Powerless (Chestnut Springs Book 3)

Jasper: Is there a way out at the other end of the hallway?

Cade: There’s an emergency exit.

Rhett: Fuuuuucckk. Are you breaking our cousin out of her shitty, stuffy wedding?

Jasper: Yes. Come up with a distraction and text me when it’s safe for us to run.

Rhett: Can I pull the fire alarm?

Cade: I will come up with something.

Rhett: I’ve always wanted to pull the fire alarm.

Cade: You did. I had to wait for your dumb ass after school while you finished detention for weeks.

Jasper: Guys?

Cade: Willa has a plan. That might actually be worse. But when I say go . . . go. You need to run.

Sunny.

I wonder if he knows what that nickname does to me. How it makes my stomach flip.

If he knows, he shows no sign of it. Because, right now, I barely recognize the man before me. Jasper has been in my life for almost two decades and I’ve never seen him look so . . . deadly.

Not even on the ice.

He leads me across the room but stops short at the sound of voices. Sterling. My parents.

God. How many people heard the words exchanged in here today?

With a deep rumble from his chest, he fishes his phone from the inside of his suit jacket. His lean fingers are flying across the screen.

“What are you doing?” I ask to his back because I haven’t gained the courage to get that close to the door yet.

I want to leave, but I don’t want to look everyone in the eye. They’ll try to convince me to stay, and I just want to go back to where I always felt safest as a little girl. I long for that place and the simplicity of life that came with it. It’s a deep pull in my chest I can’t ignore.

“Texting my brothers.”

“For what?” I step forward and peek over the crest of his bicep, glancing down at the screen. Reading the messages that pop up between him and my cousins raptly.

“Help,” is his gruff reply. He turns to me a moment later, a hint of steel peeking out from beneath his handsome features. “You should lose the shoes.”

My face turns down as I lift my skirt. “The shoes?”

“Yeah. Hard to run in.”

My toes wiggle, the pink polish glinting under cheap fluorescent lights. I want to tell Jasper that I could easily run in these. I love a good pair of heels, and I’ll suffer in them all day. But my almost-future-mother-in-law chose these, and they aren’t me at all.

The thought of getting out of them is just too tempting.

With a brusque nod, I fist the skirt and pull it up a few inches to bend over. But before I can, Jasper crouches before me. Deft fingers make quick work of the dainty silver buckles while I stand here slack-jawed, watching this man drop to one knee just to take my shoes off, running calloused palms reverently around my ankle as he tugs my feet free.

Without looking up, he hands the sparkly heel to me as he taps the opposite foot. And not for the first time, I’m stuck staring at Jasper Gervais with my heart pounding while he goes about what he’s doing like it’s the most mundane thing in the world.

“There,” he says, glancing up at me with the ankle strap dangling from his outstretched finger.

It’s hard not to admire him on his knees, but it’s his thumb that makes me gasp. The one pressing into the arch of my foot, like he just can’t help but massage me.

“Sore?” His Adam’s apple works as he swallows, one knee on the ground while the other is up, making his slacks stretch across his muscular thighs in the most delicious way.

What kind of man stops in the middle of breaking me out of my sham of a wedding to rub my sore feet?

A damn good one.

I shouldn’t be salivating over him on what was supposed to be my wedding day. But salivating over Jasper Gervais is part of my personality at this point.

“No, I’m fine,” I say quickly, pulling my foot back down to the floor. Feeling more grounded on my bare feet.

I step ahead, rounding Jasper as he pushes to stand, and press my ear against the door. It’s hard to make much out beside hushed tones and the deep baritone of what I recognize as my dad’s voice.

“Ready, Sloane?”

“For what?” I whisper, leaning on the door like it might help me catch a few words,

“To run.”

My head flips in his direction. “You’re going to help me literally become a runaway bride?”

Jasper smiles and his eyes soften, creases popping up beside them. He’s always been my gentle giant. Tall, quiet, and good down to the marrow of his bones. “That’s what friends are for.”

Friends.

That word has haunted me for years. As a child, I felt special when he called me his friend, but as an adult? As a woman? Watching other women prance around on his arm at different events while I get called his friend?

It kills me.

And I’m perpetually too chickenshit to do anything about it. The timing is always off. And I have tucked my tail between my legs since he turned me down for prom, and then again in a more joking way.

If we lived together, I wouldn’t have to inconvenience you like this.

