Breathless Page 2

  Joey has the most expressive gray eyes, the kind that soothe and cajole and caress. These photos don’t show the depth of her eyes.

  Somehow, she’s different. Distant.

  It sends a shiver up my spine.

  What’s happened to my best friend?

  Except I don’t have time to snoop more because her bus pulls into the station.

  2

  Joey

  The closer the bus gets to our destination, the harder my heart pounds. Sweat builds down my back and under my arms even though I have the air conditioner vents aimed at my face.

  After twenty-seven hours on a cross-country bus, I have no illusions about how I look. Ratty hair twisted into a crazy bun. No makeup. Circles under my eyes. And I’m so on edge, I’ve barely been able to eat or sleep despite being exhausted. Not even the bodice-ripper on my old Kindle is enough to keep my attention.

  Thank God Tori is picking me up and not Logan, but I know I can’t avoid him forever.

  You don’t want to avoid him forever, dummy.

  That’s the worst part—the eager, hungry piece of me that’s dying to see him.

  I tuck both of my hands under my thighs so I don’t bite my nails. Some beautician I’d be if I showed up to Tori’s wedding with hands looking like they’d been gnawed off by a gremlin. My hair situation is bad enough at the moment.

  When I left Texas, I wasn’t thinking I’d be returning so soon. Tori and Ethan’s wedding crept up on me. I booked this bus ticket in February, and back then, July seemed like plenty of time to get my life in order and my emotions on lockdown, but with every passing mile, my anxiety ratchets up like I’m about to walk off the gangplank of a pirate ship instead of visiting old friends.

  “Sweetheart, would you like one of these?” asks Mrs. Reynolds as she holds out a bear claw from 7/11, the cellophane crinkling in her weathered hand.

  “No, thank you, but I appreciate it.”

  I’ve had the good fortune of sitting next to a very kind elderly woman for the last twenty hours, and although she looks like the kind of person who snuggles her grandbabies and sings them lullabies before bedtime, she threatened to chop off the balls of the thug who harassed me for a blow job back at that Port Arthur rest stop.

  “You haven’t eaten anything all day. You nervous ’bout seeing that boy?”

  When two southern women sit next to each other for this length of time, they’re bound to tell each other their life stories, even if there is a fifty-year age difference.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m nervous.” I swallow, wishing I had some water. “I thought I was doing the right thing when I left. I was just so hurt, you know? And I didn’t want to say anything to him that I’d regret, so I… I didn’t say much at all, but now I’m wondering if I should have. Logan’s always been there for me, and it’s not like he knew…” I can’t blame him for not knowing things I’ve never said out loud.

  Tears well in my eyes, and I fan my face with my hand because, dang it, I don’t wanna be a snotty mess when we get to the bus station. Although Tori won’t care. She’ll wrap me in her arms and tell me pervy jokes until I laugh.

  Somehow, I manage to keep it together as Mrs. Reynolds pats my hand. “What about your brother? I bet he’ll be happy to see you.”

  You’d think, but no. Silas has always viewed me as a pain in his ass.

  Sniffling, I shrug because I can’t handle any more depressing stories today. “You’ve been kind to listen to me ramble about my family’s troubles.” I give her a smile, a genuine one because talking to someone aside from my cousin Dawn back in Florida has made me feel better.

  The bus pulls to an abrupt stop. With all of my chattering, I hadn’t realized we’d arrived.

  When I stand, my muscles and joints protest from being confined. I can’t wait to fall face first into my bed. After changing the sheets. Because there’s no telling who Silas let sleep in my bed since I’ve been gone.

  I check my phone, frowning when I notice my brother hasn’t returned any of my messages. Silas and I lived in my grandmother’s house until I relocated her to a facility in Florida to be near my uncle’s family.

  None of us were expecting her to pass so soon. One morning, she just didn’t open her eyes again. I haven’t really known how to process her death. While I’m grateful her suffering is over, every time I stop to appreciate that I have more free time, I’m racked with guilt.

