Page 16 of The Tex Hex (Bitches With Stitches #3)

Something between a laugh and a sigh comes from my mouth. The tightness in my chest doesn’t vanish, but it loosens just enough to let me stand a little taller.

He smooths my lapel with a final pat and meets my eyes. “Now c’mon. Let me show you off.”

The scent of antiseptic and warm bread rolls hits me the second we step into the dining hall, a bizarre but familiar cocktail of memory and comfort.

It’s decorated better than I expected, with twinkle lights strung along the ceiling beams, linen tablecloths, and a decent jazz trio in the corner.

Tex looks around like he’s walked into the Ritz, his eyes wide and glittering.

We don’t get three steps before someone spots me.

“Mandy Cahill, as I live and breathe,” croaks a voice from a wheelchair by the far wall. It’s Mr. Dalton, Army Airborne, Vietnam era, sharp as a tack with a wicked sense of humor. “Come here, you tall bastard.”

I lean down and shake his hand gently. “Evening, sir.”

“And who’s this?” he asks, eyeing Tex with blatant curiosity.

I glance at Tex, who’s already offering his best smile, dimples and all. “This is Tex. A friend.”

Dalton’s eyes narrow with amusement. “A friend, huh?” Then he sticks out his hand. “You serve, son?”

Tex nods without missing a beat. “Yes, sir. Army, same as Mandy.”

Dalton hums thoughtfully. “Well, good. Good. Ain’t nothing better than two soldiers sticking together. Brings a little dignity to the place, having the two of you here. Real sharp, the both of you.”

Tex beams and thanks him, and I think I see the old man wink at me before someone wheels him away to the buffet line.

We continue making a circuit, and more residents call out greetings.

Mr. Nguyen with his ever-present crossword puzzle, Mrs. Holloway, who still insists I’m her grandson, and Big Walt, with whom I used to play dominoes in the common room.

Each of them greets me with warmth and recognition.

When I introduce Tex, he gives them the same respect and easy charm, like he belongs here just as much as I ever did.

“Why do I feel like you’d fit right in here?” I mutter, watching him charm yet another resident with a wink and a compliment.

“Are you kidding me?” he whispers back, leaning close like we’re sharing a scandalous secret. “I bet they have hot nurses, plenty of meds— the good kind —and I think they hand out snacks for prizes at bingo. I’d be running the activities department in no time.”

I snort, trying to smother the laugh that bubbles up, but it’s no use. Tex’s grin widens at the sound.

“You’re something else.”

“Yeah, but I’m your something else tonight,” he says, then bumps his shoulder into mine with a grin so blinding, I almost forget where we are.

Almost.

We linger at the edge of the room, the warm hum of conversation and clinking cutlery giving way to the slow rhythm of a song drifting through the speakers.

The lights are dimmer now, low enough to make everything soft and golden.

I’ve just started to wonder how much longer we need to stay when Tex turns to me, one eyebrow arched in that infuriatingly confident way of his.

“You gonna ask me to dance, or what?” he says, hands on his hips. “Because I’m getting real tired of waiting.”

My heart skips. I glance toward the small dance floor, the couples swaying in the center of the room, radiant and relaxed in a way I’ve never been. My palms already sweat at the thought of being that exposed, of standing out.

“I don’t… I’m not much of a dancer,” I mutter, but the words feel hollow in my mouth, especially with him looking at me like that. I was afraid of this from the moment he laid eyes on the invitation in my kitchen.

“Lucky for you, I am,” he says. Then softer, “Come on, Big Guy. Just one.”

So I let him take my hand. He leads us to the edge of the floor, but before we step into the main space, I tug us subtly toward a corner where it’s darker, safer, less chance of too many eyes.

Tex doesn’t complain. He just steps close and lays his hands gently on my shoulders, guiding me in slow movements. I’m stiff at first, wooden and out of rhythm, but he’s patient, and he keeps smiling. Every now and then, he hums along under his breath, and God help me, I start to relax.

And then he lays his head on my shoulder.

I feel him breathe me in, his chest rising slowly against mine, and then a quiet sigh of what sounds like contentment. His arms loop around my waist without urgency, and it undoes me.

“I wanted to feel your hands on me, but I didn’t know how else to ask,” he admits boldly. If I had his courage, this night might turn out a lot differently, but I don’t, unfortunately. Somehow, I always manage to get in my own way.

