Chapter 22
HART
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“HEY, DITCH COWBOY.” Dean shouts loud enough for half the rodeo fairground to hear.
It’s too damn early for this.
For him.
I need a good night’s sleep and more than a cup of coffee to tolerate my brother’s loud, obnoxious, never-ending noise, especially when it’s directed at me.
It’s the day before the event, and early enough that the vendors haven’t all arrived to set up. Early because I didn’t sleep a wink. I was up all damn night listening to Jade’s words play in my head.
I need someone to treat me like I’m worth more than a fleeting moment.
A fleeting moment. She has no idea how many times a day she’s in my head.
Fleeting? That’s not the word I’d use.
“Still got the itch?” Dean struts toward me.
He’s all swagger with his oversized belt buckle and scuffed boots. His hand moves to his hat, tipping it back with a kind of arrogance that makes me want to knock it off: typical butcher, all grit with a bit of flair.
Levi elbows his side. “C’mon, we agreed to at least say good morning before we really dig into him.”
Dean stops in front of me and grins, slowly saying, “Good morning, Hart.”
His eyes drift south and then flicker back to me with the silent acknowledgment that he got an earful of yesterday’s incident.
How much did she share?
That I fell in the ditch with fire ants, and she fell on top of me? How about how I hauled her up and saved her from most of the aftermath I’m suffering today?
Or did she stick to what looked good for her?
That the ants went psycho on my testicles and she hand-picked them off my naked ballsack? Did she include the fact that I was rock hard by the time she stepped away, and did she toss in a pervert jab?
I won’t be surprised if she twisted all of it into a kinky story I’ll never live down.
Good Lord, I hope a woman doesn’t unleash fire ants on me behind closed doors.
“Piss off.” With an annoyed grunt, I let the folded plastic table I unloaded from the bus fall to the ground, not caring where or how it lands.
“Help me with this tent, would ya?” Wyatt slugs the white bag over his shoulder.
“If Hart can help,” Dean jabs. “How are you feeling, bud?” His tone feigns concern. “How are the lil’ guys feeling?”
“I’m fucking fine.”
That’s a lie.
I’m pitted inside.
The fire ants are nothing compared to playing the part of the asshole, acting like I don’t care, shutting off my feelings, and then hearing Jade call me out. Hearing her believe she was just another notch on my belt, and that I used her for sex like it was some kind of game.
I know that’s how I made it look.
Fuck, I know.
And I was living with that until she said it to my face and made it real.
“Ignore him.” Levi’s hand lands on my shoulder in an attempt to cool me down, and just like that, the itching flares up.
I nearly emptied the lotion bottle last night, and now I’m thinking I should’ve rationed it.
“No one ignores me.” Dean smiles, showing all his white teeth. “I’m a delight.”
“I’m ignoring you right now.” I stroll to where Wyatt is unzipping the tent bag.
“Are you, though?” There’s his toothy smirk again.
We wrestle with the tent frame, stretching it wide while avoiding pinched fingers. When we’re done, Levi ensures our tent fits snug against the Foxes’ tent wall, which is zipped up tight.
Earlier, I peeked in their booth. The tablecloths don’t have a single wrinkle, and the merchandise is lined up too neatly with pamphlets of The Fox Lodge, industrial blenders for their slushies, and rows of cups.
I’ll tell you right now, our table isn’t going to look anything like their Pinterest-perfect table.
Wyatt hammers metal spikes into the ground, securing the rope from the tent before I drop and attach sandbags to each post.
“Their table will meet ours here.” Levi snaps open the legs of a table with a loud clack before he flips it upright and moves it into position.
“We helped set them up yesterday while you were out playing King of the Ant Hill.” Dean hops from foot to foot, as if he has ants in his pants.
The desire to kick his ass returns.
It’s only dawn, and I can tell I’m going to hate today.
“Can we just get this done?” I growl.
Everyone agrees, but not even thirty minutes go by before my brother catches me scratching my chest through my shirt. And, of course, he can’t just let it slide.
“You need me to fetch you a stick? How about a wrapped jerky?” He holds up a pack of jerky.
“We’re not unpacking the jerky. It must be stored in a dry, cool place overnight. Put the cooler back in the bus and don’t bring any more out.”
“Maybe I’m hungry for jerky. Or maybe you need a scratching post.” He holds the jerky like a fencing sword and jabs it toward my ribs. “En garde, Ditch Cowboy.”
