Beard Necessities: Winston Brothers Book #7

by Penny Reid

  Cletus gave a short huff. “No.”

  “No?”

  “No. Nein. Negatory. Nada. Niet. Nee. Voch.”

  I grimaced, mostly because my hip hurt. I’d walked too far today.

  “You can’t be objective about this, Billy. I’m telling you, toss that woman over your shoulder and lock yourselves in one of those giant suites upstairs, she’d be thrilled. Why do you think we put y’all on that level together? You don’t think I wanted one of those big, nice rooms for me and Jenn?”

  “Why you think you have a say in this, I don’t understand.”

  “Why you think you don’t need my help, I don’t understand. For example—” he tugged on the sleeve of my shirt, bringing me to a stop “—when are you telling her the truth?”

  We’d already stopped, but his question felt like walking into a wall. Silently, we regarded each other, the rest of our family continuing down the block, and I worked to wipe all hint of dread from my features, burying it behind indifference.

  His eyes searched mine. “I’m talking about you taking her punishment when she ran away at fourteen, and about what happened to Razor’s—”

  “I know what you meant.” My pulse quickened.

  If Scarlet found out, that window would slam shut and I’d be the one to close it. She thought Ben had saved her. For years, she’d built a shrine to him with bricks fashioned of gratitude and obligation and guilt. But now she’d finally knocked it down and was finding her own way. Good. Great.

  I didn’t want any shrines. I just wanted her, guilt-free, wanting me.

  “Well?” he pushed, his stare searching. “When?”

  “It’s none of your concern.”

  His eyes narrowed, his mouth a flat line. “You’re not going to tell her, are you? You’re never going to tell her.”

  I turned from him, struggling to keep the limp from my gait. “She doesn’t need to know.”

  “Billy. Lord knows I love you something fierce. But you’re as wise as you are stupid, and this is why you need our help.”

  “I don’t want your help.”

  “Well, too bad. She needs to know who her real savior was. It’s on like—”

  “Listen.” I stopped, placing my hand on his chest to stop him. “Just listen to me. The last thing I need or want is her feeling a sense of duty toward me. I was never her savior, and neither was Ben. I did what I did because I loved her. I love her. She doesn’t owe me a damn thing, but she’ll never see it that way, it’s not how she’s wired. Everything is in trade, everything is a debt to be paid. If she feels indebted, I can’t trust her to make clear-headed decisions based on what she actually wants. This truth will not set her free. Can you understand that?”

  Cletus slid his jaw to one side, glaring at me. “All I heard was, Blah blah blah I don’t trust her. Did you say something else?”

  “Fine,” I ground out. “Fine. You told Duane, Beau, and Ashley. I need to know, who else did you tell?”

  Watching me with hawkish eyes, Cletus slid his hands into his pockets, saying nothing. For once.

  “Cletus. Who did you tell?”

  “Well, think of it this way, Billy. Your luggage should be much lighter now your burdens are spread among so many folks.”

  Frustration beat like a drum between my ears and I stepped away from him. “If you or anyone else tells her, that’s not something I’ll be able to forgive.”

  My brother grew very still. “Holding grudges, Billy? Because that’s worked so well for you.”

  “As the reigning king of grudge holding in East Tennessee, I’d expect you to understand.”

  “No, I don’t. And if anyone’s judgment can’t be trusted in this, it’s yours. You’re the most honorable, steadfast person I know. I admire you, I always have. We all do. You’re fearless, brave, selfless. You’re the best of us, except . . .” He paused, and it was one of those rare moments where his gaze was steady, open, and clear of all pretense. “Except when it comes to Scarlet. You forget yourself, you lose yourself.”

  He didn’t understand what it was like. He couldn’t. He hadn’t been the one bandaging up her cuts after her father got to her. He hadn’t been the one listening to her sing. He hadn’t been the one lying in that hospital room. He hadn’t been the one forced to watch the woman he loved marry someone else, someone who treated her like trash. And then, she’d mourned the bastard.

  Still, even now, the thought was torture, seeing her in pain, her spirit crushed, hating herself when she was everything good and kind and deserving. I’d been helpless to do anything for so long; I wasn’t gambling this chance now.

