing my shot when the bartender places it before me, and throwing it back. “But you’ve always looked good.”
It shouldn’t matter, but it does. He’s looking at me like he wants me, like he never stopped. And right now, that feels amazing.
He signals at the bartender without asking me first. “Two more.”
I open my mouth to protest, but quickly close it. The glasses appear quickly. Boone picks one up and holds it out to me, his fingers brushing mine when I take it. “To old times,” he boasts.
I hesitate for half a second before clinking my glass against his and drinking. The burn is as sharp as the first, hitting my bloodstream like a spark. Boone watches me the whole time, his gaze steady and unreadable.
“Still can’t say no to me, huh?” he says, a teasing edge to his voice.
I roll my eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
He chuckles softly, leaning a little closer. Just enough that I’m aware of him, of the solid warmth of his body beside mine.
The shots flow too freely as we talk. The conversation is superficial at best, nothing important. I pretend to listen intently as he tells me all about the ranch he’s been working on outside Amarillo, but my thoughts are elsewhere.
Boone leans in slightly, his fingers dusting along my arm as his voice drops just enough to feel private. “I missed you, you know.”
His confession does nothing for me. My heart doesn’t race, not the way it does with Easton merely being in his presence. I lean in anyway, starved for attention. I need to feel wanted, even if it’s only for tonight. Even if it means nothing beyond the walls of this bar or the flatbed of his truck.
Boone leads me to the dance floor, as I let myself pretend he can fill the empty space.
The shots of whiskey catch up with me, and before I know it, his arms are holding me upright more than my own legs.
The room spins as he works me across the floor.
His hand resting flush against the small of my back, he pulls me tighter as another couple passes us, whispering something I don’t quite catch.
“I need to get some air,” I excuse myself, my voice softer than I intend, as I push from his tight embrace.
“Sure, Teag.” He nods without argument. “I’ll take care of our tab and meet you out there.”
Outside, the cool air hits me like a slap. It cruelly steals the warmth from my skin. I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with the dry night air, but it doesn’t steady me the way I want it to. The parking lot stretches out in front of me, empty and quiet, the ground tilting faintly beneath my feet.
I press my palm against the side of the building in an attempt to ground myself. My head tips back, and I squeeze my eyes closed for a moment.
I wish I didn’t care this much. I wish he didn’t have this power over me.
I fumble with my phone, my fingers clumsy as I drag it from my pocket. The screen lights up too brightly, forcing me to squint.
I scroll through the contacts until I find the one I need. Bunkhouse. I stare at it longer than I should, my thumb hovering above the screen.
He keeps pulling away and building his walls higher. Shutting me out before I can get too close. So why does it still feel unfinished?
My thumb presses call before I can stop it. If he doesn’t want this, I want to hear him say it. Clearly, so I know I need to put this foolish crush behind me.
The phone rings in my ear, the sound loud in the quiet. Each tone stretches longer than it should, winding tight around my chest. My heart pounds hard enough to hurt, each beat heavy and unsteady.
I stare out at the dark horizon, my shallow breath fogging the night air as I teeter between hope and humiliation.
I don’t know what I’ll say if he answers. I don’t know how to pretend I’m fine, how to pretend he doesn’t matter when every part of me betrays the truth. I don’t know what I’ll do if he doesn’t answer, either.
All I do know is I can’t keep pretending there’s nothing here.
Not when every silence between us feels louder than words.
“Hello?” His voice is so rough and cautious, I’m not sure if it’s him.