No one spoke. The silence wasn’t hostile. It was stunned.
I stood there beside him—headache forgotten, my chest tight—and for one reckless second, I wanted to reach for him, steady him, kiss him—ridiculous, badly timed, and dangerous. I crushed the urge flat. This was not the moment.
“I’ve taken legal steps to take control of his medical care.” He paused again. “And I know you’ve been trying to help, to make things okay, and I… thank you… But this stops now, with me.”
Jake huffed. “We’re all here to?—”
“This is on me, Jake. I need you to come tomeif he starts anything, all of you, and you can trust that Iwillhandle it. I don’t need you to keep secrets; I can handle this. Leaving people vulnerable to him is on me. I’m sorry.” He met each person’s gaze in turn, and one by one they nodded, and there were a few murmured, “Yes, boss.”
“Miguel, you need to report what happened, so it’s on record. And you, Lucas, you need to report what you saw.”
“No disrespect, boss, but what’s done is done,” Miguel said and met my gaze.
I was torn for about five seconds. I’d seen violence before—had been on the receiving end of it, learned the shape of it, the way it lived in a body long after the moment passed—but I’d never seen anything like the raw pain written across Jesse’s face now or the pleading in Miguel’s expression. Jessewasn’t bluster, control, or anger turned inward. This was a man standing up in front of his people and taking ownership of every failure, every bruise he hadn’t stopped, every word he should have cut off sooner. And watching him do it made me proud.
“Agreed,” I said, and it was as if the room let out a collective sigh of relief. “As long as he stays off our property.”
Jesse nodded, still pale.
“So, can we go now?” Colt asked, already standing and placing his Stetson on his head. He crossed to Jesse and shook his hand. “Here if you need me, boss. You don’t have to carry it alone.”
One by one, everyone else did the same, and I watched them go, until only Ruth and I were left.
Ruth hesitated, hands twisting in front of her like she wasn’t sure she had the right. Then, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Jesse, quick and fierce.
He went rigid at first, as if he’d forgotten how to be touched. His shoulders were locked, spine straight, breath held. For a heartbeat, I thought he might pull away.
Then something gave.
He sagged into her a little, and Ruth murmured something I couldn’t hear. Jesse closed his eyes.
I stayed where I was. Every part of me wanted to close the distance anyway—to touch him, to kiss him, to anchor him—but I held myself still. This wasn’t my moment to step into, and all too soon, Ruth backed away, and Jesse turned to me after she left. It seemed as if he might have a lot to say, and I almost expected him to say he agreed to selling, it wasthat kind of moment. Instead, he extended his hand, and I shook it.
“Thank you,” he said, then he left in a flurry of icy wind.
I didn’t give myself time to think. I followed him.
I rushed to catch up, and he was halfway to the house when I got close. “Wait!”
He stopped and turned, catching me as my hip twinged, and I lost balance. Whatever control he’d been gripping had finally slipped. The look on his face—raw, stripped bare, furious—hit me low and hard, and closing the distance, he kept a hand on me going into the house, and shutting the door behind us, then he scrubbed at his eyes, and let out a low groan.
“Jesse?” I wrapped my arms around him, something telling me he needed that show of support, and I was a tactile person, my emotions upside down. He’d said his dad was probably something to do with my grandfather passing, at least indirectly, but it meant nothing when I saw the obvious pain in Jesse.
He kissed me, hard and fast, then stumbled back, heading for his room, and I didn’t even think when I followed him and pushed him against the nearest wall, mouth hot, gripping my shoulders, my chest, he rocked into me, and the sound he made was low and wrecked and went straight through me.
I should’ve let it go. Should’ve turned around, walked out, pretended the way my pulse jumped every time he got too close was stress or some other bullshit excuse. But I didn’t.
Instead, I stepped forward, close enough to smell thesweat and leather. His brown eyes burned into mine, all that frustration and want tangled together, and I knew—fuck, I knew—if I touched him, there’d be no going back.
What about the sale? What about the big-ass decision between us?
“You don’t want this,” he warned.
My hand landed on his hip, fingers digging in through the worn denim, and his breath stuttered as if he’d been gut-punched. For a second, he didn’t move. Then, his hands were on me, rough and desperate, shoving at my coat, yanking it down my arms, then ripping his own off, layers of clothes ending up on the living room floor. His mouth crashed into mine, all teeth and hunger, and I groaned into it, my hands flying to his face, thumbs pressing into the stubble on his cheeks.
We stumbled. His back hit the wall by the window with a thud, and I crowded him, my thigh forcing its way between his legs. His hips jerked forward, and I could feel him—hard, thick, trapped behind his zipper. My cock ached, straining in my slacks, and I ground against him, the friction making us both gasp. He scrambled to yank the drapes shut, gripping me as he slammed the door shut and flicked on a lamp. I followed him, stealing kisses.
“Fuck,” he rasped, his voice raw. “Lucas, we can’t?—”