“Grow up.” I swat it away before he pokes one of the few small white blisters that showed up this morning.
Lord, I pray they don’t show up on my balls.
“You grow up,” he mocks, ducking the zip tie I snap at him. “I ain’t the one who tumbled into a fire ant motel while changing a tire.”
“I didn’t tumble.” I loop a zip tie through the banner’s grommet and then click it tight around the back of the metal tent frame. “The ditch gave out—”
“Ohhh, the ditch gave out.” Wyatt walks by Levi with an orange heavy-duty extension cord. “We have permission to razz him now, right?”
Levi grins. “Ditches are always sneakin’ up on people like that. Real aggressive.”
I shoot Levi a warning look. “Don’t come for me unless you’re ready to cry twice in two days.”
Dean snorts.
Wyatt whistles.
Levi clutches his chest in fake pain. “Right in the feelings.”
He can pretend and deflect all he wants, but he’s a loose cannon. He dove straight into this fatherhood thing without thinking. He hasn’t even been married to Hope for a year, and he’s already knocked her up. He’s reckless, impulsive, and thinks with his heart instead of his head.
I’m the opposite.
But I witnessed the consequences. Hell, they played out in front of me and shook me to my core, put me in my place, and forced me to see the depth of our parents’ hatred.
Fast forward ten years, and it turns out I’d been...wrong. That doesn’t sit well with me.
“Hart’s just lucky it was ants and not snakes.” Wyatt drops the extension cord on the ground and locates the end of it. “A snake bite to the balls would be really problematic.”
This conversation is problematic.
Clearly, Jade didn’t hold back any details. I’m not surprised. I can’t even be mad because I’ve done this to us. Just like she said. And I have to stick to the role I’ve created for myself.
Although some days, like today, with my brothers being total dickheads, I feel the jerk inside me waiting to break free.
“Though, I bet the snakes would’ve bolted in the opposite direction with every scream and thud as Hart bounced down that ditch.” Dean lugs a handful of bins from the bus—the right ones this time.
“I wasn’t screamin’.” I pass him, heading in the direction he’s coming from. “Don’t start unpacking that bin until I get back with the tablecloths.”
We can at least attempt to look somewhat presentable.
But inside the bus, I lock myself in the bathroom and slather lotion over every inch of my body, being especially careful around my crown jewels. And yes, I slather my ass crack too—real good.
“Ahhhh,” I sigh, my palm pressed against the door, my pants and briefs at my ankles, my shirt twisted here and there.
How the hell the ants wedged themselves in my ass cheeks so damn fast, I’ll never know.
After relishing in the relief of my calm skin, I toss the empty calamine bottle in the garbage, making a mental note to buy more later.
I dress and then hunt through the bins until I find the one with tablecloths and clips.
Dean’s grinning and unpacking a bin by the time I get back. “How loud did you scream when those fire demons latched onto your testies?”
I guess we haven’t moved on from this topic.
I say nothing.
“You screamed like your soul had been ripped from your body, didn’t you?” He claws down his chest, the motion dramatic and mocking.
Lord, he’s theatrical.
I throw a black tablecloth at him. “Put on the tablecloth first.”
He lifts out a stack of wooden trays and drops them on the table with a thump. “Yeah, I’m not doing that.”
The tablecloth hits me in the face.
Asshole.
I snap open the tablecloth. It catches in the air before settling with a heavy drape. I roll out a leather runner across the middle. Its dark hide covers those blasted wrinkles. I do the same to Dean’s table before I start unpacking the bin at my feet.
“Testies are your besties.” Dean tosses boxes, mini-barrels, and displays onto the table, not following the diagram I designed. “Best be taking better care of them.”
I slap the blueprint page on his table. “This is what you’re supposed to be following. You’re unloading the wrong bin for this table.”
Dean lets out a low breath, examining the page without much focus. After a moment, he shakes his head and tosses the paper aside.
“I think I’m gonna hang the lights.” He grabs a string of Edison bulbs out of another bin, clanging the bulbs together.
“Be careful.” I move the items from his table to their proper location.
My skin still prickles with every movement, stiff and puffed. Maybe I should’ve taken an antihistamine too. Or wore fewer clothes. A T-shirt instead of this button-down plaid shirt, at least. But I figured if my brothers didn’t see the bites and welts, they wouldn’t comment.
