Page 41 of Hopeless
Too fucking close to the house to be safe. Idiots.
I knew this property was a dump, but seeing it firsthand—knowing Bailey grew up in this squalor—makes something in my chest twist.
She deserves so much better than this. She shouldn’t have to hide in the fucking riverbank from her own flesh and blood or worry about the people she should trust most in the world stealing shit from her.
I keep driving past the shithole her brothers call home, heading toward the river in the general direction of where I know she must live.
I weave through the treed lot, over the dry bramble that collects in the wheel ruts that lead me further back into their property. There’s clearly been zero maintenance.
Rage bubbles up, hot splatters of it lashing me.
When I turn the corner, it’s replaced by cold focus. The focus I pulled upon overseas. The kind that let me kill people and carry on relatively unscathed because I knew I did what had to be done to survive.
Bailey sits on the metal step of her trailer, wiping at her tear-swollen eyes.
I step out of my truck and turn on the spot, taking in what appears to be a sprinkling of her belongings all over the dirt ground.
Clothes, makeup, jewelry, papers.
When I finally come to face her again, she’s holding a stuffed horse that looks so well loved it’s coming apart at the seams.
Except it doesn’t need to anymore. There’s a slash down the side of it. Bailey’s eyes lock with mine while her hands continue trying to shove the stuffing back into it.
I don’t even need to ask her what it means to her. The small brown horse shows all the wear and tear of being a comfort to a little girl who, no doubt, has had little comfort in her life.
“Who. Did. This?” I bite out, my voice a low growl.
Bailey blinks frantically. “It’s fine. I’ll clean it up. I left my trailer unlocked when I fled last night. They got in.” She hiccups and hits me with the saddest smile, then tosses the stuffed horse into the plastic garbage bag at her feet. She can’t even watch herself do it. Her chin turns up, and she shifts her gaze in another direction.
I flinch. The sight of her throwing it away hits me low in the gut. It winds me.
“It’s just stuff. I can replace it.” Her eyes fill again as she stares over at her small truck. Despite its worn appearance, I imagine the old Ford Ranger handles the wild road that leads to her trailer well enough. Or it did. Right now, it sits on its rims, black rubber draped over the circular shape, spilling onto the ground, beyond deflated.
“It’s just that—” She presses the back of her hand against her lips as her voice breaks. “I can’t afford this right now.”
I itch to grab her and squeeze her, but I’m worried I might break her right now. She’s too fragile, and I’m too heated.
The sight of her crying makes me want to hurt someone.
Probably her brothers.
“Bailey, I don’t mean to overstep, but with the amount you’re working, why can’t you afford this? You shouldn’t have to pay for it, obviously, but … ”
She stands and starts swiping things off the ground, looking more angry than defeated now. “Because I’m an idiot. That’s why. My brothers charge me astronomical rent, so I—”
I hold a hand up. “Sorry, what? They charge you rent to live here?”
Her face flames. “Basically, I pay the mortgage on the property. Or the re-mortgage.”
“Why are you the only one paying for anything?”
“I don’t know.”
“Bailey … ”
“What, Beau?” she screams, turning to me. “You think I don’t know how fucked-up it is? I can’t rent anything in town because no one will approve me. I’m trying so hard to fly under the radar. I’m trying so hard to start fresh. And then there’s this part of me that feels guilty for it—like I owe them something. Like I don’t deserve to start over. Like how could I possibly think I’m better than the rest of my family and I deserve more than this?” She gestures around herself. “This is first-class living compared to what I grew up in.”
The explosive outburst steals her breath. Steals mine.
