Page 17 of The Tex Hex (Bitches With Stitches #3)

TEX

Valor’s purring is the only sound in the room, soft and steady like a heartbeat that reminds mine to keep beating.

I’ve been crying so long I don’t even notice the tissues anymore, I just grab and toss like instinct.

I’m soaked in it. Misery and snot. My eyes feel raw, my throat aches, and my chest hurts in a way that feels ancient, like grief that’s been waiting years to be named.

Some of it’s Mandy, and some of it’s old stuff. Past trauma that lives inside me like another organ.

If Mandy could see me now, of course he wouldn’t kiss me!

Not wearing my dumbest pajamas—tiny tacos and lightning bolts, because why not be tragic and ridiculous—and with my hair tied up in the most lopsided ponytail to ever disgrace a scrunchie.

I look like the kind of mess that even movie montages can’t fix.

Nash knocks and opens the door. He eyes me with empathy, and I hate that he’s seeing me at my worst and knows how badly I’m hurting. And I hate that he knows that pain firsthand.

“I’m sorry I stole your cat.” My voice barely works. “Did you come to take him back?”

He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t make it weird. Just steps in quietly. “No. My cat stole my best friend. I came to take him back.”

I don’t know why that is what makes the tears fall harder. Maybe because I needed to hear it. Maybe because it’s been so long since anyone called me theirs.

He sits beside me like I’m not a gooey mess, and when he asks, “That bad, huh?” the only answer I can give is a laugh that shatters halfway through.

“Like a prom queen that got dumped behind the gym,” I say, wiping my nose on my sleeve because I’ve run out of Kleenex and dignity. “Only worse, ‘cause I wasn’t even the prom queen. Just someone stupid enough to think I was being asked to dance.”

Hell, I never even attended my prom, just the afterparty, which was held in the bed of Johnson Briggs’ pickup truck. It was a party for two, in case that wasn’t obvious.

Nash doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to. Just being here is enough to keep me from drowning in it completely.

“I thought he wanted to kiss me,” I whisper.

“God, I felt it. The way he looked at me. Like he could actually see me. Not the performance. Not the cute act. Me. And for one second, I believed it. I leaned in and… he panicked. Pulled away like I’d hurt him.

Like I was wrong for wanting it.” My voice breaks.

I clutch Valor tighter. “I feel disgusting. Like I crossed a line. I made everything worse.”

Nash scoots closer, his big hand light on my shoulder. “You didn’t. You had a feeling, and you acted on it. You weren’t reckless or cruel or selfish or wrong. You were brave. ”

But it doesn’t feel like bravery. It feels like exposure. Like peeling my heart open just to have it flinch away. I keep seeing Mandy’s face, tight with panic, horror, the words I can’t breathe crashing into me like shards of broken glass. Cutting me to pieces.

“I wanted to be seen,” I whisper. “And I was. And he still didn’t want me.”

I always knew that when someone saw the real me, they wouldn’t want it. And I knew eventually that someone would be Mandy.

Quietly, Nash says, “Maybe he did. Maybe he does. But wanting you and being ready for you aren’t the same thing.”

I sob again because I know he’s right, and it still feels like I’m crumbling. “I thought… maybe I could be enough to help him heal.”

“You’re not supposed to heal him,” Nash says firmly. “You’re supposed to love yourself. That’s the work. That’s what Brewer’s been trying to teach you.”

I nod, shaking. My arms come around my knees, like I can hold myself together by sheer force of will. “I want to. I just… don’t know how.”

Nash squeezes my hand. “Then we’ll figure it out. One day at a time.”

I don’t answer. I just close my eyes, Valor purring like a tiny engine in my arms, and let myself fall apart a little more. Because maybe that’s how healing starts. With falling apart in front of someone who stays anyway.

“You can’t imagine how badly I wanted Brewer. And I thought, there’s a guy that has his shit together. If anyone can fix me, it’s him. But I learned real quick it doesn’t work that way. You know that,” Nash reminds me wisely.

I nod, biting the inside of my cheek, eyes blurry again. “Yeah. I know. Doesn’t stop me from wishing it did. It’s hard to love yourself when you don’t even like yourself.”

Nash snorts. “Please, what’s not to like?”

I look up at him through damp lashes, managing a ghost of a smile. “Don’t make me list it.”

