Page 154 of Tessa and Nash

“I don’t like that answer.”

“I know,” she says. “But it’s an honest one.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Nash

February 1st

If I’ve learned anything about myself lately, it’s that I make terrible decisions in three specific scenarios:

1. When I’m cornered.

2. When I’m scared.

3. When I’ve had bourbon.

Tonight, I manage to hit the trifecta.

The barn dance is loud and warm, full of people who have known me my whole life and still somehow manage to look at me like a new rumor. String lights soften everything more than it deserves, and the fiddle music is fast enough to keep you from thinking too hard while the chili is spicy enough to make you drink more than you meant to.

And I am, apparently, a man who thinks the solution to my life actively unraveling is to stand at the bar and pretend bourbon is going to stitch it back together.

Dallas stands beside me, nursing a beer, practically doing math with every sip, while Boone talks to Sheriff Tate Carson a few feet away, posture relaxed but eyes still scanning the room because he’s a man who can’t turn it off.

Clay still isn’t here. He’s still on the circuit, living his best reckless life somewhere else while I get to deal with the consequences of being the brother who stayed.

Lucky me.

I tip my glass back and swallow.

It burns.

It doesn’t help.

Faith appears as a cheerleader with a mission, laughing too loud and dragging Rose toward the dance floor again. Maggie is in conversation with Virgil Tucker, her expression tight the way it gets when she’s listening to something she doesn’t like but refuses to show it.

And Tessa…

I find her without meaning to.

She’s on the edge of the crowd near Maeve, cup of cider in hand, posture straight and composed, holding herself together with nails and stubbornness. She belongs and doesn’t belong at the same time.

She’s not watching me, which is probably good. Except it makes my chest feel hollow.

I take another drink.

That’s when Boone’s hand lands on my shoulder.

“You doing alright?” he asks.

I swallow, then give him my best grin. “Never better.”

Boone doesn’t laugh. He just looks at me, measuring the weight behind my words.

“Where’s your fiancée?”

The word hits wrong.