I’m almost positive he’s going to shatter it one of these days. He seems too big, too strong, too angry to be squeezing something that fragile so hard.
When people talk to him, he runs his tongue along the backs of his teeth like he’s trying to keep from biting them or something.
“So, what’d you do when you spent those two weeks stuck in the desert?”
My jaw clamps at Gary’s words. I know he means well, but he’s not reading the room right now. Not reading Beau. Must have missed the way he went taut and never relaxed again when a booming thunderstorm rolled through not thirty minutes ago.
Yeah, Beau looks ready to burst tonight, but Gary hasn’t noticed.
“Tried to stay alive,” Beau bites out. There’s a tremor in his voice—a quality that reminds me of a dog when they growl at you. It’s a warning to back away.
But Gary is too damn drunk to notice.
“They say you missed your flight on purpose to stay behind and save that journalist. That’s some real hero complex shit.” The words overrun each other, emerging in a sloppy jumble.
Beau just stares at his pint, gazing into the golden liquid. They’ve already talked about this subject, but alcohol makes a person repetitive. I know because I’ve spent years studying drunk people. I’m an expert.
“Imagine where your life would be if you hadn’t.”
My lashes flutter shut because my gut tells me a line exists, and Gary just stepped right over it.
Or right into it.
Beau’s thickly corded arm swipes out, knocking both their glasses onto the bar floor. Beer sprays across the smattering of patrons seated nearby, and if not for the music blaring at this point in the night, I’m certain The Railspur would be dead silent as they watch the altercation unfold.
Beau stands so fast his stool topples behind him with a crash. Gary looks instantly terrified. “Imagine where your life would be if you didn’t sit here drinking and embarrassing yourself every fucking day, Gary. Ever think about that?”
His chest heaves, the splatter of liquid making the cotton of his T-shirt stick to his clearly defined pecs. Only someone who grew up in the household I did could be smack dab in the middle of a moment like this and be checking a guy out.
Beau isn’t my dad, though, and I’m not worried the way I would be if I were in the house I grew up in.
“Beau,” my voice comes out clear, not a single waver to it.
“All alone every damn day, a young girl as your best friend. Seems a little pervert—”
“Beau Eaton, shut your mouth and get your ass outside.”
His head swivels, gray eyes latching onto mine like he just noticed my presence. Like he didn’t expect little Bailey Jansen to be the one barking at him.
He straightens, but I don’t care how tall he is.
He doesn’t scare me.
Not even when he’s like this.
I point to the emergency exit that leads to the patio, and my hand doesn’t shake at all. I’m not nervous. I’m pissed off.
Beau turns stiffly, striding around the end of the bar, past the server station, and straight out into the fading light. If I didn’t know how many drinks he’s had, I wouldn’t notice the slight stagger in his steps or the way he leans on the door just a little heavier than necessary.
Before I cut through the small wooden push gate to follow Beau, I glance back at Gary.
“Too far?” he asks, averting his gaze.
My lips flatten against each other. “Yeah, Gary. Too far.”
He swipes a hand through his thinning hair and drops his head, hand tapping over the keys he laid on the bar the minute he sat down. “I’ll catch a cab.”
I respond with a firm nod before shoving out the door onto the darkened patio. The summer storm caused everyone sitting here to flee, their forgotten glasses now partially filled with rainwater.
I can still smell the storm. And Beau. Pine and lemon mingle with something deeper, more sensual. Tobacco maybe, like a cigar.
He’s slumped against the outer brick facade of the train station-turned-bar. As I approach, he shoves his fists into the pockets of his jeans, chin dropped almost to his chest, eyes fixed on the sneakers he’s always sporting.
They feel out of place for him—too white and shiny, too pristine.
“You can’t pull that shit in my bar,” I say.
He scoffs, still refusing to meet my gaze. “Your bar, huh?”
“Yes, Beau. My bar. My place. The only place in this town where people don’t treat me like shit. I bust my ass working here. I bust my ass trying to make customers like me. And behind that wood is my bubble. Gary isn’t perverted, he’s fucking lonely. And he’s one of the few people who is consistently kind to me. So, if you think you can waltz into my bar acting like an untouchable asshole and scaring all my regulars away with your antics, you’ve got another thing coming.”
Now his eyes are on me, a little unsteady but narrowed. “Untouchable asshole?”
“Yes.” I cross my arms, like they might give me some protection from him. He looks a little wild tonight, a little dangerous—not like the happy-go-lucky guy we all thought we knew before his last deployment.
Silvery light plays off his features, his tan skin and luminous eyes almost glowing as he stares me down. The only thing that moves between us is his chest, rising and falling in time with mine.
But I don’t drop his gaze. I’m so over men trying to intimidate me. And it feels wrong on him, so I don’t let him have it.
After our staredown moves from a heated moment into awkward territory, he blinks away, jaw flexing.
“Did I embarrass myself?” His voice is all gravel and rumbles over my skin.
“You did. But the good news is your last name is Eaton, so everyone will forgive you and go back to kissing your feet the minute you walk in there and flash them a smile.”
“Bailey, what the fuck? Did you really just say that to me?”
“Yes.” My head tilts. “Because it’s true. All I had to do was be born into my family and everyone looks at me like they’re waiting for that part of my genetics to rear its ugly head. Like I’ll go from hardworking and polite to a hillbilly criminal mastermind in the blink of an eye just because my last name is Jansen.” His brow furrows deeper the longer I talk. “So, yeah. I think you’re gonna be fine, even though you embarrassed yourself.”
“That’s not true.”
“What part?”
“People thinking that about you.”
“Ha!” The laugh lurches from my throat, sharp and lacking any humor. “That is adorably naive,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief.
“Well, I don’t see you that way.”
I swallow now, eyes flitting away. It’s true that Beau has always been kind to me—to everyone. Maybe that’s why this new version of him pisses me off so much. “I know.” I shoot him a grateful smile. “You’re one of the good ones, Beau. That’s why you can’t keep doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“Sitting at my bar and drinking yourself into a sullen stupor every night.”
A quiet keening noise escapes him as his head rolls back and forth against the wall, hands coming out of his pockets to scrub at his face. “It helps me sleep at night.”
“What?” I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. Somehow, that’s not the response I expected.
It’s painfully honest.
“The alcohol. It helps me fall asleep. I go home to the ranch and crash. I haven’t been sleeping well these days.”
My stomach drops at his admission.
“You telling me you drive like this?” My finger waves up and down him, catching on the bulge of keys in his front pocket.
His wide eyes plead with me, desperate and forlorn. I feel monumentally stupid for assuming he was different from Gary. That he’d be in control enough to get himself a cab rather than get behind a wheel in this state.