Page 13 of Loaded Laces

But he doesn’t push—just keeps leaning against the counter, keeps looking at me.

Keepswaiting.

It’s stifling, that attention. Painful, the memories. Terrifying, being here.

And yet…I have nowhere else to go.

And those are the words that slide off my tongue, drift through the air.

“I have nowhere else to go,” I whisper, tracing my finger through the condensation on the side of the can, creating nonsensical patterns on the aluminum. “Wehave nowhere else to go.”

He had been leaning, his arms and ankles lazily crossed, but my words have him straightening. “What do you mean that you have nowhere else to go?” His voice is quiet, his eyes flicking toward the family room.

“Quinn—”

My voice cracks, tears filling my eyes. “He knows,” I whisper. “I tried to hide it from him, spin it as an adventure. But…” I exhale, try to blink back the tears.

“He’s smart.”

I nod, a bolt of warmth sliding through me at the matter-of-factness in West’s tone. “He’s smart,” I agree. “He figured it out, even though I tried to shield him from the reality of our situation.”

“And whatisthe reality of your situation, Belle?”

A quiet question, but one that’s as insidious as what I’d asked him earlier in the locker room.

I force my eyes to remain on his as I say, “The reality is that I have nothing but the car back at the arena and our bags of clothes in the trunk. And Quinn,” I whisper. “I have Quinn, who’s everything.”

West’s expression is unreadable. “Where’s Quinn’s dad?”

I sigh. Because it’s a fair question. Because I wish I knew.

“He was a one-night stand,” I say softly.

The silence that falls between us is terrible. “Right after you left—” He jerks and I hurry to go on, “I couldn’t hack it at home any longer. My parents were…” I shake my head. “They were themselves, and your parents were upset for you, obviously.”

He jerks again.

“So, I finished my junior year, waited it out until I turned eighteen that summer. Then I used my savings to buy a car, packed up my stuff, and got the hell out of there. I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving, didn’t bother with my senior year, and I certainly didn’t graduate”—something that’s come back to bite me time and again during my job searches over the last decade—“I just…left. And for a while, it was great. I had all the confidence of a newly turned eighteen-year-old with no fear and a joy for everything that I was experiencing—the open road, lots of odd jobs, sleeping under the stars, seeing all the things I dreamed of.”

“Yellowstone?” he asks softly.

My heart spasms—he remembered that too—but I nod, force myself to keep going. “Yes,” I murmur. “I spent six months in Wyoming, working and saving up money so I could keep moving west, and I did it spending every single free moment seeing all that Yellowstone has to offer.”

“Was it what you wanted it to be?”

“Better.” My mind drifts, bringing me back to that time. “It’s so vast and varied and, aside from holding Quinn that first time, I’ve never experienced something so awe-inspiring and beautiful. Not before or since.”

“I’m glad you had that.”

I shake myself, realize that West has come closer—near enough that he brushes away a rogue tear that has escaped and is skating down my cheek.

“It’s where I met Quinn’s dad,” I tell him. “I was working at a restaurant in Jackson, picking up a couple of shifts before I moved on and…I did something rash. He flirted. I flirted back and”—a breath to shore myself up—“I took him back to the room I was renting. But the condom broke and”—I force myself to keep my eyes open, to hold this man’s gaze—“he left while I was cleaning up and I never saw him again. Stupid, huh?”

West’s face is gentle. “You were a kid—stupid kind of goes along with that.”

I smile begrudgingly. “You’re not wrong.”

His soft laughter is one of the best sounds I’ve ever heard.

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