Chapter Fifty-Five

Briggs

She’s shaking in my arms, her head on my shoulder as she confesses that she still needs me. Elation threatens, and I tamp it down. I’ve been there. I can’t go there again. Just as the thought passes, I hear her sniff, and she slowly pulls away.

“Nope, not doing this,” she says as she runs her hand through her hair before grabbing another beer and cracking it open. “I’m not here to throw my shit on you. I’m sorry.” She sniffs into her sleeve before wiping her eyes.

Stunned at her sudden departure, I move to stand. “It’s not like I was tossing you aside.”

“I know.” She gives me a brave smile. “But in all honesty, I’m doing better. I think.” She wrinkles her nose, trying to mask the tears that threaten. “I think telling you the things I did, putting words to them, made it all the more real for me, maybe? Like that has really been my life since I’ve been home.”

I’m still reeling from her confessions and having a horrible time at the fact it’s been so hard on her. “Makes sense.”

“God,” she says, setting the beer down. “You know, I woke up today and did a body scan, and swore my head was on straight. Straight enough to come here and read you the riot act. Come see my crazy ass out, would you?” She takes a step off the porch, and my chest seizes.

Fuck!

“You’ve been drinking.” I follow her as she starts toward her Jeep.

“I’ve had two beers,” she says with a shrug.

“Stop fucking walking,” I order, and she turns back to me with her eyes wide.

“Now you want me to stay, Briggs? You’ve been giving me hell about being here for the past half hour. I’m trying to give you an out, cowboy.”

Thumbing the pockets of my jeans, I take a step forward.

“You had a moment, and you’re embarrassed. I get it, but this is me you had a moment with, and you don’t have to cover it up. For fifty-six fucking days, we talked, Scottie. Fifty-six days. Nothing in the world you can tell me will sway my opinion of you. Nothing you can do will ever make me feel differently about you. Now, come inside and let’s play some cards.”

“You don’t get to bully me, Briggs.”

Squeezing the bill of my hat, I grit my teeth. “You know as much as you’ve talked about changing, I can’t tell a damn bit of difference. You’re still mouthy.” I take a step forward as her lips rise. “Still off-putting.” Another step. “Still stubborn as hell.” I take that final step. “And I don’t want any more excuses. You have a promise to keep.”

“I do?” She’s beaming, and that arrow shoots straight through my heart.

“You will ride a horse while saving a cowboy.”

A beat passes, maybe two, as we square off. She doesn’t want to leave, and I don’t want her to go. That part is settled.

“Fine.” She pushes past me and walks back toward the house. “But I can’t be responsible for anything I say or do beyond this point.”

“You know what you need?” I point out.

“What’s that?” she asks, as the tears dry on her cheeks under the light of the porch.

“Something foreign to you, something that may just restore order to your life.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“Fun.”

“Know where I can find some of that around here?” She bites her lip, and it takes everything I have not to steal it from her. But that’s not what she needs.

“I may know a guy.”

A few hours later, the beer tops have collected on the side of the table, along with my newly earned year’s supply of Carmex.

Scottie holds her cards fanned out in front of her as she worries her lip. “You’re supposed to be teaching me, not humiliating me.”

“You’ve won a few hands,” I say, unable to tear my eyes away from her. Desire’s been coursing through me since the second she showed up screaming. Golden ringlets fan her shoulders as her face twists with concentration.

“Do you…have any twos?”

“Go fish,” I say, and she immediately bursts out laughing. We’re playing poker, but we’re both pretty shitty at this point. She tosses two cards down, and I draw her two more. She positions them in her hand as I mourn the fact that she’s added another layer of shirt since we sat down. It could have been my earlier comment about the weather conditions, according to her radars.

Yes, I am that much of an idiot.

It doesn’t matter. Aside from her sideways glare, I caught the smile on her lips as she covered her nipples.

That shit was distracting and cost me two hands.

“Okay, so you finally going to tell me about the Carmex?”

I stare at the tubes on the table.

Her face turns a little somber, and I regret the question.

“Don’t worry,” she assures, “I’m not going to go all Jerry McGuire on you.”

“Jerry what?”

“Crazy. You’ve never seen that movie?” She sighs. “I’m so disappointed.”

