Chapter 19
Loverboy
? Messed Up As Me - Keith Urban
Jaxon
Still wound up from Callie’s date, I wake up early and head out to the big barn before she gets out of bed. There’s no telling what I’d do if I saw her this morning, sleep mussed and fucking perfect. I didn’t want to stick around and find out.
I join Wilder and Griffin near the remains of the old riding paddock with a stack of replacement fencing nearby.
“What’d I miss?”
“Just talking about plans for the sanctuary,” Griffin says. “Nelson’s got another one for us. Buckskin mare.”
“Do we have room for her right now? We won’t break ground on the new stables until next month.”
Griffin drags a hand down his face and sighs. “She’s in a bad way. If we don't take her... well... I don't wanna think about the alternative.”
Griffin might look like the toughest of us, but he has a soft heart. He’d rescue every horse in a five-hundred-mile radius if he could—let them live out their days in his care. I have no doubt he’ll try once we get the sanctuary up and running.
I nod. “Alright. We'll find a way to make it work.”
The three of us head into the barn, and Wilder tosses me a rake. “Why don’t you make yourself useful?”
I catch it before it can smack me in the face.
“Stormy’s stall needs a good cleaning, and it’ll give you time to clear your head.”
“Who said my head needs clearing?”
“You wouldn’t be out here this early if it didn’t. When are you going to admit you’re in love with Callie?”
I head into Storm’s stall and start clearing out the used bedding. “I’m not in love with her.”
Wilder snorts. “Keep telling yourself that.”
I work in silence as my mind replays scenes from the night before—Callie wearing my hat, her body pressed up against mine, her hooded eyes and perfect parted lips.
I should’ve kissed her. I should've laid all of my cards on the table right then and there, but I think a part of me is still reluctant to open up to the possibility of pain.
“Nah, man. I tried, but she wouldn’t even let me kiss her.” My spine stiffens as the familiar voice of Clint Loverboy Campbell drifts into the barn.
“You’re gonna snap that rake in half, brother,” Griff says, his voice tinged with amusement.
I toss it against the wall and crack my neck.
Wilder pins me with a hard stare. “Jax…” My name comes out as a gruff warning. “Don't do something stupid now.”
I stride past him out of the barn with single-minded focus.
“What’s his problem?” Griffin asks.
“Clint went out with Callie last night,” Wilder’s distant voice explains.
“Shit.” Griffin jogs to catch up with me.
Clint’s disgusting tirade grows louder as I approach. He’s standing outside the paddock with one foot propped on the gate, talking to Hank, who’s on the other side facing him. Hank’s eyes widen when he spots me, but Clint misses the subtle gesture of warning. “...nice tits and a decent ass.”
My nostrils flare as I fight to keep a tight hold on my anger. I've never hit a man from behind, and I'm not about to start.
“Should’ve seen how the boss reacted. He’s got it bad. Doubt she’d put out, though. Even for him.”
Hank mutters a curse under his breath.
Clint turns, giving me the perfect opening as a sly grin spreads across his face. “You got your hat back,” he says smugly. “Maybe she did put out after all.”
I should probably listen to my conscience and back away before I lose my shit. Unfortunately for Clint, that part of me isn’t in charge today. My anger has a firm grip on the reins, and Loverboy is about to find out what happens when you talk shit about my girl.
My fist connects with his nose with a sickening crack. Another punch lands on his jaw, and he stumbles backward. I shake out my hand against the painful recoil, preparing to lunge again.
Wilder grabs me from behind and pulls me away. “He’s not worth it.”
“What the fuck,” Clint says, his voice muffled by his hands. “I think you broke my fucking nose.”
“You had that one coming.” Griffin’s like a coach for bad decisions, and he’s always on the winning team. “I’d keep my goddamn mouth shut if I were you.”
Clint pulls a rag out of his back pocket to staunch the bleeding. “Son of a bitch, that hurts.”
“You'll live.” I shrug off Wilder’s grip and stare pointedly at Clint. “If you ever talk about Callie like that again, you’ll be out of a job.”
Despite the rapidly forming bruise on his jaw and the blood-soaked fabric in his fist, there’s still a challenge in his eyes. “Haven't seen you this fucked up over a girl in years. What was the name of the redhead you and Ryan were fucking?”
Griffin mutters a quiet expletive as I lunge for Clint again. He darts away like a fucking coward.
“Keep his fucking name out of your mouth,” I growl. “Last fucking warning, Clint. Remember who signs your paychecks.”
He holds up his hands in surrender and backs away. “Ok. Alright. My bad.”
Hank leads Clint away from the scene, and the tension dissipates. I rub my aching knuckles and wince at the small bite of pain. I probably opened us up to a helluva lawsuit, but it was worth it.
“You good?” Griffin asks.
I pick up my hat and dust off the dirt before replacing it on my head. “Never better.”
“You’re going to an awful lot of trouble defending a woman you’re definitely not in love with.” Wilder’s amused voice fades as I get farther away from the scene. “Remember that time I punched Liv’s ex? Yeah, I wasn’t in love with her either.”
I toss up a middle finger and head back the way I came.
I can’t do this secretive shit with Callie anymore.
I can’t pretend I don’t want her every minute of every goddamn day with every fiber of my being.
I sure as shit can’t let another disgusting prick like Clint fucking Campbell have a shot with her because I waited too long to tell her how I feel.
A plan starts to form in my mind, and I head back to the house, determined to make Callie see me for who I really am, come hell or high water.