  As I step out into the painfully bright sun, Mrs. Reynolds nudges me. “Is that your young man there?”

  “No, he’s not—”

  I stop mid-sentence because, oh, God, there he is.

  Logan Carter. The boy next door and my lifelong crush.

  And he looks mighty ticked off.

  “Can I give you a word of advice, dearie?” Mrs. R asks as she waves toward an older gentleman heading toward us from the other side of the parking lot. “Tell him how you feel. What’s the worst thing that can happen? Maybe he doesn’t return your feelings, or maybe he does. Either way, the ground isn’t going to swallow you whole. And who knows? He might need to hear it from you to make a difference.” She squeezes my shoulder. “Life’s too short not to say what you mean and live the life you want.”

  With those parting words and a hug, she’s gone.

  All around me, people talk and retrieve their bags, but my feet are glued in my flip-flops to the searing hot concrete as I watch Logan stalk closer. He’s beautiful, with those mesmerizing blue eyes, that messy, dirty blond hair, and the easy grace of an athlete from a lifetime of riding horses. He’s wearing jeans and a faded Port Aransas T-shirt, my favorite of his, that says “love at first bite” with an image of a shark that’s taken a chunk out of a boat.

  Even though I want to look away, I can’t. It’s been too long since I’ve seen him, and I want to soak him in. Every cell in my body screams to run to him. To get closer. To throw my arms around him and tell him what’s been burning in my heart since I was a girl.

  In my head, it’s one of those rom-com montages where the heroine runs gracefully across the screen with the sun silhouetting her from behind. In that moment, the guy realizes how much he needs her and opens his arms as she throws herself into his body. He twirls her around and around until they kiss. And then it cuts to a scene a year later where they’re married with babies and surrounded by furry farm animals.

  I press my hand across my eyes with a self-deprecating laugh because I’m obviously delusional. Maybe I was mugged back at that rest stop, and I’m lying on the ground somewhere dying. That’s the only way to explain how I could be fantasizing right now about the guy I left the dang state to avoid.

  “Josephine.”

  His rough voice cuts through my racing thoughts and does what it always does—before I can even peel my hand away from my face, goosebumps erupt on my skin and my nipples harden like little traitors begging to get out of a jail cell.

  This is the problem. My head knows I’m an idiot for being in love with Logan, for wanting someone who’s never wanted me, but my body has never gotten the memo.

  He sighs. “Joey, come on.”

  My heart thrashes against my ribs like a fish that’s been beached at high tide. How far is Mexico? I could make a run for it.

  “Damn it, would you please look at me?”

  Finally, I open my eyes, and my breath catches because he’s so close, and in the breeze, beneath the familiar scent of Texas cedar welcoming me home, I smell him—his ocean-crisp soap and leather and clean sweat. Cinnamon gum and coffee.

  My eyes dart down to our feet where his black boots tower ominously close to my flimsy flip-flops and pearlescent pink nail polish.

  One rough finger tilts my chin, and I lift my eyes up his muscled thighs, perfectly encased in washed-out denim, up his slender waist and broad shoulders, and pause on his square jaw and the firm set of his lips.

  Lips I’ve always longed to kiss.

  Lips that have kissed many, many other girls.

  But never me
.

  Because maybe I’m not good enough. Or old enough. Or pretty enough. Or smart enough. Or big-boobed enough. Or whatever it is that keeps me firmly parked in the friend zone.

  With that final twinge of pain, a good reminder that I need to get my shit together and not let myself swirl down this drain of self-loathing—because no man is worth me questioning my value—I clench my jaw and make eye contact.

  We stare at each other, his blue eyes stark while they study me beneath tight brows.

  Even though I’ve daydreamed of a thousand snarky things I want to say to him, they blow away in the breeze when he breaks into a breathtaking smile and wraps me in a hug.

  “Missed you, brat. Can’t believe you ghosted me.” Holy crap, I’m in the air, just for a minute, but my feet lift off the ground as he mumbles, “You ever do anything like that again, and I will spank your ass. You hear me?”