Nash shakes his head. “I’m serious. You’re funny. You’re loyal. You make people feel like they matter, even when you’re falling apart inside. You’ve got this spark, Tex. This wild, weird, beautiful thing that makes people orbit around you.”

I scoff, wiping at my nose. “Yeah, until I crash into them and burn everything down.”

“Even stars have gravity,” Nash says quietly. “Even when they’re dying. And you’re not dying, Tex. You’re just hurt. Hurt doesn’t mean broken. It just means healing has to happen.”

“When did you get so smart? I guess sleeping with a therapist is literally rubbing off on you.”

Nash laughs, and a long silence stretches between us. I feel Valor’s tiny heartbeat against my ribs and Nash’s steady presence beside me. For the first time all night, my own breath doesn’t sound so loud or desperate.

I curl a hand around Valor, cheeks still wet. “You think Mandy sees any of that in me?”

“I think,” Nash says, “he sees everything in you. That’s why he ran.”

Nash leans back against the headboard, sighing like he’s been through this loop a hundred times, and maybe he has, in his own way. “Wanting someone to save you isn’t love. It’s desperation dressed up in a tux. Brewer used to say that all the time.”

I laugh softly through the ache. “Of course he did. Guy talks in metaphors like he’s got a subscription.”

Nash grins. “He’s not wrong, though. You don’t want someone who rescues you, Tex. You want someone who chooses you. Who sees the mess and the stubborn streak and still stays.”

I glance down at Valor, curled against my chest like a little weight of warmth. “I wanted that to be Mandy.”

“Maybe it still can be,” Nash says gently. “But not like this. Not when you’re hoping his love will convince you you’re worth it.”

That hits hard. Too hard. I close my eyes, throat burning. “I just didn’t wanna feel invisible anymore.”

“You’re not,” Nash says. “You’ve never been. Not to the people who see you.”

“Then why do I feel like a ghost?” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just squeezes my shoulder again. “Because you haven’t haunted the right places yet? You’re trying to live in Mandy’s heart before you’ve even moved into your own.”

That breaks something open. I cry again, quieter this time. Not the wild sobbing from before, just soft, shattered sounds. I yawn, suddenly feeling exhausted. Old and tired and hopeless and exhausted.

The silence stretches around me like a too-heavy blanket, with Valor tucked under my chin like a bandage for something deeper than skin.

“I can’t be mad at him,” I say finally, voice low and thick. “For doing the same thing I’m doing. Running from myself and hoping someone else can put me back together.”

Nash nods, just once, but it means everything.

“I want him,” I go on, the words starting to shake loose, “God, I want him. But you’re right. If I don’t want myself, if I can’t see my own worth, how the hell can I expect him to?”

My eyes sting again, but I don’t cry. I just breathe, chest heavy but steady.

“I gotta believe I’m something worth having. Worth sharing. Not just someone to fix.”

Nash leans in, bumping my shoulder gently. “You are, Tex. You’ve just gotta believe it louder than the voice that says you’re not.”

I nod again, slower this time. Valor purrs in agreement. And for the first time all night, I let that idea settle into my bones: That maybe I’m not a mess waiting to be cleaned up.

Maybe I’m a person still becoming. And I’m strong enough to evolve.

“Yeah,” I say firmly, feeling a little stronger. “I’m a strong independent man and I don’t need no guy to fix me!”

Nash chuckles and reaches for his cat. “What you are is a hot mess. But I love you, and I’m right downstairs if you need me.”

I grin through the pile of tissues and my puffy eyes. “Hot mess is still hot,” I mumble, scratching under Valor’s chin like he’s the world’s smallest emotional support panther. “Don’t forget it.”

Nash snorts, scooping up his cat, who immediately protests with an offended little meow. “Careful. Confidence looks good on you. You might start believing it.”

I flop back on my pillow, watching as Nash stands in the doorway, silhouetted by the hall light. “Thanks,” I say quietly. “For real.”

He nods, cradling Valor. “Anytime.”

He shuts the door behind him, and I stare at the ceiling, letting the quiet settle again, but it’s different now. Lighter. Like the pain’s still there, but it’s not holding me hostage anymore.

I’ll fix me. For me.

And maybe, one day, when I’m ready…

I’ll be brave enough to try again.