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“That’s what I believe.”
“Then why she’s hiding them?”
“She’s not.”
“Ever seen her take them? Seen the bottle?” he demands.
I frown. “What are you getting at?”
He makes a noise of frustration. “I didn’t take you for a sucker, Charlie.”
Frame locking, my knuckles go white on the wheel. I don’t like what my brother’s implying. I don’t like the way my heart skips several hundred beats at the thought of something being wrong with Ruby.
“You trying to piss me off, Ford?” I snarl.
“I’m trying to protect you.” The truck bounces as we pass over the Wolfingtons’ rusty cattle guard. “What do you know about this girl?”
My glare is hard, unyielding. “I know enough.”
I know she likes flowers and the way my hand fits into the small of her back. Her favorite color is lilac—not purple—and her middle name is Jane, and every morning she eats small bowls of oatmeal, and sings in the shower. She smells like sunshine and soil and it’s my favorite fucking scent in the entire world. I know she gasps when she’s happy and gasps when she’s sad and I love them all.
I know she’s mine.
I know she’s the one.
Still, with Ford’s doubtful gaze searing a hole through me, it’s hard to make it make sense. Half of me wants to tell my cynical, love-averse brother to fuck right off, but the other half knows he’s right.
I have no idea why she’s here.
“She’s takin’ pills. She’s got a bucket list.” Ford arches a brow. “Bucket lists are end things, Charlie.”
I almost swerve off the road.
“Ford. Don’t make me pull over and punch you in the fucking face.”
I haven’t wanted to hit him this badly since he sprayed two full cans of Axe body spray into my tent when we were camping.
“New topic, then.” He jabs his crooked index finger at me, the one he broke pitching the strikeout fastball that ended the World Series “You.”
I curse under my breath. Ford and his big, fat mouth.
“What about me?”
“What are you doing with her? Because she’s good for you. She’s got spunk. She makes you smile. Hell, she makes all of us smile. I like the girl a lot. But you still haven’t told her about Maggie and in four weeks, she’s gone.”
“Yeah. I fucking know,” I grit out, voice ragged.
“Do you love her?” Ford looks worried.
“Yeah,” I snap. My brother’s pushing me and it’s working. The lump in my throat expands. “I love her.”
The words come easy.
I’ve known it since the night she floated into Nowhere in that yellow sundress.
That this woman was going to blow up my life.
Now she’s everywhere. In my head, and my heart, and under my skin. And I’ve been the damn idiot who fought it. Foughther. Punishing myself. Gun-shy of this incredible girl who showed me how alone I was until I met her.
