“No Brownie,” I turned to her with a sigh. “I’m not mocking you. I’m just saying I heard you. I hear everything you say. Even the stuff you don’t mean to say out loud.”
Her profile was almost regal, with the little up turn of her nose and the confident jut of her chin. When her gaze met mine there was an instant flash of softness in her eyes. It quickly disappeared and I was given sarcastic disbelief in its place.
“Do you ever take anything seriously?” she asked.
I didn’t answer right away because I didn’t want to lie. Truth was, I took a hell of a lot seriously. I just didn’t let anyone see what mattered.
“I don’t always follow the rules, but I take my work seriously. I take my family seriously, especially Nash when he’s mad at me for some reason.”
“See what I mean. I asked you a serious question about being serious and you made a joke.”
“Believe me, Nash is no joke when he’s angry.”
Rolling her eyes she looked back up to the sky, her scrutiny no longer on me.
“I guess life seems easier when you don’t take it seriously. If you bring a little lightness to everything then even the darkest of times can seem easier to get through.” I swallowed thinking about my mom and when we lost her. Gunner had been the rally caller to stay positive, Nash withdrew, and when the grief and the pain became incessant I became the joker. The little brother who no one wanted to leave because he made them feel better. “I guess it’s become a bit of a habit.”
A habit or a shield?
“Did you see that?” Tally asked excitedly. “It was a shooting star.”
“I missed it.” The wonder on her face was incredible. “Did you make awish?”
“No, no point. Wishes never come true.” She turned back to me. “And I like your idea that lightness helps even in the darkness. It makes things much simpler.”
It felt like my heart was readying itself to jump out of my chest. I didn’t know whether I was glad she understood me, or sad that she agreed.
“It makes the goodbyes less painful,” I whispered into the darkness, my pinky reaching for hers. “Painless and simple just how I like it.”
With our pinkies linked we continued looking up at the sapphire sky, content in the peace and the silence of the night. As I wondered whether it was Tally or my lies that were the real ruination of me, because that simple touch shouldn’t have meant anything, yet it felt like everything.
Chapter 6
Coffee - Beabadoobee
Tally
Champagne was the devil, and my mouth tasted like the pit of hell—burnt sugar and something sour that clung to my tongue like death. The throb in my temples carried a samba beat, relentless and mocking, while the nausea rolled through me in slow, cruel waves like a tide dragging seaweed and shame to shore.
The sheets tangled around my legs were twisted and damp with sweat, the air thick with the stale stink of alcohol and the faint undertone of smoke from last night’s fire. My hair clung to my neck in knots, and my makeup,what was left of it, had probably migrated south, leaving raccoon rings under my eyes and a smear of mascara on the pillow that looked like a bruise.
I knew the best thing to do was get up, peel myself out of this pit of hungover gloom, and shower until my skin remembered what clean felt like. But moving felt like starting an argument with the stillness that was barely keeping the nausea at bay.
“Oh God,” I groaned, my voice cracking against the cotton of the pillow. “Why did I drink so much?”
The soft creak of the bed frame followed me as I swung my legs over the side. My bare feet hit the wooden floor with a dull thud, warm from the lingering heat of the fire, and I sat there for a moment, testing whether the room would spin or stay still. It wobbled, slightly, but I could deal.
The embers in the fireplace still glowed faintly, soft red pulses in a sea of ash. The warmth of last night’s buzz had drained out of my blood, leaving a clammy chill in its place that made me shiver.
Coffee. I needed coffee. Maybe even baked goods. Maybe death.
Bracing my palms against the mattress, I pushed to stand. The floor swayed under my feet like the deck of a ship, but I held my ground.
Then came the knock, three firm raps at the door.
I flinched, the sound crashing through my skull like cymbals. Definitely not death. Death wouldn’t knock.
It was my day off. If Gunner was at my door, something had gone wrong with one of the horses. But the pounding behind my eyes made dashing to the door feel like a suicide mission.
