The Beard by Evie Snow

Author:Evie Snow [Snow, Evie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-912305-02-5
Publisher: Exile Publishing

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Myf looked at her reflection in the mirror and cringed. A realist to her core, she knew that she was never going to be postcard material, but right now she looked like something the cat had dragged in, looked at, and then dragged right back outside again. Her face was sallow, and the capillaries around her eyes were bruised and broken from the force of throwing up. She genuinely felt like her entire body had been poisoned.

She ran some water over her hands and dragged them through her hair. With the red beast tamed as much as possible, she picked up the toothbrush Ethan had left. It was such a considerate gesture.

What the heck was she going to do about him?

Five minutes later, she opened the bathroom door feeling shaky but presentable. “It’s all yours. I’ve cleaned up as much as I could, but if you give me a mop—”

“Forget about it.” Ethan materialized in front of her, the harsh lines of his face even more pronounced with concern. “How are you feeling?”

“Still a bit wobbly, but much better now that it’s all out of my system.” She gave him a weak smile. “I might take you up on the offer of your couch for a bit.”

He thrust a glass of water into her hands. “Here. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll just be a minute.” With that, he disappeared into the bathroom she’d just vacated.

Gingerly, Myf walked over to a worn brown sofa and slumped down. After a moment, she curled her feet under her and finally took a look around Ethan’s home.

No wonder he spent so much of his time at the gym.

It consisted of a small living room combined with a postage stamp-sized kitchen, the bathroom she’d just occupied, and presumably a similarly small bedroom. It was now clear why Damon had insisted he and Gavin wouldn’t work if they couldn’t have a family house. Although, Myf imagined those two would have still decorated more than Ethan had.

The homey touches in Ethan’s place were heartbreakingly sparse.

The sofa she was sitting on and a drab green recliner were pointed toward a large flat-screen TV. Off to the side, a pine dining table with four chairs sat in front of the faded navy-blue curtains covering the single window that looked out on the street.

The only things that saved the space from being truly depressing was a bold, brightly colored child’s drawing stuck to the refrigerator and a beautifully crafted picture that hung on the wall behind the sofa.

Myf got to her knees, ignoring the soreness in her stomach, and inspected it more closely.

This had to be one of the etched leather pictures Ethan had mentioned.

Millions of tiny nicks came together on a mahogany background to form an intricate, vibrant image of a man wearing western gear—cowboy hat, jeans and shirt—and standing next to his horse. The man was facing away from the viewer, one hand raised as if smoking a cigarette, the other in his back pocket. His horse was trying to get his attention, its affection for the man obvious as it nudged his side.

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