  “I get it, I do, I get the desperation, the sense of powerlessness. What if she doesn’t forgive you? You’ve just reconnected, you don’t want to lose that. But, I’m telling you, she will. She’ll forgive you.”

  “It’s not about that.” He wasn’t listening. He doesn’t understand.

  “As a concession for your excellent progress today, I’ll give you the gift of time. Kiss the hell outta her on the train in front of God and witnesses, and I’ll give you a whole week. I promise. But you need to tell her the truth before she leaves for Nashville or for Rome.”

  “I mean it, Cletus. I am not fucking around.” I spoke between gritted teeth. “I swear, you breathe a word and I will never forgive you.”

  Something flashed behind his gaze, something unpleasant, angry, and he lowered his voice. “You know who you sound like, Billy? You sound like Darrell.”

  The blow landed and my stomach sunk, a slow descent to my feet even as I lifted my chin, fighting to ignore his jab and issuing my final warning. “Don’t.”

  Cletus examined me like he was picking through my brain. A hint of sympathy fractured the severity of his scowl and his voice turned beseeching, “Listen. I’ve been where you are. And I’m telling you, if you don’t have trust, you have nothing.” His gaze darted over my shoulder and then back to me. Stepping closer, he said quickly, “Trust her. And, in doing so, give her a chance to trust herself.”

  “Is everything all right?” Jenn’s gentle voice cut in. “Billy, you hurting? Is it your hip? Do you need help?”

  “I’m fine,” I said.

  “It’s his hip. He needs help,” Cletus said.

  Cletus and I had spoken at the same time and my words earned me a flat smile from my brother. I turned, preparing to thank Jenn for her concern and assure her that I was perfectly fine when I caught sight of Scarlet hovering close by, a wrinkle of concern between her eyebrows.

  The next thing I knew, she’d stepped around Jenn and walked to me, slid her arm around my back and guided my arm around her shoulders.

  “Here, honey. Lean on me. We’ll walk together.”

  Well.

  My blood pumped thick through my veins at her unexpected touch, the heaviness in my chest dropping lower and becoming something else entirely.

  “Okay,” I agreed automatically. Ignoring my brother’s wry smile, I focused instead on the implausible and heady sight of Scarlet with my arm around her shoulders. In public. In front of my family. On purpose. Like we belonged to each other.

  “We’ll go on and get your tickets. Take all the time you need.” Jenn grinned at both of us, her hands clasped under her neck.

  “Yeah, take all the time in the world.” Cletus placed Jenn’s fingers in the crook of his elbow. “And if y’all need a topic of discussion, I’ll be happy to provide several.” With one more meaningful look, he turned toward the station and they walked on ahead.

  Not even Cletus’s veiled threat could puncture my mood in this moment.

  “Shall we?” Scarlet smiled up at me, lacing our fingers together at her shoulder.

  I nodded, unwilling to speak. Now that she was at my side, I didn’t want to say or do anything that might send her running. I wanted her to stay. So I said nothing at all.

  I watched for morning like a kid watching for Christmas, if that kid had a grumpy disposition, hadn’t been able to sleep for day
s, and knew their presents slumbered right down the hall wrapped in skimpy pink pajamas.

  Issue was, even after tossing and turning all night every night for five nights in a row, I wasn’t certain I deserved any presents this year. Cletus’s words in Florence weighed on me. I couldn’t decide if he was right or wrong. Furthermore, I couldn’t decide if it mattered.

  Dragging myself out of bed with the first sign of dawn, I checked the time in Tennessee, needing something to take my mind off of this limbo. My youngest brother was staying with Daisy and Trevor Payton since he’d been discharged from the hospital; I wondered if he might still be up. We’d been touching base every other day or so since I’d arrived in Italy, usually just a quick exchange of texts.

  I missed him. I was used to seeing him every weekend, having him around. He was my buddy and I worried over him, especially now.

  Unlocking my screen, I sent him a quick text asking if he was awake, and then I used the bathroom. Catching my reflection on the way out, I reminded myself to do something about my neglected beard.

