“Organizing your closet?” His brow knits. His fingers dig into the wall.
He’s pulling away.
I have to keep him here.
“Yeah.” It’s a quick explanation. He can take it or not. But I have to say it. I have to explain how I feel about him. “When you organize your closet, you start by taking inventory. And that means dumping your clothes on your bed.”
“You dump your clothes?”
“I lay them on the bed.”
His lips curl into a half smile. “I’m not going to believe you make a mess.”
“Well you should. Because I do.” Okay, mess isn’t the right word. But it’s certainly disorganized. “I clear out every drawer, shelf, hanger. Until there’s this huge pile of clothes. Stuff I love, stuff I hate, stuff I don’t remember I have. It’s overwhelming seeing everything there. But it’s the first step to getting rid of anything that isn’t serving you.”
He presses his back into the wall.
But he doesn’t say anything.
Is he going to say anything?
I…
Ahem.
“I’ve done it a few times. It’s always scary. And messy. But it’s good. There’s something freeing about letting go,” I say.
His eyes meet mine. “There is.”
“Are you… um… you never really told me what happened?”
“It’s the same shit she always does. She drank too many mimosas at brunch. Ran into another car on the way home. Got carted to the hospital in handcuffs. She was recovering for a few days. She broke a bone in her arm from the impact, but that was it. The other driver…” His gaze gets fuzzy. “They were in the ICU for a while. They’re gonna be okay, but the damage might be permanent. We don’t know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I am too. But not for her.” His voice wavers. “I told her I was done. That I wasn’t going to hold her hand anymore.”
“Did you mean it?”
“Yeah.” His gaze shifts to the sky. “But it’s easy to say.”
I nod.
“I can’t do it anymore. If she gets clean, I want to help. But I can’t help her destroy herself anymore.”
“It’s what she needs.”
“Yeah, but—”
“It’s what you need.”
He says nothing.
“It is, Wes. And, well, I like you better than I like her. I care about you. And I want the best for you. And I’ll hurt anyone who hurts you. Including your mom.”
His lips curl into a half-smile. “Really?”
“Really.”
“You’re sweet.”
“I was going for scary.”
“That too.”
Under the water, my fingers brush his wrist. I place my palm over his hand. It’s not the pinnacle of comfort, but, right now, it’s all I have. “So you… you’re okay?”
“I’m getting there.”
“What do you think she’ll do?”
“I don’t know.” He turns to me. Interlocks his fingers with mine. “But I’ll be okay either way.”
“You sure?”
“No.” He presses his forehead to mine. “But I’m hopeful.”
“Me too.” I bring my hand to his shoulder. “Wes, I… I really like you.”
“I really like you too.”
Neither of us says it, but it’s there.
It’s more than like.
It’s so much more than like.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Quinn
After half an hour of talking, swimming, kissing, we find Dean and Chloe. They’re behaving as usual (as far as I can tell), giving each other hell, and making out like there’s no tomorrow.
Whereas we…
Well, I’m done reminding myself there might not be a tomorrow.
I’m enjoying every minute of today. I’m figuring out what I want to say to Wes. If I still feel the same in the morning—
Well, that’s a problem for tomorrow morning.
We join their teasing. Discuss shop gossip and Las Vegas and the whereabouts of our travel companions.
“Have you heard from Griff?” Wes asks.
Dean shakes his head. “Guy’s gonna call you before he calls me.”
Wes nods yeah. “Never thought I’d be the least obnoxious guy in the room, but here we are.”
“You got a lot to live up to.” Dean smiles wide. He turns to Chloe and motions come here.
“I’m not encouraging this behavior.” She moves closer. Smiles just as wide.
He brings his hands to her ass. Lifts her into his arms.
He has to lift her out of the water to do it. He’s that tall and she’s that short.
It’s adorable.
But dirty too.
They don’t seem to care that we’re watching.
At all.
“I like this show,” Wes says. “But if you’re gonna get started, I’m going to have to take my girl upstairs to finish.”
My cheeks flush. He’s so good at saying stuff like that. And—”I’m your girl?”
“Of course.” Wes turns to me. “You have any doubt?”
Yeah, that whole I might be flying two thousand miles away tomorrow thing… that’s a doubt. “I, uh—”
“Hey.” A deep voice cuts through the air. It pushes away the laughter, small talk, clinking drinks, splashing water.
Griffin is standing at the edge of the pool in jeans and a t-shirt.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Wes asks.
Dean and Chloe are curious enough they stop making out.
“Where’s your friend?” Dean asks.
Chloe shoots him a look, but I have no idea what it means.