Page 97 of Beautifully Reckless

Following the sounds of chatter, the closer I get the more I’m able to make out that JD, Millie and Alana are sitting around a fire, music playing in the background as they sip on some drinks. But Ringo is nowhere in sight.

I hesitate, not really wanting to get into it with his sisters again. I get that they are protective, and I’m still a stranger, but it doesn’t mean I have to expose myself to their judgement.

What would Lexi say?

That’s athemproblem.

I grin, wishing she was here with me.

“Oh hey, Abbey,” JD calls, spotting me in the shadows.

Dammit.

I give him an awkward wave and approach as Alana and Millie glance over their shoulders to see me.

“Hey. I’m just looking for Ringo.” I offer a half smile, my gaze locking on JD, waiting for him to respond, but it’s Lani who speaks.

“He’s in the barn. He’s a bit mopey so I’m sure he could use the company.”

I blink a few times at Lani’s tone. It’s… nice. Warm. Dare I say, friendly?

“He’s mopey?” I ask, and JD scoffs.

“Probably stressed about tomorrow.”

I frown. “What’s happening tomorrow?”

“Oh… uhhh.” JD shifts, sitting taller as he cups the back of his neck, giving it a squeeze. “The club is coming to visit.”

My brows shoot up.

“They are?”

He’d mentioned earlier that Ringo would see Smitty tomorrow, but I didn’t think it meanthere.

JD nods. “Yeah. I think Ringo was hoping to get a break from them.”

I’m confused. Not by JD’s words, but by the flicker of something else in his expression before he masks it. Like he’s not telling me everything.

Nodding, I jut my thumb towards the barn door. “Guess I’ll go find Mr Mopey.”

Alana and JD laugh, but Millie doesn’t. Her eyes follow me until I reach the barn door.

Stepping inside quietly, a deep male voice sings through the speakers, the music soulful. Almost sultry.

Taking in a breath of courage, I snip the latch on the door, locking myself in, and step into the room.

Scanning the space, my heart thrums with anticipation, and then stops for a beat as my eyes land on him.

Longish dark hair. A dark beard to match, threaded with a few flecks of lighter brown. Eyes just as dark, staring into the glass of what looks like whiskey on the table, one thick finger lazily circling the rim.

He’s lost in thought, brows puckering in the centre like a war is waging inside his head.

A moment later, he lifts the glass and takes a long sip, his lids fluttering closed like he’s savouring the taste, or perhaps theburn as it goes down. When he lowers the glass back to the table, his lids part again as he resumes staring into his drink.

“I thought you said you don’t drink alcohol.”

Ringo’s gaze snaps up, instantly locking on mine as I hover near the doorway, suddenly wondering if I’ve made a mistake by coming here.

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