It was an offhanded remark that rolled off the tip of my tongue far too easily as he helped me mount a TV to the wall in my new condo. He parried it away effortlessly with a deep chuckle as he hefted that flat screen onto the mount, like he was swatting at a mosquito buzzing around his head.

Like that would ever happen.

He said those words to me one year ago, and I took a hint. I decided having Jasper as a friend is better than alienating him altogether. And that’s what blurting out my feelings would do. So I let it go. I may be stupidly obsessed with the man, but I have some sense of self-preservation. I like to think I have some dignity. But lately I’m questioning even that.

Realizing I’ve been staring at him blankly for far too long, I ask, “How are we going to do that?”

He hikes a thumb in the opposite direction from the church entrance. “Emergency exit is that way. Cade and Willa planned a distraction. And then we’re just gonna . . .” He shrugs, looking so damn boyish as he does. “Give er.”

“Give ’er?”

His laugh is a deep, amused rumble. It pulls me toward him and draws my cheeks up into a grin; it soothes me in a way I can’t explain.

He nods and it’s so sure. Decisive. There’s something reassuring about knowing he’ll always have my back, that he can take an out-of-control situation and make it feel in control somehow. “Yeah. Like . . . go hard. Give ’er shit.”

I quirk my head. “Is this a hockey saying?”

“Come to think of it, probably. Yes.”

“Okay. Let’s give ‘er,” I agree with a light laugh.

But a serious expression flashes across his face. “You sure about this, Sunny?”

Sunny. I can’t stop myself from flinching this time. I think he notices it because confusion flashes across his chiseled face. And all I can bring myself to do is nod. Decisively.

His phone dings, distracting us both. And then he’s reaching for my hand, twining his fingers between mine, and carefully twisting the deadbolt on the door.

Before stepping into the hallway, I hear a pained shout. “Ah! My baby!”

When we peek into the hallway seconds later, all backs are turned to us. Willa is down on all fours in the foyer, grasping at her stomach dramatically while Cade stands by, arms crossed, gruffly asking if she’s okay while trying not to roll his eyes.

I’m momentarily confused. Because if I know Cade, he’s as protective as they come, and seeing the mother of his child down on the floor in pain would have him wild.

Willa’s chin tips up in our direction, and she winks, before falling into another chorus of loud wails. “Please! I need a doctor!”

I have to press my palm over my mouth to keep from laughing at how ridiculous this plan is. All Jasper does is shake his head, squeeze my hand reassuringly in his, and take off for the back door.

I run barefoot down the carpeted hallway, taking the biggest strides I can muster while desperately trying to control the laughter bubbling in my chest.

It’s freeing. It’s a relief. And before we hit the door, my fingers loosen around the sparkly heels in my hand.

I drop them like Cinderella and step out into a dull November afternoon, with my palm pressed tight against Jasper’s.

“How much farther?” I huff, out of breath after running a few blocks in a big, heavy dress topped with a hefty dose of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Jasper slows, giving me a slight grimace. “Sorry. I parked at the stadium. Hadn’t planned on being your getaway vehicle.” His fingers pulse on mine as he draws me close to his side. And then his tone changes. “Though maybe I should have.”

His eyes drop, like he’s embarrassed by what he just said, and he lurches to a halt. “Jesus, Sloane. Your feet. I didn’t even think beyond getting you out that door.” Eyes glued to the ground, he gestures me behind him, and I realize he’s staring at my feet. My bare feet on a cold winter sidewalk. “Why didn’t you say anything? You got something against your feet? I feel like I’m the only one who takes care of them.”

“Don’t worry about my feet. It’s this fucking hairdo that’s killing me.” I probe at the spot where I can feel tiny hairs tugging against my scalp.

His lips tip down in a surly frown, and then he crouches. “Hop up.”

“You want to give me a piggyback ride?”

He shoots me a playful look over his shoulder, one that takes me back to long, hot summers spent floating the river, splashing, and staring at Jasper Gervais, who seemed all man to me even at seventeen.

Wish I could go back and warn that Sloane about how he’d grow up to look.

Which is to say, devastating.

“Wouldn’t be the first time. Let’s go. I don’t want Woodcock to catch up with us and throw a tantrum.”

I can’t help the small laugh that erupts from me. Or that my fingers are already gripping at my skirt as I climb Jasper like a tree. Once I get close enough, he hefts me up easily, and I realize I weigh nothing to him.

