Powerless (Chestnut Springs, #3)(8)

“Raise your voice at that woman one more time and I will drop you like a stone, Woodcock.”

“Fuck you! I’d like to see you try.” He’s really losing his cool now, but I grab him by his silky, little bowtie and march him toward the door, wishing—not for the first time—I could give him one swift smack with my blocker. But I tamed this temper long ago and won’t let someone as insignificant as Sterling Woodcock be the one to bring it back out.

With my left hand, I yank the door open, and with all my strength, I shove him out of the room, waiting a beat to watch him stumble backward before succumbing to gravity and hitting the burgundy rug in the hallway. He lands in an unceremonious pile of limbs, and I commit the image to memory because it’s just too damn good to forget.

I close the door and lock it.

Within moments I hear banging and cussing and totally empty death threats, but I ignore them because my attention is on Sloane, who has her elbows propped on her knees, face tipped down into her hands, shoulders shaking.

I take sure steps across the room toward the vanity where she’s seated, ready to comfort her when I hear her gasp.

At first I think it’s a sob. But then I realize it’s a laugh.

Sloane is laughing uncontrollably, and I don’t know what to do other than stand here and stare at how her body is poured into the tight, starched satin of her dress. At her hair slicked back into some painful looking twist. At the thin crystal studded straps of her sandals that I can see digging into her already scarred feet.

Uncomfortable from head to toe.

And now I am too because I just tossed her fiancé out on her wedding day and she can’t stop laughing.

“Are you . . . okay?” I ask, like a total idiot, fingers clenching and releasing at my sides.

“Never better,” she wheezes and laughs even harder. “You tossed him out there like a rag doll!” She collapses right down into her lap, head between her knees, trying to suck in breaths as she trails pale pink manicured nails across the carpeted floor for a moment before sitting up straight.

“He cheated on you,” I bite out.

“Yeah. There’s a video and everything. Someone sent it to me anonymously. Right in the nick of time.” She wipes daintily at the tears in the corners of her eyes.

“Why are you laughing?”

She chuckles again and shrugs before hitting me with a look that’s strong, but I recognize the sadness in her eyes. I’ve seen that look in the mirror. “What else is there to do?”

“You’re not marrying him.” I swipe a hand over my mouth and gaze around the ornate room. The crown moldings. The over-the-top chandeliers. I feel frantic. I repeat the only thing that’s running through my head. “Over my dead body, are you marrying him.”

She swallows, and I watch the slender column of her throat work. “I’m sorry I said what I said the other night.” Her voice is softer, her body language less hysterical and more devastated. “Outside of the restaurant.”

I wave her off. “It’s okay.”

“No.” She shakes her head and stares down at her feet. “It’s not. I was lashing out. And after all the times you’ve been there for me, you didn’t deserve it. I know you were just looking out for me. You were being . . .” She glances up at me now, a pinch at the corners of her eyes. “You were being a good friend.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, hating the look of helplessness on her face. Hating this entire thing for her.

Hating that word.

Friend.

We’ve been friends for so damn long . . .

. . . I startle when small blonde head pops out of the window behind me.

“Are you okay?”

It’s Beau’s little cousin, the same girl who was staring at me out the window this morning. Her eyes are wide, and the expression of concern on her face tugs at my heart. She almost reminds me of Jenny. I’m not okay, but I don’t tell her that. “Yeah. Fine.”

I turn back to look out over the shadowy ranch. I love sitting up on this rooftop in the quiet, dark night. It’s peaceful. Just me and my demons.

“Want some company?”

I sigh and drop my head. I don’t want any company. But I don’t tell her that either.

She’s crawling out before I can even answer, but I offer her a, “Sure,’’ anyway.

The roof is still dark, but it’s no longer quiet. A girl I barely know monologues about her life, and I just listen. She talks so much that even my demons can’t compete.

Tonight and every summer night after, she sits with me. I don’t invite her. She’s just there.


And sitting with her is peaceful . . .

I clear my throat to push away the emotion clogging it. “If I was going to be a good friend to you right now, what would I do?”

Sloane sighs, relief painting every inch of her body. Like I just posed her the one question she so desperately needed someone to ask.

“Jas. Get me the fuck out of here. I wanna go to the ranch.”

I stare at her for a beat, hands shoved in my pockets, thinking I’d do anything she asked in this moment.

And then I reach my hand out to her with a firm nod. “Let’s go, Sunny.”





4

Sloane


Jasper: Is there a way out at the other end of the hallway?