Rex ignored him. “And exactly how long has this been goin’ on?”
Rafe barked a laugh because this conversation was absurd.
“Shit. I’m sorry,” Rex said quickly. “It’s none of my business. Your sexual orientation, anyway. I don’t care. You know that.”
He did know that.
“But Bailey is my business, and I don’t like to see her cry.”
“She’s cryin’?” Rafe stood up, preparing to storm the farmhouse to check on her.
“Kinda. Maybe. I don’t know. She’s freaked out. And upset. Clearly. I think she’s got feelings for…”
“Holt,” Rafe noted. “It’s all right. I already know.”
“Do you?”
Rafe shrugged, knowing his brother couldn’t see him.
He didn’t know anything except that he needed to talk to Bailey. He needed to explain and tell her this wasn’t Holt’s fault. Rafe truly believed he would never do anything to hurt her. After all, Rafe was the one who kissed Holt, not the other way around. So technically, the man she’d been dating hadn’t cheated on her. Well, besides the fact he kissed Rafe back, but—
“Talk to her, Rafe.”
“I will.”
“I mean it.”
“Iwill.”
“Okay.”
Rafe disconnected the call and dropped back down into his recliner, trying to process what the fuck just happened.
Chapter Sixteen
Holt would admit Bailey had made himfeel a lot of things. Things he’d never felt before. He figured that had something to do with the fact he’d been falling in love with her from the moment they met.
But the most potent thing she’d made him feel was fear.
Fear of losing her.
When he returned to the house to the sound of her raised voice, he’d come in expecting to find Bailey and Rex in some sort of heated argument over something simple and mundane, like why there were five biscuits in a small can and not four. Or whether there were more red loops in a box ofFruit Loops. He’d overheard Bailey having those exact conversations—one with Rex (biscuits) and the other with Jack (loops).
But they weren’t having a crazy debate over food.
What he found wasn’t an argument.
Nor was it in the least bit simple.
Now, as he sat on the living room couch near her, he tried to come up with a way to explain so she might understand and he wouldn’t risk losing her forever.
“For a man who writes, you’re not comin’ up with many words,” Bailey said softly.
She sounded sad. Beat down, almost.
The good news was the tears had dried up. She was now clutching a tissue in one hand and a roll of toilet paper (the first thing Holt had found of the tissue variety) in the other.
But she was right. He could fill pages with words when channeling the emotions of fictional characters, but when it came to speaking from the heart, he had absolutely no experience.
