Page 57 of Someone to Tempt
“Good for you, man. I hope it sticks this time.”
“It will.” He laughs softly. “Not that anyone has a reason to believe me, but I know it will.”
It’s hard to explain the conflicting emotions I have when it comes to Nick Dixon. He was my best friend that summer after Mikey died. Sure we got in a hell of a lot of trouble, but we also had a shit-ton of fun. The bond between us was real—a couple of messed-up kids with too much trauma in our respective pasts.
That doesn’t change the fact I don’t want Nick upsetting Iris. She’s got enough on her plate, and I hope to hell that includes the two of us getting together. After last night, I’m convinced Iris and I are making progress. Or we will be once she accepts that Jodi is about as interested in me as I am in her.
I’m not ready to let our connection go, even if I know there’s no future in it. For once, I want to stop ruminating over the past and worrying about the future. I want to enjoy the present—soak in every moment I can with Iris. Preferably a few of them with us both buck-ass naked.Even the idea of surrender doesn’t feel like losing with Iris—it feels like finally coming home.
But first, I need to deal with Nick.
“Then I believe you. I don’t want to argue, man.” I clap a hand on his shoulder. “I swear I won’t hurt Iris. Can you say the same?”
“Yes,” he answers without hesitation.
I nod. “Then I’m damn glad to see you. You look good, Nick.”
It’s true. His hair, the same dark shade as Iris’s, is neatly trimmed, and his eyes are clear. He’s wearing a canvas vest over a long-sleeve Henley, and I can see he’s been working out. It’s been years since I’ve seen Nick look healthy, and despite my reservations about him being back in his sister’s life, I want that for him. He’s been through enough already.
“I feel good.” His shoulders relax slightly. “A whole lot better than that trampled rider.”
“He’ll be okay,” I say, even though I have no idea if that’s true.
“You always were an optimist, Jake.” He leans back against the empty bleacher behind us. “Let’s catch up for real, man.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “That sounds like a plan.”
22
IRIS
“Are you okay?”Sloane asks as I pull to a stop in front of the bookstore after our night out at the rodeo and concert. Her apartment above the shop has made it easier for her to keep working—and still take breaks during the day—since she started treatment. “Tonight couldn’t have been easy.”
“I can’t get the image of the cowboy this town adores being carted out of the ring on a stretcher.”
“Bull riders are tough as nails, and he’s one of the best.”
“You’re right.”
I checked in with one of the EMTs during the lull between the end of the rodeo and the start of the concert. According to her, Chase was awake and alert at the hospital but would need surgery to repair the shattered bones in his leg. Word that he would likely make a full recovery spread quickly, so the crowd at the concert was in high spirits.
“And you know I wasn’t talking about Chase,” she says gently.
Sadie and Ian had gone home early, but Sloane and I stayed until the end. I tried not to make it too obvious that I spent most of the time surreptitiously searching for Jake and Jodi, but I guess I hadn’t been as sly as I thought.
I close my eyes for a moment. “Being sad about two people going on a date that I helped set up feels even sillier in light of what happened tonight.”But it doesn’t dull the ache in my chest. Especially when I picture him with someone else.
“Emotions aren’t trivial.” She reaches out to squeeze my arm. “And the only way to move through them is to let yourself feel.”
I cover my face with my hands. “Hearing you say that makes me feel like the worst friend on the planet. You’re dealing with the big C, and I can’t even manage to keep fun simple. It shouldn’t be this hard.”
“As simple as having fun sounds,” Sloane answers, “I understand why it isn’t that easy for you. The fact that you’re willing to try gives me hope. I didn’t start the bucket list challenge just to watch each of you easily succeed at something.” She gives an unsteady laugh. “I wanted to see other people struggle. Maybe that makes me a terrible friend. Everyone believes I’m handling my diagnosis and treatment so well. The truth is, I’m scared, angry, and resentful. Sometimes I hate everyone.”
“You don’t?—”
“I do,” she insists, her voice quivering. “I hate people who are healthy. I hate people who have things worse than me because it makes me a jerk for feeling sorry for myself. I hate people who think they know what I’m going through. I hate myself for all of those things. I grew up in a house filled with anger and hate, and I swore I was going to be a happy person. I wouldn’t let that hate define me. Yet here I am.”
“Sloane, honey, if I’m allowed to feel emotions, so are you. Even the hard ones.”
