Burly and Rugged (The Men of Silver Pine Ridge #3)

Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

CODY

C ody!”

Jax’s voice pulls me back, cutting through the low murmur of conversation around the table. I blink, dragging my attention from the grain of the wood beneath my hands to where Jax sits at the head of the table, watching me with an impatient look.

“You with us?”

The room falls quiet, eyes turning toward me. I shift in my seat, adjusting my grip on my coffee mug like it can take me back to when Lindy was up on this mountain with me.

“Yeah. Sorry,” I say, forcing myself to keep my voice steady. Nothing about my life has felt steady since Lindy left. “What was the question?”

A few chuckles break out, but Jax doesn’t smile. He just studies me the way he does when he knows something’s off.

“You tell me,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Because you’ve been sitting here staring at nothing for the last twenty minutes.”

I exhale slowly, flexing my fingers against the ceramic mug. He’s right—I haven’t heard a damn thing since this meeting started.

Jax leans forward on the table, tapping his pen against his notepad. “I was asking if you wanted to handle the next advanced survival course, but unless you plan on teaching it in your sleep, maybe we should ask someone who’s actually paying attention.”

Laughter ripples through the group, but I barely hear it. How the hell am I supposed to focus on anything else when all I can think about is Lindy?

Two weeks. That’s how long it’s been since I watched her car disappear down the dirt road, taking something with her that I didn’t know I had to give. Two weeks of trying to shove her out of my mind, to focus on work, on routine, on anything but the way she looked at me before she left—like she was waiting for me to give her a reason to stay.

And I didn’t. Like a fucking fool, I let her go.

Jax clears his throat, pulling me back to the present. “You good, man?”

I nod, pushing my coffee aside. “Yeah.”

“Then do you want the course or not?”

The question hangs in the air, but I already know the answer. I don’t want the course. I don’t want to spend the next few weeks training strangers in advanced tracking and how to hunt. I don’t want to be standing here, pretending I’m fine when everything inside me is one big, tangled mess.

“Pass,” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest.

Hank lifts a brow. “That’s a first.”

I don’t respond, and neither does Jax. He watches me for another long moment before returning to the agenda. The meeting moves on—talk of trail maintenance, security patrols, prep for the colder months ahead, finishing the last cabin for Ghost Security. It should be easy to focus on these things, but it’s not.

The pieces of my life don’t fit together anymore.

By the time the meeting wraps up, I’m already reaching for my keys, ready to get out of here, to put some distance between myself and the tight, suffocating feeling in my chest.

But Hank catches me before I can escape.

“Hold up,” he says, falling into step beside me as I head toward the door. “You’ve been acting like a man with something stuck in his teeth since we sat down. Tell me what’s going on.”

I grunt, pushing open the door and stepping out into the crisp morning air. “Nothing to tell.”

Hank barks a laugh, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Bullshit.”

I don’t respond and instead walk toward my truck, but Hank isn’t the type to let things slide. “Is this about that woman? You haven’t been the same since she was here,” he says, voice quieter now. Patient.

I stop walking. My hands tighten into fists at my sides, but I’m only mad at myself. I had a chance, and I fucking blew it.

She did feel it. I saw it in her eyes that last morning. I saw how she lingered, the way her fingers tightened around her car door like she was waiting for something—for me to stop her.

And I didn’t.

I exhale sharply, dragging a hand over my jaw. “Lindy. And yes. She has a life back in Raytown.”

Hank snorts. “Yeah? And where does that leave you?”

I grit my teeth. “It’s not that simple.”

Hank steps in front of me, blocking my path, his expression intense. “No, it’s really fucking simple. You want her. You let her leave. And now you’re standing here like a goddamn idiot, pretending that everything is fine.”

The words hit harder than they should. Because he’s right.

I can lie to myself all I want. I can tell myself that letting Lindy go was the smart choice, the right choice. That she has no business with a man like me. That I did what I had to do.

But I can’t ignore the truth clawing its way to the surface.

I miss her.

I miss her laugh, her fire, the way she pushed herself to keep up with me even when she was exhausted. I miss the way she looked at me that night, her body wrapped around mine, warm and trusting, like she belonged there.

I miss all of her.

My heart pounds as I walk to my truck.

Hank watches me and calls out. “You going to get things sorted with Lindy?”

“Yeah,” I say, confidence rushing into me. I have a new mission in my life. Win Lindy back, or die trying.

Lindy opens her door and lets out a breath, surprise written all over her face. As she exhales, she crosses her arms over her chest, like she’s bracing for impact.

