Powerless (Chestnut Springs, #3)(23)

Jasper’s having one of the worst weeks of his life, and I’m psychoanalyzing if he’s upset with me while he holds my hand and opens a car door for me.

I shake my head at my selfishness as the door slams and he gets in beside me.

“Ranch?” he asks as he slides his long arm over the back of my seat. We’ve pulled out together in a car a million times, except now the nearness of him feels heavy and unfamiliar.

“Yeah.” I sigh and sink back into the plush leather seat. “Ranch.”

We make the same drive we’ve made several times in the past week. No music plays. All I hear is the white noise of air rushing through the vents as I switch between staring out the darkened window and then back at Jasper’s carefully blank face.

“You know the saying ‘there are no stupid questions’?”

His eyes slice my way and he nods once firmly.

“Would it still be true if I asked you if you’re okay?”

His cheek twitches, and I watch his hands twist on the steering wheel.

“Sunny, I am so far from okay, it’s not even funny.”

My heart twists in my chest, and my tongue darts out over my lower lip as I continue to regard him, racking my brain for what to say next.

“Nothing you say is stupid though,” he quickly adds.

I smile flatly and look out over the dash. Leave it to Jasper Gervais to say something like that when I’ve spent the last five months engaged to someone who constantly made me feel like the things I had to say were dumb.

And I just let him. I put a hand over my throat in a sad attempt to quell the ache there.

This isn’t my night to cry.

“Coach suspended me for two weeks.”

“What?” I exclaim, turning in my seat to face him. “Why? Every goalie hits rough patches.”

“Because I never disclosed what’s going on. He knows how I am. He knows my head is somewhere else, and as much as I fuckin’ hate to admit it, he’s right. I wanna be out there but I also . . .” He trails off, broad hands rotating on the wheel in frustration.

He didn’t tell them about Beau? God. This man is a vault, locked up so damn tight. He’s always been a man of few words, even around me. But at this moment, it’s not like he can’t find the words. I know he can. It’s more like it pains him to wrench them from himself. Like staying quiet and introspective is his best defense mechanism.

I know he’s more open with me than he is with most people. Softer, less growly. So I provide cautiously, “You also want to curl up in bed and cry?”

Because if I feel that way right now, he must too.

A curt nod with eyes fixed on the dark road is what he offers back, which is about as much as I expected from him.

A loud vibrating sound echoes against something in my purse, filling the already tense vehicle with another layer of anxiety.

With a deep sense of dread, I pull my phone out and stare at it.

It’s my mom. And this is the first time she’s called. Her response to my mass text was, Take care of yourself. I love you.

I have dozens of missed phone calls from my dad and from Sterling, and from countless “friends.” I’ve been referring to them in my head as lookie-loos because if you haven’t spoken to me in years, I don’t know why I’d chat to you about the implosion of my wedding day.

Over the past week, I’ve listened to the voicemails from Sterling and my dad, but I didn’t delete them. That way, my inbox fills and they can’t leave more. Their messages are angry, frantic, and entitled. Basically the last thing I feel like dealing with.

But my mom? She’s another story all together. She . . . I swear she looked at me before the wedding like she had something to say. Her lips parted, and her hand stretched out toward me. She was so damn close. Before she could get it out, my dad walked in, told me I made the perfect bride, and whisked her away.

The expression she shot me over her shoulder as he led her out was pleading.

The phone is still vibrating in my hand, and I’m staring at it like a ticking time bomb when Jasper clears his throat and glances over at me.

Swallowing hard, I swipe to answer. “Hi, Mom.”

“Sloane.” She breathes my name like it’s the relief she’s been seeking.

“Hi. I’m . . .”

“I just need to hear your voice. Know that you’re somewhere safe.” There’s a slight tremble in her voice, and suddenly the back of my throat aches with a ferocity that steals my breath. My sweet, supportive mom. The one who learned to put my hair up in a perfect bun. Who drove me to every ballet practice and recital, no matter how early she had to get up.

I’d kill for a hug from my mom right now. Absolutely kill.

Peeking over at Jasper, I reply, “I’m safe.” Because how could I feel anything but safe? The man literally broke me out of my wedding, carried me down the street, and never batted an eyelash.

Like he just knows I need him, he reaches across the center console and takes my hand. Fingers linking with mine.

I hear a ragged sigh on the other end of the line. “Good. Good. Are you . . . going away for a while?” Her voice sounds almost hopeful now.

My head quirks at her odd question. I’d expected Mom to grill me about when I was coming back. “Why would you ask me that?”

I look over at Jasper again and catch him watching me. He’s listening and I don’t really care. There’s only one secret I’m desperate to keep from Jasper—that I’ve been pathetically in love with him for the better part of my life.