Because it should’ve fucking been me.
I push away from the bar, dropping a beer in front of Landon as I slide back into my abandoned seat at our table. He takes it, rolling the bottle slowly between his fingers, saying something low into the ear of the brunette beside him that makes her giggle.
Then finally he turns to me, eyes wide with something between surprise and disbelief.
“You’re not gonna believe what I just saw,” he says, a wide, lopsided grin plastered across his face.
I grunt and take a long pull from my beer, only half-listening. My eyes sweep the dance floor, searching for a petite blondewearingfucking lingerieand dancing with someone who isn’t fucking me.
But I don’t see her.
The place is packed. Too many bodies moving in rhythm, faces blurring together under the haze of neon light. My jaw aches from clenching. Every second I find a face that isn’t hers, the heat builds—like tossing fuel on an already out-of-control fire.
“Yeah?” I mutter.
“Lane and Sadie left together.”
The words hit harder than they should. Like a gut punch.
All the noise in the bar fades out—music, laughter, the clink of bottles. It’s like someone pulled the plug, and all I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears.
“She left with him?” I ask, my voice rough, barely able to get the words out.
He nods, peeling the label off his beer before looking back at me. His expression softens. Too late. He’s stepped on the landmine. “Yeah,” he says, quieter now. “They’re out in his truck.”
Something twists in my gut. I picture it before I can stop myself—her in the dark cab, breath fogging the windows, his hands tracing up her bare skin, her head tipping back as he leans in closer, claiming her. The vivid thought burns like acid crawling up my throat.
Landon exhales slowly through his nose, his arm draped across the back of the girl’s chair, scooting her closer.
“Lane’s a good guy,” he says, tone careful now. “Just…intense. It’s the quiet ones you have to worry about.”
Yup. That’s my silver bullet. Right through the heart.
And suddenly, I can’t breathe. Because I knowexactlywhat he means.
Fucking Lane Hartford.
I told my dad not to hire him. Something felt off—like he was hiding something. But dad claimed his references were solid, and he was just looking for a fresh start. There’s nothing Heath Morrow loves more than a project, and once he makes up his mind about something, there’s no changing it.
We’re all like that. The Morrow men are nothing if not stubborn.
So now Lane’s here—a permanent fixture on the ranch and a constant thorn in my side.
Before tonight, I didn’t really care about him. I just needed him to show up, keep his head down, and work. Emmett and Landon didn’t seem to mind him, but I’m not buying it. I’m not the type of person who lets their guard down easily. That’s never been me.
Trust and respect are earned, not given.
We didn’t stay at the bar much longer after that. Lydia gets a little rowdy when she drinks tequila, and she’d gotten into it with some frat douche who grabbed her ass. She was mid-swing when Emmett caught her around the middle and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
She can land a punch when she wants to.
But Brantley doesn’t tolerate brawls in his bar—and honestly, Emmett probably saved that guy’s life.
Back at the ranch, Landon invites everyone to the bunkhouse to unwind. I follow, mostly because I don’t want to go to bed yet. Sleep feels impossible.
The bunkhouse isn’t what most people picture. It’s not some row of metal bunk beds like a summer camp. My dad built it to feel more like a home—open living space, real bedrooms, even en suites. He said he wanted the crew to feel like they belonged. Like it was theirs, not just somewhere temporary.
Emmett and I lived there with the rest of the crew when we started working the ranch as teenagers. Dad made it clear fromday one—no special treatment just because we were his sons. If anything, he held us to a higher standard. He wanted us to earn it.