I’m not a man who talks about feelings. I’ve spent my whole damn life avoiding this kind of thing—keeping my emotions in check, keeping things easy.

But nothing about Lindy is easy. So I do the hardest thing I’ve ever done—I open my damn mouth and start talking.

“Look,” I exhale, dragging a hand through my hair, feeling the weight of every single word before I say it. “I don’t know how to talk about feelings. Hell, I don’t even know where to start with this.”

Her arms stay crossed, and she watches me closely. She hasn’t slammed the door in my face, which by rights, she’d be completely justified in doing, so I push forward before I chicken out.

“I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have let you leave, not without saying anything. When you left, it felt like I was losing a part of myself. And I don’t—” I shake my head, jaw tightening before I force myself to finish, “—I don’t lose things, Lindy. I don’t let things slip through my fingers. And I sure as hell don’t let something good walk away without a fight. But you scared the living daylights out of me.”

Her lips part slightly, and her eyes soften.

“I tried,” I continue, voice rougher now. “I tried to tell myself it was better this way. That you’d go back to your life, and I’d go back to mine, and it wouldn’t matter. That you deserved a better man than me. But it does matter, and not seeing you hurts.” I take a step closer, my pulse hammering. “It fucking hurts not to see you every day.”

She shifts her weight, dropping her arms. “You let me leave,” she says, her voice soft. “I waited, Cody. I waited for you to say something—anything. And you didn’t.”

The guilt hits hard and fast. She’s right. I could have stopped her, but I didn’t. I was too damn afraid of what was going on in my heart.

“I know,” I admit, and it kills me to say it. “And I hate that I did. But I thought—” I exhale, shaking my head. “I thought I was doing the right thing. Letting you go before you realized I wasn’t good enough for you. Before I lost my heart to you forever.”

She swallows. “Do you mean that?”

I hold her gaze. “About losing my heart to you? Absolutely.”

The silence between us stretches, and Lindy lets out a soft, shaky breath. “I felt it too, you know,” she says, her voice raw, honest. “Out there. With you. I just about died when you let me leave The Lodge without saying anything. I was so sure there was something real between us.”

“You weren’t wrong,” I admit. “It’s… I was so scared, Lindy. In ways that not even war scared me. You asked about why I left the Army. It was because of my knee. Obviously, it didn’t cripple me, but when I was forced to leave the Army, I lost my identity. I told you about how all the men in my family were military men. I didn’t know how to be a man if I wasn’t an Army man. I lost confidence in myself—I didn’t know who I was.”

“Oh, Cody,” Lindy says, her voice heavy with emotion. “I’m so sorry.”

“And so,” I say, trying to regain control of my emotions, “it knocked me sideways—hard—when I fell for you. I didn’t think I’d ever find a woman that would make me want to open myself to love, but you did, Lindy. And it fucking terrified me. I realized that when I lost confidence in myself after coming home from the Army, receiving your love was a dream I was scared to believe in. Before I met you, I was merely existing. Now? I want everything with you, Lindy.”

My heart slams against my ribs. For the first time since I knocked on her door, the hesitation in her eyes is gone.

I step toward her and lift my hands slowly, giving her time to pull away. When she doesn’t, I cup her face, my thumbs brushing over her cheekbones, my fingers threading into the soft hair at the nape of her neck. Fuck. Touching her again feels like coming home. No fucking way am I walking away from her ever again.

Her breath catches, and she tilts her head up. That’s the only sign I need.

I crush my mouth to hers, and everything else disappears.

There’s nothing soft about this kiss—it’s raw, desperate, built from days of missing her, of wanting her, of regretting not stopping her before she left Silver Pine Ridge.

Lindy gasps into my mouth, her fingers tangling in my shirt, pulling me closer. I slide one hand down, gripping her waist, feeling the warmth of her body pressed against mine.

I groan when she presses up on her toes, molding herself against me, her lips parting, letting me take what I need.

And I do.

I kiss her like I’m making up for lost time. Like I can erase the fucking mistake of letting her walk away.

She moans softly, her hands moving up my chest, over my shoulders, curling into my hair, tugging me down harder.

My pulse pounds in my ears, my body aching for more, for all of her, for everything I should have claimed the night she left.

I pull back just enough to rest my forehead against hers, our breaths mingling, uneven and heavy. Her hands slide down my chest, fingers curling against my shirt like she doesn’t want to let go.

“Tell me you’re staying,” she whispers.

“I’m never letting you go.”