****
Five beers and countless shooters later, Hope walked in, looking like she belonged anywhere but this shitty, run-down bar at the edge of town.
The minute my gaze landed on her, I knew I was fucked.
Absolutely fucked.
Ruined.
This woman had the ability to knock me on my ass with one glance.
She had on this modest, blue maxi dress and long-sleeved white cardigan, making her stand out like a fucking angel from the short skirts and even shorter dresses every other woman in this place seemed to be wearing. Her brown curls were free from their usual confinement, flowing freely down her shoulders, her blue eyes wide and full of nervousness as she scoped the bar, clearly looking for me.
She looked like she should be in church not a seedy bar full of Boulder's undesirables.
Another man's wife, Luck, I continued to chant to myself as I desperately tried to fight down the hope roaring to life inside of me. Ain't never gonna be yours, man.
She'd made that perfectly clear.
When her gaze finally landed on me, slumped at the bar, she made a beeline for me, dodging the crowds of people filling the dancefloor.
"Hey," she whispered, finally reaching my side.
"Hay is for horses, HC," I grumbled before taking a slug from my beer.
Her smell was all around me. Floral, with a hint of coconut and strawberries… Hell, I couldn’t describe it. I only knew that it haunted me – just like she did.
"So you've told me before," she replied softly. She took the stool next to me and, angling her body so that she was facing me, she said, "I've missed you so much."
"Have you?" I replied flatly. "Thought you'd be too busy patching up the wounded one to think about me."
"Don’t be like that."
"Why not?" I demanded, turning to face her. "You know, every time I think I'm gonna be okay, you walk back into my world and crush me like a fucking fly. And it's my own goddamn fault, because I don’t have the strength to walk away from you. Because I had the fucking misfortune of falling in love with a married woman." I took another sip of beer to calm my temper before hissing, "You're everywhere! In my thoughts. In my dreams. In my waking fucking hours. How the hell am I supposed to ever get over you when you won't let me?"
"Don’t get over me," she shot back, tone heated. "Because I'm not getting over you. Ever."
"Goddamn, HC." I shook my head and exhaled a ragged sigh. "God fucking dammit."
Slumping forward, I grabbed the tumbler of Jack and tossed it back, reveling in the burning sensation, as the whiskey blazed a trail from my throat to my stomach.
"Do you have any fucking idea of how deeply I'm drowning in blood for you?" Lowering my voice so only she could hear me, I hissed, "My hands?" I stared down at them. They were clean now. But for how long? How long until the next phone call came? "You should have come with a warning label," I muttered dejectedly. "Would've kept a helluva lot of folk out of the ground."
"These hands?" she whispered. My heart hammered violently against my ribcage as I watched one of her small hands cover mine. "The hands that saved my life?"
"Don’t try and paint it pretty, sweetheart," I countered. "I'm not a good man."
"You're wrong," she countered, not letting go of my hand when I tried to pull away from her. "You are wrong," she repeated, tone passionate. She lifted my hand in hers and pressed a kiss to my torn knuckles. "You are a good man with a brilliant mind, and a beautiful heart.
I watched her watch me, the intensity in her gaze almost too much to take. I couldn’t take this anymore.
It was too fucking much.
I felt too much.
My body was on fire.
My heart was kicking the shit out of me.
She was wrecking me.
Every smile gave me a slither of empty hope.
She was promising me an unattainable future with every stroke from her fingertips.
Unable to handle the emotions battering through me, I snatched my hand away. "Don’t do that," I warned her, tone slurred and shaken. "Don’t lie."
I could feel my resolve wavering.
She was doing that to me.
She was making me weak.
"I know who you are, Hunter. I see the real you." Hope looked up at me with those searing blue eyes and said, "And I love everything I see. I love you–"
"Don’t fucking say it," I warned her. Without breaking eye contact, I grabbed my glass and pressed it to my lips, enjoying the scorching burn as the whiskey trickled down the back of my throat. "Don’t tell me you love me when you're sleeping in his bed tonight."