“I blew up at you at a family dinner.”
I’d quit seeing all my doctors and wasn’t sleeping. I was sore and tired and just wanted to rest for a bit. Winter saw right through it when I dragged her down the hallway to talk. Right through my request for prescription sleeping pills—because over-the-counter ones weren’t doing the trick. Her knowing smirk and crossed arms, followed by a calm “no” pushed me over the edge.
I exploded. She didn’t deserve it. Everyone heard.
Winter’s lips form a slight curve. “Did you? I don’t remember.”
“Winter,” I bite out, annoyed that she’s making this so hard for me.
“Beau,” is all she responds with as we continue swaying on the wooden dance floor. Over her shoulder, I catch sight of Bailey. Her glossy hair shines like the top of the river, reflecting every light. She’s not a guest, but she’s tending bar for the reception, and that’s good enough for me.
“I shouldn’t have done that.” My eyes stay on Bailey as I speak to Winter. Focusing on her makes this easier. She’s become a calm spot in a mind that is a turbulent storm.
“No, probably not. But you know what, Beau?”
I finally glance down at Winter. “What?”
“We’re all human, and we all make mistakes. Especially when we’re struggling.”
“I’m not struggling.”
She snorts and then gives me an exaggerated wink. “Cool. Me neither.”
My molars clamp down and I glance back at Bailey. “Okay. Maybe I am.”
But I relax when I’m looking at her.
“You sleeping now?”
I roll my lips together and consider lying to her. But Winter is so no-nonsense—so not flowery and overly doting—it’s easier to be real with her than with the rest of my family. “No. Well, I’ve gotten on a schedule, and that seems to help a bit.” I don’t tell her that by schedule I mean planning my week around sitting at Bailey’s bar drinking chamomile tea. But the truth is, sitting there has given me a purpose, and it feels good.
“Seeing anyone?”
“Like a doctor?”
She nods.
“Nah.”
“Why see a professional when we can diagnose ourselves, right?”
I smirk but say nothing.
“A childhood filled with neglect means I learned to survive by not relying on anyone,” she says. “Boom. Diagnosed. Saved myself hundreds of dollars. You go.”
I curve a brow as I consider what to say next. “PTSD.”
“Yeah.” Her nose wrinkles as the song nears its end. “So generic. I can see why you wouldn’t want to talk to a professional about that.”
“Winter, are you making fun of me? I can’t fucking tell.”
She pats me on the shoulder. “You’re big and handsome, Beau. Some people might think that means you’re stupid. I think you let people think you are because it’s easier that way.”
“Wow. Thank you. I’m endlessly flattered, Dr. Hamilton.”
“But I know better. You know better. We both know therapy is good but we both don’t go. So we’re just doing the best we can.”
“What does that mean?” My brow furrows, and she steps away at the end of the song.
“Fuck if I know. I’ve had a lot of champagne to medicate myself through this family event. Have you tried it? It’s delicious. At any rate, no hard feelings. Water under the bridge, as they say. But if you need anything, you’ve got my number.”
We shake hands. Then she turns and walks over to Theo, who is eyeing her up her like she might be dessert. That’s hard to watch too. So I walk toward someone who isn’t.
I’m drawn to Bailey through the crowd like a magnet. Or maybe I’ve just become the new miserable regular who sits on a stool waiting for her to finish work. Like a sad puppy dog.
But she talks to me like no one else does. About inane things. And sometimes we’re just quiet together.
And that quiet is comfortable.
When I lean against the bar, she barely acknowledges my presence. She doesn’t need to. She knows I’m here.
“No chamomile tea. But you look like you could use a pick-me-up.” She slides a glass of Coca-Cola in front of me, not realizing that she’s the pick-me-up.
“Thanks,” I reply, hunkering down against the bar, preparing myself to emulate what we do at The Railspur. I told my family I’d be at the wedding, and I am. But the truth is, it’s overwhelming. It’s hot, and loud, and busy in this barn turned event space, and I don’t like it.
“How ya doin’, soldier?” Bailey asks, propping a hip against the ice well to face me. She crosses her arms and inspects me a little too closely, as if she can sense that something is isn’t right.
I stare back at her, absently wondering how many freckles dot her nose. Wondering if they only crop up in the summer or if they linger through the winter. I’ve never looked at her close enough to notice. There’s one just above her lip that I’m pretty sure is always there.
I tear my gaze away and glance at the dance floor, seeing all my family members together. It’s nice to see them happy. I put them all through so much. And yet, I take a deep swig of soda, peek back at Bailey, and say, “I’m struggling.”
She nods. “Trust your struggle, Beau.”
“What does that mean?”
“If we’re struggling, we’re still in motion, yeah? Heading somewhere better. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway.”
My chest tightens. I don’t want Bailey to struggle.
I’m where I am by choice. She’s where she is by birth. It seems profoundly unfair.
But I lift my glass to her all the same. “I’ll cheers to that. To struggling together.”
She laughs lightly and lifts her drink from behind the bar, clinking her glass against mine. “Less lonely that way, for sure.”
It’s a simple exchange. Probably nothing noteworthy to the average person beyond two fucked-up people commiserating.
And yet, knowing I have something in common with Bailey makes me feel instantly lighter.
I wish it was her I’d been out there dancing with.
Some people might find the blue sky and the chirping of birds charming. The smell of fresh mountain air and all that. And maybe I’m being ungrateful—that’s a distinct possibility—but the charm is all lost on me.
“Beau?”
My older brother’s voice cuts into my thoughts as I sit up on the back of a horse, staring over the ridge at a valley of cows who all look the fucking same. They look the same, they eat the same thing every day, they follow each other around almost blindly.
Everything about their existence seems very simple. Boring even.
And yet they all seem happy.
I wish I were a cow. Wish I could find some joy in the monotony of ranch life. Instead, I’m restless and writhing. Trapped beneath the surface of the perfectly manicured fa?ade I slip on for the benefit of everyone around me.
They want me to be okay. And I’m not. Not really. I want them to think I am. But these days? These days, I suck at maintaining my cover.
“Beau!” Cade’s voice is real mad now, and I can hear the danger in it. If I were his son, Luke, I’d be trembling in my boots.
But I’m not.
So I turn my head slowly to glance at my brother. “You’re dressed like some sort of emo cowboy. Why are you wearing all black on such a hot day?”
He shakes his head in disbelief. “Did you not hear me talking to you?”
I heard my name, but not much else.
“Sorry, just kinda got lost in enjoying the view. Blue skies, the birds chirping.” I wave a hand over the horizon. “It’s nice.”
My brother blinks at me, clearly unsure of what to say next. His eyelashes are so dark, he almost reminds me of a cow with the slow, lazy way he blinks at me.
“Hey, why do cows have such long eyelashes?” I ask, abruptly switching the subject.
His brow furrows in my direction beneath the brim of his cap. “What?”
“Their eyelashes. They’re just so damn long. What’s the point?”
What’s the point of anything?
The words crop up in my head. But they’re immediately followed by Bailey’s wisdom from this past weekend. And that has my lips tipping up ever so slightly.