Chapter 18
Going Solo: Ignoring teammates and making a selfish run.
Translation: Being selfish feels wrong . . . but sometimes, it’s exactly right.
Everly
“Top of the morning!” Trista exclaims as she slams the brakes of her ATV in front of my cabin, sending a spray of gravel and
dust all around her. “Looks like someone has been struck by the luck of the Irish!”
I nearly trip down the flight of steps off my deck as I gape at my aunt. “Excuse me?”
“I mean, lucky for you, I just happened to be driving by and can give you a ride down to Mount Millie for our big meeting with Wyatt and Calder this morning.”
“Oh . . . um . . .” My eyes instantly move to the red barn. The red barn where Wolf is currently located. The red barn where
I had my first orgasm of my life last night and then awkwardly skuttled out of while my other luck of the Irish was in the
shower.
I cringe as I flash back to our text exchanges Wolf and I had after he got out of the shower to discover that I’d left.
Me: Thanks for the [tongue emoji]. Let me know when I can return the favor! [Dancing emoji, eggplant emoji, water droplet emoji]
Him: Where the fuck are you?
Me: Back at my cabin. Figured you needed some sleep after all that effort. Big day of work tomorrow.
Him: You walked back alone at midnight?
Me: Yep! No rogue goose attacks this time, thank goodness. Sorry if your bed looks like a Christmas tree wreath exploded on it.
I’m still picking out pine needles!
Him: Nothing about this is okay, Everly.
Me: Our dragon was judging me, so I had to get out of there. Rugby should have never seen his mother like that. I’ll pay for
his therapy.
Him: We will discuss this in person.
Me: No need! I’m cool, I swear.
“Get in, kid,” Trista says, her brows waggling excitedly at me.
With a deep breath, I climb into the side-by-side and gird my loins for the conversation I’m betting we’re about to have.
The kind where Trista tells me how, on second thought, it’s horribly inappropriate for me to kiss her employee. He’s too valuable
around here to mess with, and she’d appreciate it if I could refrain from acting on my urges in the future.
And I will agree with her and promise it will never ever happen again.
And tell myself to never tell a soul about what we did later that night because, clearly, I was drunk on mountain air.
Hopped up from the adrenaline of nearly being attacked by a storybook-looking goose.
All that fear gave me temporary amnesia, and I just forgot that it was my best friend’s brother who confessed his woes to me and then tongue-fucked my pussy like he was trying to win an Olympic gold medal in competitive cunnilingus.
It was a onetime thing, and I deserve the shame I carry for carelessly crossing all those boundaries.
“When is Stevie coming back from Grandma’s?” I ask, glancing into the back seat and wishing my tiny, cute cousin were here
to serve as a buffer for this awkward chat.
“They’re doing pool time at Max’s, so not until later. Let’s take the scenic way down to the center, shall we?” she asks and
heads toward the trails between Luke’s cabin and mine. “Calder works so hard on these trails to take his insane cats for walks,
and I never use them.”
Without waiting for my reply, she takes off like a shot, wind whipping her hair around as the ATV bucks and rattles through
the carved trail. Trista grins as she blasts through a shallow area of the stream that runs behind my cabin. Her eyes spark
with the kind of wild joy that scares the shit out of me. The trees crowd the path she’s driving on, and I duck and cover
when the ATV scrapes against some hanging branches.
Finally, she hits a dirt clearing that’s at the very peak of the mountain. Just as I think she might fling me over the edge
for being such a hot mess, she parks right on the edge, giving me the most stunning view of the backside of Fletcher Mountain,
which I’ve never seen before.
It’s steep with dense forest that looks impossible to tame. There are several areas of exposed dirt and stubborn roots, where
I suspect some landslides have occurred. Honestly, it’s all very raw and shocking back here. Terrifying to think we live next
to all this nature.
But as my eyes take in the rough terrain, I can’t help but see the beauty in it.
It’s kind of like my uncles before they found Trista, Dakota, and Addison.
They used to be these rough, uncivilized troublemakers the city of Boulder gossiped about.
They cursed and drank and got into fights and made highly questionable romantic decisions.
Now, they’re cat daddies and new daddies and girl daddies. They’ve softened and matured. Finding love has helped them morph
into incredible men like my dad and grandpa. There’s no longer a clear line that distinguishes the brothers, and I love that
because it’s such a wild transformation that is beautiful.
“So, you’re making out with my hired help, eh?” Trista says, cutting right into my family musings that were a welcome distraction
from my obsessive thoughts about last night.
I cover my face with my hands. “I am mortified that you saw that.”
“Don’t be.” Trista laughs and gives me a gentle pat. “That moment in the parking garage was hilarious. Stevie asked if she
could pop Wyatt’s zits last night at the hospital.”
“She didn’t,” I gasp, dropping my hands to look at Trista. “I’m so sorry about that. I swear it will never happen again.”
“Oh, gosh, I don’t care.” Trista looks back toward the compound side of the mountain and smiles. “Have you seen the intense
coupling on Fletcher Mountain? You missed cuffing season last year, but I assure you, between Calder and Dakota and Luke and
Addison and me and Wyatt, Stevie knows plenty about human affection. Plus, it’s good for my daughter to have a little competition
with Wolf. She’s a touch too obsessed with that boy of yours.”