He could be at the center of the dance floor, dazzling everyone. He should be. God, the way he moves, the way the low lighting makes his eyes gleam and his body sway like the music was made for him—he deserves all of that.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur near his ear. “You should be out there, in the center. Where everyone can see you.”

Tex doesn’t lift his head. His voice is muffled by my suit jacket. “Why?”

“Because you’re beautiful. You move like the music belongs to you. And you don’t deserve to be tucked away in the shadows with someone like me.”

Someone who looks like me. Like a monster.

Ugly.

Scarred.

Deformed.

He finally looks up, those big bright eyes locking onto mine. “I don’t care where we are, Mandy. Corners, shadows, front and center, I’d dance with you in a parking lot if you held me like this.”

I swallow hard. My grip tightens, but I don't say anything, because if I do, I’m afraid I’ll say too much.

They don’t play another song after that one, just a soft chime of silverware against glass, and polite applause as the night begins to wind down.

The staff starts clearing tables, and a few couples linger on the floor.

But Tex slowly unwinds his arms from around me, tilting his head to look up at me with flushed cheeks and a lazy smile that does something dangerous to my heart.

“Guess we’ve dazzled them enough,” he says.

“Yeah,” I murmur, clearing my throat as I guide us off the floor. “Time to make our great escape.”

Outside, the night air feels like a relief, like a balm against my tightly wired nerves, and I breathe deeply for the first time in hours.

I open the passenger door for Tex, mostly to give myself a moment to breathe, and once he’s in, I round the front of the car, smoothing my jacket like it’ll calm the nerves sparking under my skin.

The inside of the car is dim, soft golden light from the dash glowing over his features. I start the engine and grip the wheel tighter than I need to with damp palms.

We don’t speak for the first few minutes. The silence isn’t awkward. It’s heavy. Loaded. The kind that charges the air like a summer storm.

At the next red light, Tex slides his hand across the console, fingers brushing mine like he’s asking permission before lacing them together.

My stomach flips. My heart stutters like it’s been yanked out of rhythm.

When I look at him, his lips are parted slightly, eyes shining. Hopeful. Nervous, maybe, but not uncertain.

He’s thinking about it. About kissing me. I know it like I know my own name.

God help me, I’m thinking about it too.

It’s not really a thought, it’s a feeling. An irresistible urge that’s hard to deny. And everything in me prickles with want. But also fear.

We pull into the driveway of Serenity House, and I put the car in park.

The tension coils tighter, hot and suffocating, gnawing at my insides like my own ribs are trying to collapse. I want to lean in. I want to kiss him until all the static in my head goes quiet.

But I can’t move.

My body freezes up. I don’t even notice that he’s the one who leans in, his breath ghosting over mine, warm and slow. His nose bumps mine. His lips are so close, I can smell the fruity gloss making them all shiny and kissable.

“I can’t breathe,” I choke out. I jerk back. My hands slam the steering wheel. My chest is tight, like I’ve been underwater too long. “Just—just go. Get out. I can’t?—”

Tex blinks at me, stunned. His expression twists in slow motion—confused, hurt, then blank. He releases my hand like it’s burned him, and fumbles for the door handle.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, but it’s too late.

He’s already gone.

“Tactical Glitter,” I whisper, like a prayer. Like a code word to call him back. But the door thuds shut behind him.

I grip the steering wheel hard enough to make the leather creak, staring straight ahead like maybe if I don’t move, I won’t feel the sharp, gutting emptiness he left behind.

But I do.

God, I do.

My chest heaves like I’ve run a mile, but I haven’t moved an inch. I squeeze my eyes shut. The panic isn’t gone, it’s just mutating, twisting itself into shame, into regret, into something thick and awful that settles in my gut like cement.

He was so close. He was trying. And I?—

I flinched.

Again.

The voice in my head sounds like Brewer’s, wise but blunt: You can’t heal what you keep running from, Mandy.

But I wasn’t running from Tex. I was running from myself.

From what I’ve been. What I still feel like. Scarred. Dangerous. A loaded gun I can’t always control. And Tex deserves soft. He deserves gentle. He deserves everything I still don’t know how to be.

I sit there for a long time, gripping the wheel like it might keep me from unraveling, whispering the stupid safeword to the empty seat beside me.

“Tactical Glitter.”

Please come back.

Please don’t give up on me.