Page 36 of Ride By Your Side

Hell, the only reason we weren’t homeless or put into child protective services custody was because of our grandma, but even she made it pretty obvious that we were nothing but a burden and a responsibility she never wanted.

“I’m not trying to make you feel guilty or worse. If anything, I’m just trying to help you see that you have people. You have a support system when you get back. You have your family. You have Blair and Ford, and now you have me,” I offer as casually as possible, even if the words feel strange on my tongue. Never in a million years could I have predicted that I’d consider her a friend, yet here we are.

“You?” she asks, a genuine smile finally gracing her lips. “We’re friends now, huh?” she asks, bumping her hip into mine as we approach the entrance of our hotel.

“Don’t make this into a big deal,” I say, mimicking her stance as I fold my arms. “But it’s true. You’re not alone, and maybe,”I start, realizing I’m actually about to suggest this. Finally giving in—despite my better judgement—I complete my sentence, “you could move in with me.”

She freezes in her tracks, her eyes widening as she turns to face to face me. “With you? Okay, yeah. Sure. Be for real. There is no way you’d ever want me as your roommate,” she says, sarcasm lacing her tone as she follows it up with a non-amused laugh.

I stop as well. “I said nothing about wanting you as my roommate, but I have the extra room, and it’s not like it’d be forever. Just until you get on your feet and figure things out.”

“What about Blair?” she asks, her eyebrows pinching together.

“What about her? If anything, she’d probably be all for this and is likely already planning to spend most of her time at Ford’s. Plus, it’s not like you two haven’t shared a room or a bed before. Don’t think I forgot about that night where you two drunkenly crashed at my place just a couple of weeks ago.”

She catches her bottom lip between her teeth, barely suppressing an amused laugh. “You don’t think it’d be weird? Plus, you know everyone is already going to be talking about us. Wouldn’t this just add more fuel to the fire?”

I lift one shoulder. “I’m sure people are going to talk about us no matter what. Maybe this would actually give them something real to talk about this time.”

I’ve never loved being the center of gossip and have made a conscious effort to keep my nose clean and stay out of their mouths, but I don’t see why this should stop me from taking care of someone I’ve actually grown to care about.

“Maybe...” she trails off, her brow furrowing as she ponders my offer. “But if we did this, I’d have to pay you rent. I’m not looking to be some kind of charity case,” she finally says, pointing a finger in my direction.

“That’s fine with me.” I shrug, even if I don’t actually want to charge her anything. I can more than afford my own place, but ifthat’s what it takes to get her to say yes, then I’ll say whatever I have to.

I can’t explain this feeling, this urge to make sure she’s safe and taken care of, but it’s strong, and it’s something I can no longer ignore. I won’t let her do this alone, not when I have the power to help.

“Are you sure about this?” she asks, the warmth of her smile evaporating as her brown eyes fix on mine. “I’m sure you think you can handle this after spending a week and a half with me, but we’re talking about me moving in and being around twenty-four-seven. That’s a lot of Veronica time.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it,” I assure her, doing my best to avoid the deeper conversation about the inexplicable pull I feel to make everything better for her. “Plus, I can’t have my wife homeless, now can I? What kind of husband would that make me?” I joke, needing to add some humor to this, and not just for her sake, but mine as well.

“A pretty crappy one, but if you’re not particularly fond of the woman you married, it’s logical that you wouldn’t want her to move in with you. After everything, I’d assume you’d want to see as little of me as possible.”

“Just because I’m suggesting you move in for a little while doesn’t mean we have to be best friends,” I point out. “We both have jobs and different friend groups, so I’m sure we’ll only see each other in passing. This isn’t a big deal,” I lie. This is an enormous deal and I know it, but once again, I can’t help myself.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” She nods as a soft exhale passes through her lips, her shoulders slumping with a hint of defeat. “Are you really sure you’re okay with this?”

“Yes. I’m sure. I wouldn’t have offered it if I wasn’t.”

Deep down, a part of me knows I should question why I’m offering, but I’m still not ready to let my brain consider why that is.

“If you say so, but if at any time between now or even tomorrow when you’ve had time to thoroughly think this through and want to change your mind, that’s fine. I won’t hold it against you,” she promises.

I shrug her words off as I walk back toward our hotel entrance. “Deal, but I can promise you, I won’t change my mind,” I say over my shoulder as she follows close behind.

Is asking her to move in with me the smartest decision I’ve ever made? Probably not. Especially since I tend to overthink everything and steer clear of situations that might backfire. But there’s something about Veronica Prescott that pulls me in, something I can’t shake. Maybe that should be my cue to keep my distance, to protect myself. But instead, I’m doing the exact opposite.

I like how she makes me feel—alive, untethered—and I’m not ready to give that up. Not now, and maybe not ever. For once, I want to live in the moment and do what feels right. I’ll deal with the consequences later.

23

Veronica

AsweentertheEvergreen Grove city limits, the familiar scenery does little to ease the knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach. I love this place—it’s home. However, for the first time, I think I may now understand Blair’s obsession with running and leaving everything behind.

Sure, the people here are incredibly gossipy, but it never really bothered me. My friends and I made a habit of being the center of attention with our ridiculous and often childish antics, and I barely gave it a second thought. But now? The mere idea of talking to anyone besides Blair or Ford has my stomach churning with dread.

Even with how incredibly supportive my parents have always been, that same anxiety lingers. The thought of seeing even a flicker of disappointment in their eyes—especially after fleeing one wedding only to show up with a brand-new husband—is practically debilitating.

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