“He’s not my boy.” I cringe and shake my head. “He’s my best friend’s brother and your employee. It is so inappropriate, and
I swear—”
“Everly . . . I’m not the make-out police,” Trista interrupts, her eyes narrowed. “You’re a twenty-two-year-old grown woman
with a whole adult life to live. Making out with cute boys your age is a God-given right.”
“I know, but I’m not really a randomly-make-out-with-guys kind of girl.”
Trista eyes me curiously. “What kind of girl are you?”
I inhale deeply through my nose, hating that I still don’t know how to answer that question. Before last night, I never would
have thought I was the type of girl to let some bad-boy rugby player go down on me without having a firm understanding of
our relationship. Not that there was anything wrong with hooking up. It just never felt like me.
I certainly would have never thought I was the type of girl to beeline my ass out of there after literally squirting on his face enough to make his sheets wet.
This summer is proving to be one for the books.
“I think I’m still figuring out what kind of girl I am,” I offer weakly.
“That’s okay,” Trista says, turning to face me, her eyes full of kindness. “Hell, I was twenty-seven and still figuring my
shit out when I met you outside that surrogacy agency. I was certain I never wanted to be a mother, and look at me now.”
Her hand touches her belly, and my jaw drops. “Trista. Are you?”
“Pregnant again?” she croaks, her eyes filling with tears. “Yes. But no one even knows. Not even Wyatt. I literally just peed
on a stick yesterday.”
“Oh my God! Congratulations!” I reach out and pull her in for a hug, and she hugs me back but then quickly pulls away. “Don’t
tell anyone. I don’t want to take any attention away from Luke and Addison. And I need to figure out a fun way to tell Wyatt . . .
Something that doesn’t involve his damn goat this time.”
I laugh and shake my head curiously but assume that’s an inside story that’s maybe better just for them.
She touches her stomach and shrugs. “I’m living a life I never would have dreamed for myself because I took some chances and let myself live a little. You should do the same.”
I nod and smile, feeling so incredibly happy for her. And Wyatt. God, they are so perfect for each other I could scream at
the top of this mountain for them.
“But can I be honest with you?” she continues. “My observation of you these past few years is that you’re very focused on
everyone else’s lives more than your own. Helping plan our weddings, running Calder’s carpentry social media, now getting
my business launched to the public. Cozy told me you were matchmaking in Dublin too. That’s a lot of helping for other people.”
“I like to help,” I reply defensively.
“But if you’re this worried about making out with a cute boy, maybe you don’t know how to help yourself.”
I swallow the knot in my throat as she lays it all out there.
“I’m no life expert. Hell, I’m still figuring a lot of things out. But I know you gotta put yourself first occasionally, or
you’re going to have no life of your own when it’s all said and done.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. It’s exactly what I’ve been an anxious mess about since coming back from Dublin,
but she said it in such a clear way that cuts right to the quick. “I’m trying to have a life.” I stare down at my hands on
my lap, my stomach twisting into a knot. “But it doesn’t have to be with Wolf. He’s got his rugby to focus on, and he’s not
even a relationship type of guy.”
“That sounds great!” Trista flings her hands out to gesticulate her point. “A fling with a hot Irish farmhand rugby player
sounds like the perfect summer holiday.”
I exhale sharply, half a laugh, half a groan. “I could never.”
“Bullshit,” she sneers. “Throw your matchmaking happily-ever-after rules out the window and have some fun. Or hell, write yourself some new rules if you must, ’cause I know you love your little furry notebook.”
“God, I really do,” I groan and pinch the bridge of my nose. “It’s no wonder I don’t have a life.”
“You have a life,” Trista corrects, giving my knee a squeeze. “You just need to add a bit more fun to it, and you’ll be grand.”
She mimics Wolf’s Irish accent, and I can’t help the flush in my cheeks at the thought of his voice.
She sighs and looks off into the distance. “I kissed a lot of frogs before your uncle Wyatt. In fact, I was kind of slutty.”
“Um . . . should I be hearing this?”
“Probably not,” she snorts and shrugs. “But it’s pretty mild in comparison to the Stevie conception story, which I told you
about last summer when Cozy got me drunk on Fireball.”
“Fair point.” I smile warmly and feel my heart lighten at the shift in topic. “But what a good story that one turned out to
be.”
“A great story.” She waggles her eyebrows and starts the ATV back up, turning it around to head back down the mountain. “Time
for you to make a story of your own, kid.”
I take in the beautiful views with renewed hope as we make our way toward Mount Millie. Is that why I ran last night? Was
I so bound by my own rules that I couldn’t see past them to what was literally in my face? Or rather, his face was right in my . . .
I shake away that intrusive dirty thought to refocus on Trista’s advice. Maybe Fletcher Mountain can transform me in my own
unique way. Perhaps if I can stop fighting my cringe and embrace that side of me, I can find the self-love that I’ve been
lacking these past few years.
I just need to do a new kind of masterminding.