Page 80 of Wild Eyes
I smile and press my shoulder blades together to push my breasts out. The moonlight highlights the rounded top of each globe in the low boatneck T-shirt I’m wearing.
I can feel his eyes on me. Onthem.Gooseflesh pebbles my skin and I tell myself it’s because it’s colder on the water.
“Paid a lot of money for these babies. Enough that no one could ever truly tell. Hard to be the buxom country bombshell when you’re flat as a board. How terrible does that make me sound?”
“Do you like them?”
My eyes flick to him. “What?”
“Your boobs.” He swallows audibly. “Forget about everyone else. Do they make you happy? Do they make you feel good?”
I look back down at my breasts, considering his question. A slow smile curves across my lips. “I fucking love them.”
West barks out a laugh from his bench, a short distance from me. We sit facing each other, but his bare foot pushes forward, almost toe to toe with mine. He’s rolled his jeans up, and his feet arebig.
“Then who gives a fuck what anyone else thinks, Skylar? Who cares if anyone finds out? You love them. They make you happy. No shame in that.”
“What about you?”
“I mean, listen, I’m not gonna lie. They make me pretty happy too.”
My cheeks flare with heat, and I grin so wide that they ache. My hands press in on either side of my face like that will cool me down.
I feel like a giddy schoolgirl because this rugged country boy—no, man—said my boobs make him happy.
But a few beats later, it hits me that he’s covering the question with humor. I blink at him a few times, and I can think of no reason not to spill my guts to this man who’s proven to be nothing short of trustworthy.
“I think what I’m really afraid of is being irrelevant. You know?” The lighthearted expression on his face morphs to a serious one, and I continue. “That everyone figures out the public image of me they’ve been spoon-fed isn’t real. That they’ll turn their nose up at what’s left. A girl with crippling anxiety and fake boobs who tries to pet grizzly bears and doesn’t write her own music or play an instrument. I started off in pageants as a kid, and I’m just an overgrown version of that now. No friends, no special skills, just…plastic.”
My breathing feels labored by the time I get everything out. But I also feel lighter. Freer.
Until I look at West. The darkness makes it difficult to fully read his expression, but it’s tinged with sadness.
When he speaks, his voice is all gravel. “Well, I’ve been here to see you try to pet a bear. I’ve seen you with a bruised face. I’ve seen you get anxious. And Skylar? I like all those versions of you. You have me. You’ll always be relevant to me.”
My eyes sting as I nod and let out a shaky breath.
“I’m afraid of being alone.”
His words freeze me.
“It’s not just my kids dying. It’s the impermanence ofeverything.” He clicks his tongue and looks away, like he can’t meet my eyes as he spills his secrets. “I’m lonely. I’m especially lonely during the weeks Emmy and Ollie are with Mia. Those are the weeks I struggle with…purpose. I work, sleep, and live in my head. And in my head, I’m a guy who already failed once at a committed relationship—to the detriment of my kids, most likely. And that feels like a heavy burden to carry on with. I don’t want to fail them again.”
“What about the people who work at the barn? I know you train the horses, but I’ve seen other people around.”
A dry chuckle crests his lips, and he finally meets my eyes. “Those are staff. Not friends. And the ones who could be have their own dynamics outside of the ranch. Everyone around me is creating a life, and I’m just stuck here. Alone. When the kids are at their mom’s house, it becomes abundantly clear that if I don’t go to people, no one seeks me out.”
I hum, thinking about what he’s just said, really chewing on his confession. I remember turning him away that night with the lasagna, and a pit forms in my stomach.
He came to me. He was lonely. And I sent him away.
The moment aches with intimacy and a sort of sorrow. West is the happy, wild guy, and he just shared his most painful inner worries with heartbreaking honesty.
I’ve never felt closer to another human than I do to West right now.
“You and I, we’re not so different.”
All I get back is a rough grumble and dropped eye contact. His shoulders slump as his elbows rest on his knees, his fingers weaving together. Then he bows his head, and it’s inherentlywrongfor this beautiful, deeplygoodman to look so beaten down.
