Page 56 of Fairground

“I can tell.”

“She’s different.”

He nods, his hammer swinging loosely in one hand. “That she is. Not your usual type.”

“Maybe I never knew my type until Rae showed up in town.”

Colt shakes his head, already smirking. “You’re fucked.”

“Don’t I know it.”

Before he can needle me more, a sharp scream splits the air, echoing across the fairgrounds.

“What the hell was that?” I bark to Colt.

We’re moving before the words even settle, sprinting toward the sound. A small crowd has already formed around one of the smaller tents. It takes me a second to realize what's happening but when I do, I see that Rae and another woman from the committee are pinned beneath the sagging fabric and one of the heavy metal pegs.

“Motherfucker,” I shout, scanning the mess. “Who let them put this up without any support?”

No one answers, just a lot of blank stares and shrugging shoulders as Colt and I dive in. We grab at the fabric, hauling it back while yanking the peg free. Casey, the other woman, coughs violently, her face red and streaked with dirt, but she seems mostly unharmed. Rae, though... Rae’s ribs took the brunt of the mess.

“We’re fine. I’m fine,” Rae says, her voice steady as she struggles to stand up on her own.

But I’m not fine. Not even a little.

Before she can argue with me, I scoop her up in my arms like she weighs nothing. She lets out a startled sound but doesn’t fight me as I stalk off toward an empty tent nearby leaving everyone else and the chaos that needs cleaned up behind.

“What are you doing?” she hisses, her words sharp.

I don’t stop, not until we’re inside and the flap has closed behind us. I set her down on the edge of a folding table and yank up the hem of her shirt before she can stop me to see how bad it is. My jaw tightens at the sight of her ribs, already blooming withangry bruises. My fingers skim the ink scrawled across her side—a delicate tattoo that readsI am enoughin pretty writing.

Fuck me.

Something about seeing it stops the anger cold. Just shuts it down. And yet it guts me at the same time. The words, the vulnerability etched into her skin, the war she’s clearly fought to believe them—it wrecks me. Completely fucking wrecks me. Because sheisenough. More than enough. And I know it’s not my job to fix the cracks left by people who should’ve been safe. Should’ve loved her better. But damn it, I want to.

My fingers trace the ink as her breathing picks up, her chest rising and falling like it’s tied to the storm building between us. Her lips part, but before either of us can speak, the flap of the tent rustles open.

“Everything okay in here?” Mrs. Mayberry’s voice cuts through the moment like a chainsaw in a wedding cake. Just making a mess of everything I intended on telling her that I’ve been wanting to.

Rae practically jumps out of her skin, yanking her shirt down and shoving my hands away.

“Yes! I’m fine!” she squeaks, her voice way too high and chipper to be convincing. "Just a little fall. All is well."

Mrs. Mayberry squints at her but doesn’t push while my eyes remain locked on Rae's.

“Well, the tents are all set up now, and the bandstand is complete. Just need you to sign off on the inspector’s findings and call Rhett if any replacements are needed. We’re heading out before the storm rolls in. Looks like it might be a nasty one. Anything else you two need before we meet again?”

“Nope, that’s great. Thanks,” Rae says, smoothing her shirt and hair like she’s in front of a mirror, not a nosy, older neighbor who loves to talk, and the woman heading up most of the committee we're supposed to be leading.

Mrs. Mayberry nods, eyeing us one last time before ducking out of the tent. Rae jumps off the table and bolts for the exit too, but I catch her name on my lips before she can disappear.

“Rae.”

She pauses, her back to me, her shoulders stiff.

“Find me by the slides when you’re done with the sign-off.”

She hesitates, just long enough for me to think she's going to back out, then gives a small nod without meeting my eyes.

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