  My phone buzzed as I picked through my suitcase looking for some clean clothes, sorting a pile to the side that needed washing. Crossing to where I’d left my phone charging on the dresser, I scanned the new message.

  Roscoe: I’m up. And before you say anything about me being up so late, I’ve been sleeping all day.

  My lips curved at that. I could almost hear the words coming from his mouth, see him rolling his eyes at what he perceived as me hovering from Europe.

  Billy: I wasn’t going to say anything about you being up. Wanted to see if you had time/energy to talk.

  I hit send and brought the phone with me, walking back to my suitcase. I’d just picked up a clean pair of shorts when my cell buzzed again. Glancing at the screen, I saw Roscoe was calling.

  “Billy. Hey.”

  “Roscoe.” The knot in my stomach eased and I exhaled a fair measure of the worry I carried between our calls. He sounded better. Stronger.

  “How’s Italy?”

  I debated how to answer. Five days ago, after the train ride home from Florence and a quick dinner, I’d excused myself, planning to use the time to catch up on emails. Instead, I accomplished next to nothing, staring unseeingly at all the unread email in my inbox and debating whether—or when—to tell Scarlet the truth.

  The days since had been more of the same. Every hour spent in her company had been both divine and frustrating. She talked and I said very little, keeping my hands to myself. Rather than ruin our truce by inadvertently saying something stupid or throwing her over my shoulder like Cletus suggested, I was content to listen to her melodic chatter and just be near her.

  Because, if I touched her, I was pretty sure she’d end up over my shoulder.

  “Billy? You still there?”

  “Uh, yeah. I’m here.” I tossed the shorts back into the suitcase.

  “How’s Italy?” he asked again.

  “Nothing to complain about.”

  “Drinking my share of wine, I hope.”

  I glanced behind me, searching for a place to sit. “Uh, no. How are things there? Did you have your latest checkup?”

  “I did, yesterday. Everything is healing fine and the doctors say I can start exercising again next month.”

  “Don’t overdo it.”

  “Don’t worry, Dad. I won’t.” He chuckled as he said this, his voice full of affection so I let his dad comment slide.

  “And how is Simone?” I asked, pushing fingers through my hair. “How’s her recovery?”

  “She’s so great. She’s already cleared for moderate exercise and will be going back to work soon.” Roscoe heaved a sigh. If I had to name it, I would’ve called it wistful. “I wish she didn’t have to leave. I’m feeling a little spoiled right now, seeing her every day, having her right down the hall.”

  I smirked at that. “Spoiled?”

  “Okay. Spoiled and tormented. Is that better?” He laughed and so did I.

  Deciding not to sit, I walked over to the sliding glass door. “Yeah, that sounds more accurate. I’m glad you’re with the Paytons. They’ll keep you from overexerting yourself.”

  “In more ways than one,” he grumbled, and that also made me smile. He sounded so much better than last week, more like himself. “How about you?” Roscoe asked, and I heard a door close on his side of the call.

  “Like I said, nothing to complain about. When are you going to—”

  “Nuh-uh, Billy. How are you? I want to know. What’ve you been doing? What’s on your mind?”

  I leaned a hand against the doorframe and peered out over the Tuscan landscape. “Well, let’s see. I’ve been dealing with this irritating campaign development person who keeps harping on me about my image.”

  “Your image? What’s wrong with your image? We look exactly the same, except you have those gray hairs.”

  “No, Roscoe.” He never missed a chance to point out my gray hairs. I reckoned he was so proud of them because he was 50 percent of the reason they existed. “Not how I look. The man is near a fit since I called off the engagement with Daniella, keeps reminding me candidates without spouses don’t get elected.”

  “Well, I’m glad you and Dani called it off. And for the record, so are the Paytons. In fact, I think they were relieved when she told them.”

  That gave me pause. “Is that so?”

  “Oh no, not like that,” he was quick to add. “They adore you, but y’all clearly weren’t suited for matrimony. They didn’t want either of you to settle for convenience. Anyway, how’s your hip?”

  “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.