Chapter 2

• Sadie Lawson’s room looked like a bomb went off — boots in a corner, sweatpants half-hung on a bedpost, boxes stacked with clothes she’d never bothered to fold. Beau stood leaning in her doorway, arms crossed over his chest, thumbs tucked in the loops of his jeans, watching her try to shove a pile of t-shirts into an old duffel that once belonged to Cade.
• She huffed and kicked the bag when the zipper stuck. “I’m gonna kill this thing. I swear to God.”
• “Could just fold ‘em,” Beau drawled, voice lazy as a summer breeze. He tipped his chin at the bag. “Ain’t a crime.”
• Sadie pushed her glasses up her nose, scowled at him. “Foldin’s for city girls.”
• Beau laughed — deep and low. “City girls fold panties, huh?”
• She flipped him the bird over her shoulder. “Like you’d know what girls wear long enough to see ‘em folded.”
• “Mean.” He stepped inside, boots thumping the old floorboards. The Lawson house always smelled like pine cleaner and old wood. Same house since his first sleepover at fifteen. Same battered doorframes, same patched drywall.
• She turned back to the bag, tugging the zipper again. “Ain’t takin’ but what fits in the truck. I don’t need fancy shit.”
• “Truck’ll break down halfway to college, you keep loadin’ her like that,” he muttered.
• Sadie shot him a look that could’ve burned paint. “She’ll make it.”
• He didn’t argue. That rusty old Ford was her mama’s. Old two-tone blue with a cracked dash, driver door that squeaked if you shut it too soft but slammed just right if you gave it a hip. She’d threatened to shoot all four brothers if they ever traded it in on her behalf.
• Beau leaned against her dresser, eyes catching on a tiny silver chain peeking out of her tank strap. “You packin’ anything decent to wear? Or you gonna show up in that rat’s nest and Beck’s sweatpants?”
• Sadie stopped, crossed her arms. “You gonna help me or just talk shit?”
• He grinned, slow and wide. “Ain’t talkin’ shit if it’s true, Bug.”
• She threw a balled-up sock at his chest. He caught it easy, tossed it on her bed. “Alright, listen here,” he sighed. “Boys your age — college boys — they’re dumber than fence posts. You want ‘em to look at you, you do what you asked me. Tight jeans that ain’t two sizes too big. Shirts that ain’t your brother’s old football jersey. Hair down. God gave you that hair for a reason — don’t ball it up like you’re hidin’ somethin’. A little paint on your mouth if you like. You got good lips, Bug.”
• She raised her brows at that, and he could see her fighting a grin. “Good lips, huh? You makin’ a list, cowboy?”
• He shrugged, unbothered. “Hell, might as well. Boots are fine — boots always fine. Boys like ‘em. But show your shape a little. You got nothin’ to hide. And quit squintin’. Get new glasses or contacts or somethin’. You got eyes that look better without all that glare.”
• Sadie stood there, arms crossed tighter, chewing her cheek. “Ain’t gonna turn into some prissy princess, Beau.”
• He smirked. “Didn’t say princess. Said you’d look like you on purpose. Better that way. Give them dumb college boys a heart attack.”
• She stepped closer, toe to toe with him now. He could smell that farm soap and sweat and a hint of the sugar she always had on her skin. “Thanks,” she said, voice half-gruff, half shy. “I’m gonna get there and buy some stuff when I got my first check. So… you best brace yourself. Might come back lookin’ so good your dumb ass chokes.”
• Beau laughed, ducked his head. He flicked her forehead — soft, more memory than push. “Not possible. You’ll always be Bug.”
• She slapped his chest, grin splitting her face. “Asshole.”
• They carried her boxes out one by one. Cade, West, Colt, and Beck all loitered around the truck when the sun dipped low enough to call it evening. Cade popped the tailgate, tied down her duffels. West leaned on the hood with a beer, flicking bottle caps at Beck’s head every time he made a smartass comment.
• Colt handed her a flask. “For the road. Just don’t drink it at once, trouble.”
• She took it, hugged him, punched his ribs for calling her trouble. Beck lifted her up off the ground when she hugged him — loudest, rowdiest of the pack. He whispered something dumb in her ear. She slugged him in the gut and called him an inbred dickhead. They all laughed.
• Beau stood back by the old fire barrel, beer in hand, eyes on her like he could memorize the way her braid swung down her back. He told himself it was brotherly. He almost believed it.
• When the fire sparked high, the yard filled with girls — a couple local, couple Beau’d seen before, mostly hanging off the tailgate next to him. He let one slip an arm around his waist, let her run her fingers over his belt buckle. He didn’t feel it. Didn’t care. Not when Bug was standing there under the porch light, hugging Cade so tight her knuckles went white.
• “Don’t let ‘em turn you soft,” Cade muttered. “If you need anything, call. I’ll be there before you hang up.”
• Sadie sniffed, pulled back, slapped his shoulder. “Y’all act like I’m ridin’ off to damn battle.”
• “You are,” Beck yelled from the fire. “Whole world out there full of dumbasses.”
• She flipped him off over Cade’s shoulder. He cackled, tipped back his beer.
• When it was time, she climbed into that old Ford. Slammed the squeaky door shut with her hip. She looked at all of them — her rowdy, half-drunk brothers, her best friend leaning by the fire with some girl’s hand creeping under his shirt, the old barn that still smelled like oil and dust and dreams.
• Beau tipped his beer at her. “Don’t crash that old bucket.”
• She shouted back through the cracked window. “Keep your dick clean, Walker. I ain’t bailing you outta no paternity suits.”
• West doubled over laughing. Cade muttered something about washing her mouth out next time she came home. Beau just grinned — big, slow, teeth and everything.
• She gave the wheel a spin, tires popping gravel loose. Taillights bounced down the rutted drive until they disappeared over the ridge.
• When the red glow was gone, Beau tipped his hat back, looked at the fire, and let the girl on his hip slide her hand lower.
• Didn’t matter. The only thing in his head was that old Ford and a girl who wouldn’t be Bug forever.