She was an influencer, but with that no longer being her full-time job, making her profile private wouldn’t affect anything. If some brand had a problem with it, they could take it up with me. Parker’s safety would always come first.
She picked up the device right as our milkshakes, waters, and Dr. Pepper arrived. Two spoons stuck out the top of each monstrosity, but I didn’t spare the rest aglance as I thanked Danielle and kept my eyes on Parker, watching her thumb move over the screen.
“Done.” She dropped the phone in her purse, meeting my gaze.
I studied her, hating the fact that her life had been broadcasted online for years and creepy men like that probably viewed her content daily. It made my fists burn with the urge to beat each one to a bloody fucking pulp.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded, but that glint in her eye told me she wasn’t being completely honest. Whoever was doing this had unsettled her, and I hated that I hadn’t known sooner. I didn’t want her going through that alone.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” I asked, forcing a calm I didn’t feel into my tone.
She swallowed, the sight of regret burning into me.
Then it hit me.
“Because of my drinking?”
She nodded, a barely-there movement.
I reached across the table, grabbing her hand and stroking my thumb over her skin. “Parker, it wasn’t as bad as you’re thinking.”
“I know that now,” she said. “I talked to Lettie.”
While I wished she’d talked to me about it, I was glad my sister was a person of comfort for her. Someone she could go to that wasn’t me. Parker needed that sense of family, people she could trust.
Guilt at the fact that I had yet to tell her about Garrett nudged its way into my mind. How was it fair towant her to be open about everything with me when I wasn’t doing the same?
Parker grabbed one of the milkshakes—the one with a spear of strawberries sticking out the top of a massive brownie that was laid atop the glass. Her lips wrapped around the pink and white straw, shoulders instantly sagging as she sipped.
Maybe our troubles wouldn’t be completely laid out between the two of us tonight, but at least we had this.
27
PARKER
Beckham had proven he’d never lost his ability to make me smile, even if my mind was threatening to spiral. Throughout our dinner of massive milkshakes, salty fries, and greasy burgers, we reminisced on the best memories. Beckham had a lot more friends than I ever did in high school, but he always promised I was his favorite one. Iffriendwas even the right term to describe us back then.
Out of all the acquaintances he made while doing FFA (Future Farmers of America) as a child, to making lifelong connections in the IHSRA (Idaho High School Rodeo Association), I was always his top priority. And he was mine. But when I found the path I wanted to adventure on, and his didn’t match, we had no choice but to part. It hurt, but I tried to believe the universe was sending us on our own journeys in order to find what we really wanted.
Ending up back here, living in his double-wide, was proof enough that fate was real.
Beckham’s hand rested on the center console between us, open and waiting. But one look at the bulging vein in his forearm, then at the tattoo on the other, and I realized holding hands wasn’t on my mind tonight.
Without allowing myself to think twice, I grabbed his wrist and dragged it down to my legging-clad leg. He did a double take, zoning in on where his hand was now draped over my thigh. Our gazes quickly met before he focused back on the road in front of us. We were forty minutes into our drive back home, the truck bed and the back seat full of baby items and Christmas gifts.
His fingers dug into my flesh, either with restraint or need, I wasn’t sure—but fuck, I wanted him to move his hand higher. It’d been torture watching him sit across from me for the entirety of dinner. After our discussion of his brief past with overindulging in alcohol, the conversation had turned lighter once again. For that hour, there was no stalker, no baby on the way, and no worrying about a relapse that would never happen.
I couldn’t help the fact that everything—the smiles he flashed my way, the full-body laughs he erupted into at my cheesy jokes, the flashes of his gold chain in the pink lights—had my mind in the gutter. After our kiss the other night, I was scooting closer and closer to the idea of throwing our rules off a cliff.
I shifted forward slightly, keeping my focus out thewindow at the dark fields. The dusting of snow over the land was faintly glowing under the moon, much like the emergency light in my brain was blaring at the fact that I was way too fucking horny to be sitting in this truck with Beckham right now.
But he wanted to take care of me, right? He wanted us to be more than whatever this I-want-you-but-with-rules thing was. Fuck, since the moment I stepped foot back in Bell Buckle, he’d shown me that was exactly what he wanted. I’d been too scared to see it then, but now I did, and I was so fucking tired of holding back.
I cupped my hand over his, moving it higher until his fingers brushed the inside of my thigh, only inches from where I wanted him most.
My breathing became heavier as I slid another inch forward.
