Danny Jensen. The ex. The man she still loved and would take back if he asked her to.
It wasn’t my business. Marriages were personal. But I couldn’t help hating the guy who’d made Bonnie doubt herself so much. Who didn’t even have to be in the same room to hurt her.
Love made people vulnerable, and here was the proof, sitting next to me, wearing my jacket, her hands still trembling.
“Why didn’t your family notice or swoop in to get you away from those gossips tonight?” I wondered.
“I never let them see me that way. Mac is the only one who might have noticed, but she and Brady had already taken off. And my mom and aunt, well, I’m sure they didn’t realize. They’re not bad people,” she rushed to assure me.
“I know.” I bumped her shoulder with mine. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
“It’s just easier if they think everything is fine.”
My gaze lingered on the side of her face, and I could see from her expression that she really believed that. Like she might be too much trouble for the people who loved her most.
“You should let them know you, Clyde. They might surprise you.”
But she was already shaking her head. “I already feel like I’m walking around with a neon sign over my head that says damaged goods. It would make things worse if they knew I was seeing a therapist. They would treat me even more carefully. And I couldn’t take that. You are the only person—” She cut herself off abruptly.
“I’m the only person what?” I asked, suddenly desperate to know.
She sighed, but admitted, “You’re not nice.”
Oh. Well, maybe Ididn’twant to know.
Then she turned to look at me, expression serious. “You’re not nice, but you’regood.”
A bitter laugh escaped me. “There’s a difference?”
“Stop it,” she said, placing a staying hand on my tense forearm. “Yes, there’s a difference. You took care of me when I was drunk. You never bring it up or hold it over me. You snapped at me about the muffins and gave me shit at the sheriff’s office.”
I rubbed an uncomfortable hand along my scruffy jaw, feeling my cheeks heat. “I’m not sure that screams good.”
“It does because it was what I needed. You kept me company when I couldn’t sleep. You are the only person in this town who doesn’t treat me like I’m ... fucking broken.”
I watched her, suddenly afraid I’d say the wrong thing. And then I’d no longer be the one she looked for in a crowd, the person whose hand she’d accept without question. I wanted her to keep looking at me like that, soft and fierce at the same time. Like I was the glue holding all her pieces together.
So I tucked away what I really wanted to say. That she was so much stronger than she realized. And that she was better off without that piece-of-shit ball and chain dragging her down.
Or something altogether more dangerous, that she was the only one who bothered to see that goodness in me. And it might only be for her.
Instead, I gave her the response she needed, not the one I wanted. “Was that the first time you said the f-word out loud?” I teased.
She laughed, her hand coming up immediately to cover her mouth.
“Just curious because you kind of stumbled over it,” I added as she whacked me on the stomach with the back of her hand.
I kept her from pulling away, threading our fingers together again. Standing, I tugged her down off the picnic table.
“Shut up,” she said, but she was still laughing.
“That’s okay. We can practice. You can tell me to shut the fuck up or fuck off.”
We were facing each other, separated by hardly any space at all. Her hand was clutched in mine, but I felt like she was the one holding me.
“I don’t want you to fuck off,” she whispered, smiling and taking a half step closer until her shoes grazed mine.
I found myself leaning in, knowing it was one more bad decision on a mile-long list of ones I’d already made.