  I’m laughing against him with my nose pressed to his neck, and he’s chuckling too as he holds me tightly, and for this space in time, nothing bad has happened between us. There are no hurt feelings. No misplaced emotions or unrequited crushes. He’s just the boy I grew up with who’s always had my back. The one I’ve always loved in one way or another. The boy who’s always kept my secrets.

  In this safe place in his arms, I make myself a promise. To tell him how I feel. To lay it all out and tell him why I left.

  Even if I have to let him go in the end.

  3

  Logan

  It’s so good to see Joey, to breathe in her sweet floral scent, to feel her against me and know she’s back home, safe and sound after all this time apart, that it’s hard for me to let her go.

  A throat clears next to me, and I reluctantly set her on the ground. She looks exhausted but beautiful. She’s wearing a bright yellow shirt and khaki shorts, the light colors showcasing her great tan, one she probably got from spending time at the beach with her cousins. Somehow her legs look long, even though she’s a tiny thing.

  Gone is the adorable tomboy who used to follow me and Silas everywhere. Joey is all grown up—has been for a while—but seeing her now after being gone for the last several months seems to highlight the fact that she’s not a little girl anymore.

  Swallowing, I lift my gaze off her lush body because nothing good can come from that. Instead, I study the giant mass of blond hair knotted on top of her head.

  I look for streaks of purple or blue or hot pink that might be tucked away, but I can’t see any of her usual unicorn colors. She must’ve gone with something safe for the wedding.

  Patrick shoves me out of the way. “Josephine Grayson, it’s been too long.”

  When he swoops her into his arms and twirls her around, making her laugh, I have a sudden urge to punch him in the nutsack.

  “Put her down, asshole. She’s not a doll.”

  He gives me a look. “Why can’t I pick her up? You did.”

  “’Cause she’s my best friend. Not yours.”

  He sets her on her feet and gives me another playful shove. “Whatcha gonna do? Whip it out and pee a circle around her so no one else talks to her? Huh?” He jumps around the parking lot like he’s going to mock-fight me.

  A small hand lands on my chest, and I look down to catch Joey trying not to smile. “Guys, stop talking about me like I’m not here.”

  I pull her into a head lock, smiling when she lets out a squeal. This is our standard operating procedure. “Oh, you finally decided to grace us with your presence, Itsy Bitsy?” When she was six, she played a spider in the school play, and sometimes I need to give her shit about it.

  As I drag her to my truck, she screams, “Shotgun!”

  Patrick curses, and I laugh.

  “Am I seriously getting booted?” Patrick’s face scrunches up like this is a surprise to him as he folds himself into the back and I give Joey a boost into the passenger seat.

  “Joey gets shotgun.” I shut her door and walk around the front of the cab, relishing the sight of her in my vehicle. Damn. She’s a sight for sore eyes.

  But Patrick won’t shut up. When I climb in, he’s at it again. “Bro, she’s been gone. For six months. Don’t I get any credit for sticking around your sorry, mopey ass all that time?”

  “Josephine always gets shotgun. That’s just how it is, man. Sorry.” Even though I’m trying to keep things light, being reminded of her leaving sucks the air out of the truck.

  I can tell Joey senses it too because she looks down at her lap where her hands are twisted together.

  “Hey.” I tug on the sleeve of her T-shirt until she makes eye contact. “I don’t care what happened. Why you left or why you didn’t call me.” I sigh and glance away. “I mean, I do care, but I want you to know I’m not mad that I didn’t hear from you, okay? I’m just glad you’re home.”

  Have I racked my brain trying to figure out if I did something to hurt her? To push her away like that? To make her run across the damn country?

  Yes to all of those questions. And I aim to find out the truth at some point.

  But for now, I just want my best friend back.

  I stare into those stunning gray eyes that somehow make time stand still. “You can tell me anything. I’m not going anywhere. Because you’re stuck with me.” I clear my throat and glance at the parking lot. “While I’m laying it all out there, I should say how much I missed you. Patrick was right. I was a little mopey.”

