Beard Necessities (Winston Brothers, #7)(54)
“Doing better.”
“It was bothering you last week? After you went to Florence?”
“Yeah. I’ve been resting it again, but I need to get out and do something. I’m not used to staying still for so long.”
“I hear you there. Have you been able to do any more sightseeing? Are you going to Rome? I know you’ve always wanted to go.”
“Is that why you made me go on this trip? So I could see Rome?”
He made a scoffing sound. “Nobody makes you do anything. I didn’t make you go, I merely insisted you leave me in peace and stop making me crazy, wanting to kill you with all your hovering. I’m not eight anymore.”
I chewed the inside of my lip, combatting an odd sense of grief. He was right. He wasn’t a kid. But I’d watched him grow. I took him to his first day of kindergarten, made all his lunches until fifth grade. I helped him with his school projects and taught him how to drive. I was his Boy Scout leader and soccer coach. It was difficult to stop searching for glimpses of the kid who needed me in the self-sufficient adult he’d become.
“I’m glad you’re there, Billy,” he said, his voice telling me he was sincere. “You needed to go. Like I’ve been saying for a while now, we’re all just fine. It’s time to take care of yourself, see to your own wishes. Enjoy yourself.”
“I didn’t have much choice about leaving, seeing as how you went to Dolly Payton and asked her to give me a leave of absence from the mill.”
“You still sore about that?” He sounded like he was grinning. “If it upsets you so much, maybe go drown your frustrations in some Italian wine and that gorgeous redhead down the hall.”
My spine stiffened, my mouth falling open as comprehension hit me like a two-by-four to the temple. “You—”
“I hear y’all got a pool there. You want to stretch that hip of yours? There’s some two-person exercises that are well suited to a reduced gravity environment.”
“You little shit. You’re in on this too?”
Roscoe laughed. He laughed and laughed.
“I cannot believe Cletus.” I pushed away from the window, restless, angry, and yet reluctantly amused.
“Don’t blame Cletus. He may’ve assembled the TNT, but the rest of us are more than happy to take turns lighting the match.”
“What did you do? Have a family meeting without me? Do y’all have a Google Drive and a Hangouts group chat where you discuss plans and progress?”
“Maybe we do, maybe we don’t.” Oh man. Roscoe sounded delighted. That couldn’t be good.
“Unbelievable.” And so incredibly frustrating.
“Let me ask you this: would you be there at all if I hadn’t insisted you go?” When I said nothing, he continued, “And if they hadn’t arranged for y’all to get stuck in that basement room in Florence, would you be on speaking terms now?”
Glaring at the objects in my room, even though I knew he was right, I shook my head. “You can’t force two people to kiss and make up, not when there’s years of history and hurt between them. Nothing between Scar—between Claire and me is simple.”
He huffed. “Do you love her?”
Closing my eyes, I rubbed my forehead. I had a headache.
“Billy. Do you love her?”
“Yes.”
“Does she love you?”
A balloon fashioned from uncertainty and frustration inflated in my lungs, pressing outward until my rib cage felt too tight, my airflow obstructed. I paced away from the window. I paced back.
What had she said last week when we were trapped? I’m still trying to figure things out for myself.
It had taken Scarlet years to get to this point, and I’d spent every single one of those years learning how to be content with less and less: a glance, a word, sharing the same city, and eventually sharing the same state. I didn’t want to push her, scare her off. I didn’t want to give her a reason to leave and not speak to me. Nor did I want my family’s well-intentioned meddling scaring her off either.
“Billy. Does she—”
“I don’t know,” I admitted, suddenly feeling like I could sleep a hundred years. “I don’t know if she loves me, Roscoe.” And that was the truth.
Chapter Twelve
Billy
“I may have lost my heart, but not my self-control.”
Jane Austen, Emma
Surprisingly, I did sleep. After hanging up with my little brother, I passed out and slept clear through ’til after noon. I awoke to one hell of a caffeine headache, but overall, I felt better. Quickly changing and brushing my teeth again, I made my way downstairs, looking forward to and dreading the sight of Scarlet in equal measure.
It wasn’t just indecision keeping me up at night.
Though I hadn’t touched her all week, she’d touched me plenty: brushing against me as she skootched past in a tight space; laying her hand on my shoulder as she stood behind my chair and bent to my ear to ask a question; feeding me whatever she was cooking, whether it be cookies or soup or bread with melted butter. The worst/best was when she’d stepped forward to thread her fingers through my beard and tease me about how unkempt it was.