“It’s a movie?”

“Yeah, a damn good one. It starts with a mission statement. He’s a bad guy, well, a shark-like sports agent, and he decides he’s shallow.” She wrinkles her nose. “I’m screwing this up.”

I sit clueless, and she reacts.

“Oh, my God, dude—show me the money!”

“What money?”

“That’s it,” she says. “You complete me?”

“Is that a question?” I ask, utterly confused.

“Surely you know, you had me at hello?”

My confidence is growing by the second. “I did?”

Scottie bursts into a fit of laughter that I can’t help but watch for as long as it lasts.

“This is not happening,” she says with a hiccup. “Promise me right now you will watch that movie.”

“Promise.” And I will.

“What were we talking about?” she asks, smiling. God, if she could only see what I see, she would know the truth. She’s not as broken as she thinks she is. Not to downplay what she’s going through, because I know it’s hell, but because of the way she’s still capable of anything and everything she wants to do. I make it a point to remind her of that.

“Carmex,” she says softly. “It’s as simple as this. For about fifty of those fifty-six days, it’s the only luxury I wanted more than a shower. And when I was standing there earlier today, the fact that I could just reach out and grab it—have it— it was mind-boggling.”

I nod in perfect understanding.

“What was your thing?”

Holding you.

It was the only luxury I dreamed about every minute of those days.

“Same, I guess.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m,” I say, laying my cards down, “still kicking your ass.”

“Dammit!” she exclaims. “You have got to be kidding me,” she grumbles as she sees the hand I beat her with: a four of a kind, all twos.

“You did have all the twos,” she says.

We share a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“You’re tired. Let’s go to bed; you can take mine.”

“Can I take a bath?”

“Of course.”

She wrinkles her nose as she stands. “You should too. We’re no longer prisoners, Briggs; bathing isn’t optional.” She stumbles forward, and I catch her.

“Drunkity drunk,” she says with a giggle I’ve never heard. “Ask me if I feel like a bad person for it.”

“Do you?” I grin down at her.

“No, some local supposed cowboy”—she lifts her fingers in air quotes as I hold her shoulders—“showed me a good time.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Not drunk enough to sleep with a horse,” she says with another laugh. It’s music, and it feels so fucking good.

“Thank God for that.”

“The human head weighs eight pounds,” she says with another giggle.

“What?” I ask with an incredulous laugh.

“I mean, where were you?” she asks, her shoulders shaking.

“Okay, drunk girl, think you’ll make it through a shower?”

She pulls away from my hold. “I’m good. Promise.” She sobers slightly, and I lead her to my bedroom. It’s surreal having her in here. The furnishings are all old wood. Nothing in Gran’s house is new, nothing.

“This is nice, big,” she says as she looks around. Our worlds are mixing, and I’m too damn drunk to let myself think about it.

“Towels are in the cabinet. You’ll have to deal with my mix of shampoo and body wash.”

“I’ll manage. I feel like an ass, taking your bed.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I move toward the door.

“It was so fun,” she says, wistfully glancing over her shoulder to peer back at me. “So fun. Thank you.”

“Sure. Night.”

“Night.” Our eyes lock, and I have to force myself through the door.

Tossing on the shit couch Gran refuses to replace, I find myself staring up at the ceiling. I heard the shower cut off an hour ago, and I know she’s fast asleep. Every part of me wants to be in that room with her. For the first time since we parted ways, I can’t hear the pendulum swinging. It’s the most peaceful sound, the quiet. She’s in my bed, and whether or not we’re supposed to be, we’re deep inside the other in a way we can’t seem to break. It’s more than love, it’s a friendship, a connection that’s so profound it’s infinite.

She’s here.

It’s the only thing that helps me drift to sleep.

Sometime later, I sense her presence.

“Scottie?”

“Shhh,” she says. “Go back to sleep.”

Opening my eyes, I wait for the darkness to clear and see her on Gran’s rickety lounger right across from me. I know for a fact it’s hell to sleep in. She’s got my quilt around her, and her eyes are closed.

“That can’t be comfortable,” I mumble.

“It’s perfect,” she whispers through the darkness, and after hearing the peace in her voice, I agree.