  Thanks, asshole, for pointing it out.

  Joey’s eyes get misty, and it guts me because I figure whatever made her hightail it to Florida is a big deal. But if this is how I get to keep my girl, by laying off and chilling out, then this is what I have to do.

  “Missed you too, Logan. I’m sorry that I—”

  I shake my head, and she gets my meaning. No apologies.

  Joey is always the first to apologize for shit that’s not her fault, and I can’t bear the thought of her doing that right now. I might not know why she left, but she obviously felt she needed to, and I respect that. But the last thing I wanna do is hash that out with an audience. This is between her and me. That’s it. Later, when it’s just the two of us, we can have a heart-to-heart.

  The idea of losing Joey the way I lost my friendship with Silas—randomly, like the universe has nothing better to do than fuck me over—makes me willing to do almost anything to smooth this over with Jo.

  Without a second thought, I grab her hand to reassure her, threading my fingers through hers. Something I’ve never done before, and the intimacy of it makes me pause.

  Sure, I’ve grabbed her hand in the past. I held her hand all the time when we were kids because she couldn’t cross the street otherwise, but this is something different.

  She seems to notice it too, studying our intertwined hands, her small, smooth fingers engulfed by my big, rough paw that’s spent too many hours in the barn grooming horses and shoveling shit.

  A tinge of pink flushes her cheeks, and when she glances up and aims her smile at me, it hits me in the solar plexus.

  Patrick coos behind us. “Aww, bro. You so sweet. No wonder all the buckle bunnies wanna fuck you.”

  I roll my eyes and reluctantly pull my hand from Joey’s so I can start the truck. Glaring at Patrick through the rear view mirror, I mumble, “Why do you have to ruin everything?”

  I hate when he does this, talks about other girls in front of Joey. I’ve played the field from time to time, but never in front of her.

  Plus, I’d have to be a moron to not know she had a crush on me when we were kids, but she probably would’ve liked whichever one of Silas’s idiot friends pulled her out of that well. I figured she was over it by the time she dated that Mason douchebag in high school, but I’ve always felt like it would be a dick move to parade women in front of her.

  I might have to act like I spend my spare time screwing around so no one pays attention to what I really do, but that doesn’t mean I want Jojo thinking I’m that guy.

  I should tell her the tr
uth.

  The thought loops in my mind. I almost can’t remember a time when this shit didn’t weigh me down.

  But one lie begets another, and I don’t know how to untangle them from the mountain of deceit I’ve been hiding from everyone. Especially when some of those lies aren’t my secrets to reveal.

  If there’s one person in this world I want to tell, though, it’s Joey.

  We drive in silence as I try to shake off the funk I always get into when I stew over this crap.

  It’s not until we’re on the highway that I think to ask where I should drop her off. “Where we headed, Bitsy? Back to my brother’s?” I’m sure she and Tori have a lot to catch up on. Ethan and Tori want her to come for dinner tonight, but I’m wondering if she’s too tired to socialize after that bus ride.

  Joey digs through her purse and frowns as she stares at her phone. “What? No, I’m staying at my grandma’s.”

  Patrick and I exchange frowns in my rear view mirror.

  There’s so much wrong with what she just said, I don’t know where to begin, but I don’t have to because Patrick is already opening his big mouth.

  “Can’t, baby doll. Silas sold the house a while back.”

  I bristle at Patrick’s nickname for her, because he’s never acted so infatuated with Joey before, though I have to admit she does look incredible despite her recent road trip.

  Gripping the steering wheel, I chance a look at her, and her expression says it all.

  No, she didn’t know her brother sold her family’s home.

  Motherfucking Silas.

  Guess I’m not the only one keeping secrets.

  4

  Joey

  My eyes glaze over as we wind through town back to the Carter ranch. I’m trying to keep it together until I can lock myself in a bathroom and cry.

  How could Silas do this? He said he’d keep an eye on the house until I got back. He knows how much our home means to me. I don’t have many fond memories of my whole family together, but the few I have were there.