Page 86 of Never Kiss and Tell

Around eight, I’m talking to a couple people at the bar and mixing drinks with Brett when I spot Bailey, holding her neck and hurrying to the back.

What the fuck happened, now?

“Hold this down for a minute,” I tell Brett and step out from the bar to follow her. She’s not in the kitchen when I walk in, but I find her in the courtyard, trying to fix something while her hands shake.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, stepping up to her, but she barely regards me.

“My locket,” she stutters, sounding closeto tears. “It broke.”

Jesus, I thought it was something important. “You can get a new one, Bailey.”

She finally meets my eyes, tears slipping down her face. “No. My dad gave this to me.”

Well, shit.

“It’s okay. We can fix it,” I say, surprising even myself and gently rubbing her arm. But I know that’s not the case when she opens her palm and shows me the chain and it’s in multiple pieces. He died when she was twelve, so that means the locket has to be at least that old, probably more.

Bailey breaks down, fully crying for the first time since I met her.

“Come on,” I murmur through clenched teeth. “Don’t cry.” I tug her to me and she lays her head on my chest, letting me hold her. As much as I hate to admit it, seeing her cry does something to me. My skin crawls. I want to erase the tears because she’s too fucking pretty to be crying.

I half expect Bailey to pull away from me, feeling too awkward after our agreement to let me hold her, but she doesn’t. My skin feels too tight, the uncomfortable swell of emotions in my chest rising until it almost chokes me. This is how I felt when I couldn’t find mom’s wedding ring. I keep it locked in a safe in my room and one day, it was gone. I searched the house, panicking until I finally found it. That hour, there, the complete, hopeless desperation was too much for me to bear.

That’s how Bailey’s feeling about her locket.

So, I hold her for as long as she needs because when you’ve lost someone like that, sometimes shit just fucking sucks and there’s not a damn thing you can do to get rid of the pain. Even if it is just a locket.

Charlie

Unlike two nights ago, Bailey waits for me before leaving work. I find her in the back courtyard, messing with the broken locket, but it’s no use. The clasp won’t hold any longer. After more than a decade of being around her neck, I’m surprised it’s lasted this long.

“I’ll see if I can fix it later,” I say, holding out my palm to help her up.

She looks up at me, her eyes narrowed, at first, like she’s going to snap at me, but then the look vanishes, being replaced with something that goes straight to my chest.

Without a word, she places her hand in mine and lets me pull her to her feet and lead her to the exit. The door opens behind us, Lionel and Marybeth coming out to leave for the night and Bailey quickly drops my hand, crossing her arms over her chest.

As much as I like keeping her to myself, I also feel the need to stake my claim. Remembering her rules, though, I resist and let her walk past me out the gate.

“I guess it’s probably time to let it go,” Bailey grumbles as we walk through the throngs of people on thesidewalk. The Quarter is starting to die down for the night, the only remaining people going to either bars or strip clubs. None of them pay us any attention as we pass, one group of young men even almost running into Bailey before I pull her back against my chest and knock one’s shoulder with my own.

He turns back to say something, but catches the look on my face and keeps walking.

Smart man.

“If it’s something that reminds you of him, you shouldn’t have to give it up.”

Bailey shrugs, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “It’s probably stupid to cry about. It’s been twelve years. You’d think I would have gotten over it by now.”

We fall into step beside each other, each of us falling quiet. I don’t know what to say to her. Mom’s death has never gotten any easier. I can’t lie and tell her it will get better.

“You don’t stop grieving someone that dies, Bailey. You just learn to live with it.”

She sucks in a breath and nods. “I believe that.”

After another moment of silence, she nudges me in the ribs. “See,” she points out. “You aren’t always an asshole.”

Oh, really.

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