I was wrong. It’ll be the talk of the week. I can hear it already between their attempts to decode the bucket list.
The bucket list.
How the hell am I going to participate in it when she made it clear I’m not welcome?
My thoughts drift to the need to scratch my ass. I resist, and it might very well kill me. The last time my body was this uncomfortable, I hooked up with a lady who heard that feather tickle torture was a thing I was into.
Yeah.
Feather.
Tickle.
Torture.
The same toy Bronx and Jade were discussing in The Crimson Hollow. I can boldly say it is not on my fetish list. I discovered that the moment I’d been tied to a bed and assaulted by a feather like it was some kind of erotic paintbrush.
My skin had twitched, just as it does now. My jaw had locked, and all I had wanted was to vanish into the mattress and hit a hard reset on the night. And don’t even get me started when that same woman put a set of ridiculous fuzzy bunny ears on my head.
I draw the line at bunny ears.
What did she think I was?
The fucking Easter Bunny?
Hell, I draw the line at tying me up. It’s gotten me into more inescapable predicaments than I’d like to admit.
Like when she upped the ante, drizzling honey across my chest as if she were glazing a holiday ham to serve at Easter brunch, and then tossing more feathers at me. I looked like a half-plucked chicken, sticky and itchy, leaving feathers showing up in places for days.
Days.
I remember walking through the feed store feeling much like my current state, when something shifted in my jeans. Next thing I knew, I was plucking a pink feather out of my waistband like some kind of cowgirl showgirl.
Now, I’m waiting for a hidden fire ant to reveal itself.
“You’re walkin’ like someone filled your boots with gravel.” Dean starts at one corner of the tent, securing the first strand of lights. “You need one of those donut pillows?”
I grab a sleeve of sample-size paper cups for the jerky samples and chuck it at him.
“Choke on that, jackass.”
He catches it mid-air and grins. “Just tryin’ to support your recovery, brother.”
“Don’t bother. Just set up at the booth according to the template I designed.”
Dean weaves the lights in and out of the roof poles. “It’s not every day our big brother yanks down his pants, whips out his bare pork sword, and swings it around on the side of the road.”
“I hate all of you.” I stand quickly and bump into the table, knocking over a rack.
I curse.
“I bet not as much as those ants going full seek-and-destroy on your testies?” Wyatt shakes out the extension cord like a rope.
They have no idea.
“Campfire was really educational last night.” Wyatt drags the end of the extension cord toward the power source with a wicked grin. “Didn’t know we had a streaker among us.”
I grit my teeth and keep unpacking boxes, a little aggressively. Flyer piles slide on the ground, and I dump out the burlap bags that were in a neat stack.
If I ignore the guys, maybe they’ll get bored.
I know better.
“Oh, come on,” Dean drawls, securing the lights in place with clips. “Give us details.”
“I’m sure Jade gave y’all lots of details.”
“Details about an anatomy lesson she never signed up for.” He gestures at the front of his pants, and they all crack. “You didn’t fight off fire ants, you invited ‘em to foreplay,” Dean chokes out between breaths.
“Who gets a boner from insect bites, man?” Levi manages between gasps.
“A natural Viagra,” Wyatt chokes.
“You need to talk to someone.” Dean wipes away actual tears streaming down his face.
“It was my nervous system, fuckers,” I snarl, feeling my anger rising.
“Your body’s defense mechanism is a raging hard-on?” Dean shakes his head. “Bro, I can’t. I’ve seen less awkward porn setups.”
“Screw you guys.”
“Next time, throw in a couple of bees and see if you hit full climax.” Levi unfolds a chair.
“If she didn’t know how you felt about her before, she does now.”
I slam the lid of the bin shut so hard that it breaks.
“None of this would’ve happened if you assholes didn’t leave us stranded together!
” The words fly out, full of raw frustration.
“My balls are on fire! It’s like they’re burning alive.
This isn’t a joke. I had an erection that wouldn’t quit, no matter how cold the shower was—and jerking off?
Not happening. My cock’s swollen from the bites.
Swollen. And it feels like I’m being torched from the inside out! ”
The air dies.
Laughter cuts off like a bad joke.
Silence crashes over us, sharp, heavy, and final.
Then I see it’s not only us. Every stall has gone quiet, and all eyes are locked on us.