A tiny ballerina being toted around by a huge hockey player.

In her fucking wedding dress.

Giggles overtake me, and I wrap my arms around Jasper’s neck, snuggling into the warmth of his body. I feel the vibrations of his laughter against my chest, and my nipples rasp against the inside of my bodice.

“This is insane.” I drop my head to the back of his neck, the tips of his hair brushing against my forehead.

“No.” He hikes me up higher on his back as we enter the hockey arena parking lot, and I struggle against the tight dress to keep my legs wrapped around the wide expanse of his back. “Taking Woodcock as a legal name is insane.”

“Jasper.” I swat at his shoulder. “Be nice.”

“No, thanks. I’m over being nice to that guy,” he grumbles, still ornery over dinner the other night. Not that I can blame him.

“I was planning to hyphenate?”

“Winthrop-Woodcock is no better, babe.”

I snort and am about to pester him back when I hear it. A tearing sound.

Oh my god.

Jasper freezes momentarily. “Was that . . .”

Silent laughter racks my body. “My dress? Yup.”

“Are you . . .”

“My ass still feels covered. No breeze yet.” I reach one hand back to run it over my butt—just in case. “It’s still just my hair that hurts,” I admit.

He just grumbles, picking up his pace and looking around like he’s annoyed by the idea of someone seeing what isn’t even showing. Annoyed by my hair being too tight.

I don’t know when Jasper got so . . . overprotective?

“There it is.”

The lights flash on a silver Volvo SUV, and I sigh in relief. Sure, those shoes were torture, but running barefoot on cold concrete is a close second in the discomfort department.

He places me down at the passenger’s side, but his hands don’t leave my body. His palm splays against my hip as he opens the door and lifts me into the seat. He even reaches for the seat belt to buckle me in before he stops himself.

Navy eyes land on mine momentarily and then drop to my lips. He shakes his head, his tall frame backing out of the car away from me.

He’s about to slam the door, but stops, startling me as he wrenches it back open, steps up close, and bites out, “You know what?” He reaches for my hair and gentle hands land in my tresses. “This fucking thing needs to go.”

I don’t know how he manages it, but with one well-placed tug, he pulls the main crystal-encrusted needle from my hair and tosses it on the ground. The tinny clang of it landing against the asphalt sounds loud in an otherwise quiet moment. There’s something symbolic about it.

The relief I feel is instant. The spot that hurt doesn’t anymore.

My hair tumbles freely around my cheeks, and he watches it sway. For a moment, his eyes heat and shock me when they land back on my lips.

“Is that better?” he rumbles.

My heartbeat thumps heavily in my ears and I offer a silent nod back. Not sure what to say. Trying to make sense of this version of my friend. Protective and possessive, devotion fortifying every move he makes.

He mirrors my nod wordlessly, then he steps back and slams the door.

Within moments he’s settled in the driver’s seat, and we pull out of the facility in silence. What felt like relief and freedom before slowly morphs into shock and a steady state of nausea.

A tense moment of what the fuck was that hair thing?

A heavy dose of what have I done?

I run through the conversations I’ll need to have. The contracts we’ll need to pay for a wedding that never happened. The move I’ll have to make out of Sterling’s penthouse.

Dread sinks like a heavy stone into my gut.

“Fuck my life,” I mutter, watching the city streets bleed into the freeway that leads out to Chestnut Springs.

“We still good?” I sense Jasper’s nervous glances. I know him well enough to recognize he’s stressing right now. Worrying. He’s always been good at worrying, so his anxiety is probably kicking in something fierce.

“Yeah. I could use a drink though.”

He nods, and within minutes we pull into a liquor store.

“I’ll get—” he starts, but I hop out of the car and walk toward the store like a thirsty, stunned, barefoot bride-zombie.

With long strides, he rushes ahead to pull the door open for me. As I cross the threshold, I don’t make eye contact, but I can feel him regarding me like he thinks I might snap. I think I already have.

Inside, it reeks of stale beer and Pine-Sol.

Jasper turns to peer around the small store. It’s more of a wide hallway, packed a little too tight. Kind of like the guy behind the counter, bulging out of his shirt.

“Welcome,” he grumbles, scrolling through his phone, not sparing us a glance.

“Do you want . . . Champagne?” Jasper lifts a bottle of the nicest champagne on the shelf, which is not saying much for this dive. “To . . . celebrate?”

