My best friend definitely got a good one.
Every joint seems to pop as I stretch awake in the backseat of River’s SUV. We drove the first fifteen hours yesterday before stopping at a hotel.
It was a typical chain you can find anywhere. There was nothing special about it. The rooms were nice and clean, and I had the space to myself, but I couldn’t sleep.
It was an endless night of tossing and turning. I couldn’t find a comfortable position, and when sleep finally took me, I would bolt awake. My dreams had fooled me into believing that my comforter shifting or my head rolling on the pillow meant Nash was climbing into bed with me. I’d wake, but he wasn’t there. Then the tears would come, and I’d repeat the cycle all over again.
Pressing back into the seat, I attempt to stretch my legs as far as they’ll allow. I couldn’t be more thankful we took her car instead of Gray’s truck, though he’s been trying to talk her into a pickup truck if she’s going to keep buying animals to bring home to their ranch. River only argues that her SUV trunk is plenty big and safer for transport. Any of the larger animals would require a trailer, and she’s not driving a truck with one of those anyhow.
I’m not sure how long I was asleep or where we are, but the mountain landscape is stunning. Staring out my window, the possibilities seem boundless. A hopeful grin attempts to pull at the corners of my mouth as I imagine what the stars must look like dotting the sky above the mountaintops.
It must be breathtaking.
The scenery quickly changes, taking us through a small town with a mix of quaint shops and chain stores. A reminder of Carruthersville and the home I’ve always known. A pang of homesickness hits me, only to drown me in the acceptance that Cole County is the only home I will ever know.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” Gray chuckles from the driver’s seat. His eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, but I don’t match his smile. I don’t feel like it. Not today.
“You’re too chipper right now,” I grumble.
“Well, I had an entire car ride worth of the soundtrack of your snoring. Why wouldn’t I be?”
My mouth falls open as River swats his arm. “Don’t be an ass.”
“I like your ass,” he snickers, squeezing her thigh.
I only groan. My snoring is why I never had sleepovers as a kid. I’ve always sounded like a frickin’ dump truck, and popular Betty couldn’t let people know she made noises that matched a foghorn.
My heart suddenly seizes in my chest. Nash hadn’t said a thing. Is he so deep a sleeper that he never heard me or…Stop it, Betty.
You’d think, as a woman in my thirties, the stupid shit I obsess over when it comes to Nash would be nothing. That I wouldn’t care or think about silly details like my snoring or if I said the wrong thing. You’d think I wouldn’t care. That whole “take me as I am” mindset should be firmly in place by now, but I’m living proof that a woman can still hold on to those insecurities because no man has ever made her feel safe enough to let them go.
“Ignore him,” River throws her husband a look of pure annoyance. “He snores louder than you do. Especially if he’s been riding. I had to buy earplugs.”
“You did not?” Gray gasps, tearing his gaze away from the road to glance at her, just as we turn up a steep drive.
“I did. Watch the road.”
He doesn’t say another word, returning his hand to her leg as we ascend the endless dirt drive.
A massive black modern home comes into view. The type that would belong to a billionaire determined to live off the grid, nota rancher from Cole County. How many people live here with Nash?
Ducking to peer through the windshield, my features scrunch as I attempt to take in all the sharp angles and overlapping wood paneling against the matte black. “Wow,” I breathe.
There’s no denying that the house is breathtaking. By no means would I ever have thought Nash would live in a place like this, and it’s not my style, but it belongs in a magazine.
Gray only harrumphs as if confused by what he’s seeing. “Doesn’t seem very Nash to me.”
“Didn’t he build it with his ex-wife?” River asks absentmindedly.
It’s as if I can’t breathe through the pain stabbing me in the gut. It’s never been a secret that Nash had a wife. I never met her, but she was part of his life for thirteen years. She shared a life with him I had always dreamed of, in this house that he had built for her.
I’m lost in my head as I slide out of the car and toward the front door. River’s at my side, her voice muffled in my ears.
This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here.
I’m seconds from turning around, calling a cab, and hightailing it to the closest airport. It’s not too late to turn around and go home. A notion that dies the moment the front door swings open and Nash comes into view.
Nash stands there in dark-wash jeans, a fitted white T-shirt, and bare feet. He looks just as amazing as ever. Rested and as happy as he’s always been.
