Page 84 of Love Me, I Dare You

I release Billie, clearing my throat as I playfully turn to him. “If you’d shown up just a few minutes earlier, you wouldn’t be looking at us like that,” I say, wiping my hands on the apron I’m wearing, over my white t-shirt and jeans. I’m barefoot as I carefully make my way over to him, my bright pink toes wiggling while I try my best not to step on anything, but stop when I notice he’s cold and distant.

A small, humorless smile plays on his lips. “If I’d shown up any later, who knows what I’d be walking into?”

Billie, as she usually fails to do, doesn’t read the room and continues to egg him on. “Nash, will you be a doll and help get this all cleaned up? Maybe even help Bailey get all cleaned up in the shower?” My cheeks flame red at Billie’s insinuation, especially given Nash’s lack-luster reaction. I regret ever telling her about my encounter with him in the shower.

Ignoring us, he charges toward me, grabbing me by my shoulders, and spinning me to face him fully. There’s no hint of humor as he looks me directly in the eyes. My stomach drops, afraid he’s here to end things before I even have the chance to tell him how I feel.

“Did you know Monroe is pregnant?” The intensity of Nash’s gaze sends a wave of shivers down my spine as his question lingers in the air. The heavy weight of his words is nearly unbearable as I juggle with how to respond. The man I love stands before me, his demeanor cold and distant, but his enigmatic force is impossible to ignore.

I’m taken aback by a strong sense of unease, my stomach now churning for a completely different reason. Dumbstruck and completely silent, my eyes shoot wide in utter shock. “Who am I kidding? Of course you did,” he replies under his breath, flabbergasted by my silent admission.

“And that’s my cue to go,” Billie says, trying to walk around us as she tears off her apron and sets it on the back of my diningroom chair. I am going to murder my best friend for her tactless response, and by the looks of it, so is Nash.

“Nash, calm down,” I urge him, setting my palms flat against his chest, but his grip on my shoulders tightens. Fear creeps inside me at his coldness, the air around us growing thick with tension, and I can’t help but hold my breath as I await his response, unable to read his next move.

His blue eyes turn almost black as he watches me, awaiting my explanation as to why I have said nothing to him. Here I go talking about trust and respect as I’m lying to the man I’m…what? Fucking?

“Don’t tell me to calm down, Bailey. Cole, sit your ass down, you’re not going anywhere,” he juts out, and Billie does as she’s told. Also, something you don’t see very often. Nash releases me and runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. “My little sister is fucking pregnant. She had sex. With who? Who the fuck knows cause she won’t fucking tell me?”

My urge to calm him and help him see reason flies out the door at his blatant misogyny. “Of course she had sex, Nash. She’s a twenty-eight-year-old woman, not the eighteen-year-old girl she was when you last saw her.” I realize how that sounds after the fact, but I don't take any of it back. He’s angry. It’s the reason he’s resting this way. But I won't allow him to make any judgment calls on this. Monroe doesn’t deserve that from him or anyone else.

“Do you know whose it is?” he asks. No, but even if I did, I wouldn't say. Monroe is my best friend, and Nash might be her brother and my—whatever we are—but I would never betray her trust that way.

I meet his gaze, not cowering under the intimidating scowl he directs my way. “It’s not our place to tell.”

“Bailey, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. This is my sister we’re talking about.”

“Look, I’m sorry to say this, Nash,” Billie says, joining in on the conversation. “I get that you’re back. You’ve tried to make up for your time away. You and Bailey are working things out or whatever it is you two are up to, but you don’t get to be pissed about this. You’ve been gone from her life for ten years. Not that this is any of your fault in particular, but what do you think it does to a young woman, that every man in her life, other than Monty who’s only ever treated her like a child, has disappeared or is barely present.”

Her words hit their intended target, straight for the jugular. His face falls as he drops onto the couch, stuffing his face into his cupped hands. Walking over to him, I sit on the arm of the couch beside him, rubbing his back in a tender and calming manner. “It’s not your fault, that’s not what Billie intended to imply, but she’s right. You may not agree with the choices she’s made or how she’s going about this, but you have no right to judge her for it.”

“Judge her?” he asks, appalled by my insinuation. “You really think I’m judging her? Bailey, I’m trying to protect her. I know I fucked up. My past mistakes have haunted me for the last ten years, consuming me with regret. Ten years spent agonizing over my screw-ups, constantly thinking about how much I’ve fucked up. Fucked up with you, with Jase, with all of my brothers, with Monroe. All I’ve ever done is fuck up, and now I’m back, and it seems like all this town does is remind me why I should have stayed away.”

Billie scoffs, rolling her eyes in utter frustration and annoyance. “Don’t be a fucking idiot, Nash. Monroe isn’t pregnant because you’ve come back.”

Billie is right, but the way Nash is seeing this, I don’t think any voice of reason will help him look at this any differently. “My father just died,” he admits, and my heart nearly breaks there and then for him and the look of utter despair in his eyes. “Andthe only reason I found out Monroe was pregnant was because she passed out after seeing him take his last breath and watch as life left his frail body. Why? Because I took her after Monty, and the rest of my brothers urged me not to let her go.”

“Nash, I?—”

“Don’t,” he interrupts me, tears welling in my eyes for him, for Monroe and all the Bishops. Not because they lost a father, but because they lost a part of their past. Regardless of how much they hated the man, the things they went through with and because of him, made them each who they are today. “Don’t pity me for this. Franklin Bishop deserved nothing more than what life gave him. But she didn’t. None of them do, and certainly not you.”

Tears uncontrollably shed from my eyes and falling down my cheeks but I don’t let them consume me. My eyes remain fixated on him and the melancholia resonating off him.

“Don’t do this, Nash, don’t act like you’re saving me by walking away. Because I also lived ten years thinking about the many ways I could have done things differently. I fucked up, too. Not in the same way as you, but in every other manner imaginable. And I wouldn’t take any of it back. Just like I won’t let you believe your return is anything other than what should have happened. You came back to us. Not just to me, but to everyone who needed you here. Why can’t you see that?”

My hands trail up his chest, the unsteady rhythm of his heartbeat thrumming beneath my fingertips. Nash closes his eyes as if my touch physically pains him. It hurts to think that he’s holding back from me because he thinks I’ve somehow betrayed him by not telling him about Monroe. Worse than that, I’m afraid this singular moment, the death of his father whom he believes he is so much alike, will ruin any progress we’ve made over the last two months.

Reaching for me, he cups my face in his palm, his calloused fingertip tracing circles under my cheek and wiping away the tears that endlessly fall upon my skin. “I don’t know how to turn it all off anymore, B. I did it for so long, ignored what I really wanted, and it nearly cost me everything. I don’t want to lose them again. I don’t want to lose you, but staying, I don’t see how that is an option either.”

Chapter Thirty

Bailey

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. Well, maybe other than Christmas and a close second to Halloween. There’s something special about the familiar scents of pumpkin, cinnamon and spice, the laughter that echoes through town, and everything else which accompanies the autumn season that makes this time one of my favorite things in the entire world. Though, maybe it’s because North Carolina during November is indescribably beautiful.

Various shades of orange, red and yellow leaves fall to the ground like a puzzle, piecing together the warmth and familiarity of the season and the joy it brings me. They coat the cobblestone roads, vast green lands and every inch of farmland in a beautiful blanket of warmth through the cold that will soon approach. The food is incredible, but that might just be me because my nana and mama are amazing cooks—it’s as if their cooking was heavenly.

“Bailey, can you get your sister in here to come and at least help with the salad?” my mama asks, over the loud ruckus in her kitchen.

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