I snort at that. “No.” I roll my lips together and keep walking further back. “I want something fattening and lowbrow. Something Sterling and my dad would never approve of.”

I hear Jasper’s chuckle behind me as I stalk toward the cold beer section at the back. The way he laughs, all soft and deep, never fails to make me feel like I’m sinking into a warm bath. He’s so serious sometimes that when he laughs, it’s precious somehow.

The grit on the floor against my bare feet makes me smile. Sterling and my dad would definitely not approve of this, so I press my soles down harder, rolling through my full foot, hoping the bottoms are black by the time I’m done shopping. A completely inconsequential rebellion, but a satisfying one nonetheless.

I stop and take in the cooler shelves. And there it is. Like a glowing beacon before me.

Buddyz Best Beer.

It’s really the Z that seals the deal for me. It’s so unnecessary. So improper. The cans look thin—cheap—with a poorly drawn cartoon basset hound on the front.

“Perfect,” I murmur reverently as I reach forward and grab the six-pack.

When I spin around, Jasper is smirking at me. “Buddyz Best is perfect?”

“Yes.” I lift the cans to my face and stare at the droopy faced, sad-looking dog. I feel like a basset hound inside right now. “Buddy is the perfect man for me. Cheap. Alcoholic. And most importantly, not a human male at all.”

The grin I give my friend is unhinged at best as I storm to the till and plop the beer down on the counter. Finally, the man lifts his chin from his phone where he’s watching what appears to be competitive bowling.

His eyes assess me before dropping to the beer and glancing back up at Jasper. This guy looks like he’s seen some shit. I expect him to have questions, but all he says is, “Congratulations, you two,” as he scans the beer and tells me the total in a bored tone.

I reach for my purse but realize I left it behind when we ran.

A long arm reaches over me, tossing down a ten-dollar bill. “Keep the change,” Jasper says. He guides me out of the store with a gentle hand cupping my elbow, eyes fixed on my bare feet. “Sunny, you’re gonna need a bath when we get to the ranch.”

“Maybe if I drink enough of these”—I lift the six-pack, feeling a little loopy—“I’ll invite you to join me.”

Jasper just stares back at me, jaw popping like I’ve pissed him off. Not a single word crests his lips, not a single tug up on his cheeks.

“Just kidding!” is what I fill the awkward silence with before turning and scurrying back to the comfortable SUV. I strap myself in, crack a cheap-ass beer, and take a deep swig in an incredibly sad attempt to drink my problems away and forget the off-color joke I just blurted out.

Jasper and I drive in total silence. I continue to drink and he makes no comment on that. Instead, he just grips the steering wheel like he’s trying to strangle it while keeping intense eyes on the road.

And after my third beer on an empty stomach, I feel a little bit better. Also a little bit drunk.

So I monologue, like I often do with Jasper. “You know I didn’t want an ugly fall wedding. I wanted a spring wedding. I wanted a flowy, feminine dress and an outdoor ceremony. No uptight tuxedos, and definitely no black bridesmaid dresses.” I hold up my hand, staring at the rock about the size of the iceberg that sunk the Titanic. “And I hate this ring. I saw one at a little boutique on Sixteenth Avenue—you know that funky area? It was a purple oval sapphire. How cool is a purple sapphire? And they set it sideways in matte yellow gold. Sterling said it was ‘weird’ and then gave me this ring the next week. I swear he picked the opposite of anything I’d ever want on purpose.”

“Romantic,” Jasper says, his jaw ticking with tension.

I drink silently, stewing over the fact I pretended I liked this ring when he gave it to me because I didn’t want to offend anyone.

When we pull into Wishing Well Ranch, Harvey’s truck is in the driveway, even though we thought he and Beau were going to be at the wedding. Jasper and I exchange a confused look, and the second his vehicle is in park, he’s skipping steps to get to the front door. I run after him, heart pounding, because something is off.

Inside, Harvey is sitting at the expansive kitchen table with a big glass of bourbon gripped between his palms. An odd shade of green colors his complexion.

Jasper freezes in the doorway, staring at him.

“What’s wrong?” I ask instantly because it’s one of those moments when you can just tell.

The house is too dark, too quiet.

My uncle, who is always all smiles and warm gazes, looks gutted.

Harvey doesn’t comment on my bare feet or ask why I’m here. Instead, his eyes latch onto Jasper’s and he says, “Beau is missing.”