Chapter 8
Janey
By the time I turn onto my street, I’m running on fumes.
The day at the clinic dragged, with every hour feeling longer than the last. After two emergency callouts, a stubborn gelding that nearly took my shoulder out, and a client who thought Google qualified her to argue over treatment plans, I was beat.
I’d held it together through all of it, because that’s what I do, but the second I pull up outside my house, the exhaustion settles into my bones like it’s been waiting all day to claim me.
I cut the engine and sit for a moment, hands still on the wheel, breathing deeply and letting the quiet wrap around me.
Then I notice them. Two broad figures sit on my front step, their boots planted wide, and their shoulders familiar in a way that hits me before my mind fully catches up.
I stop breathing at the sight of them.
Mason and Brookes.
For a second, nothing makes sense. Then everything does. They know.
The realization cuts through the fog of exhaustion like a chef's knife through raw fish.
Joelle must have told them. A flicker of irritation sparks, but it doesn’t hold. She has loyalties to her men and their family as well as me, and a pregnancy isn’t an easy issue when it’s surprising enough to knock you sideways.
I wonder how long they’ve been sitting there waiting. I’m hours late from work, which never usually matters. My chest tightens at the sight of them looking all weatherworn, with big news on their minds.
Big news that they’re sure to have an opinion about.
I push open the car door and step out, relishing the cool evening air, even as my cheeks heat.
They both stand as I walk toward them.
I forgot how big and tall they are.
Mason takes a step forward first, like he always does, and Brookes follows more slowly, his gaze fixed on me in a soft way that makes me feel exposed.
Mason towers over me, easily six-four, his worn flannel sleeves rolled up to reveal corded forearms. His deep brown eyes settle on me, relief opening his expression in a way that tugs at my heart.
Brookes is all solid strength and quiet intensity.
Sun-bleached streaks lighten his brown hair, and his dark eyes hold mine with patience that makes my knees weak.
His broad shoulders strain against his denim shirt.
Together they’re breathtaking—two rugged cowboys who look like they belong to the land, more handsome than I even remembered.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
Mason’s mouth opens, then closes again.
Brookes speaks instead. “We needed to see you.”
I stop a few feet away from them, crossing my arms like it might hold me together a little longer. “See me generally, or to talk about something specific.”
A beat of silence.
“Both,” Mason says finally.
“Joelle told you?”
Brookes shakes his head. “Wade. He overheard your conversation with his woman. He means no harm, Janey. He thought we ought to know so we can support you.”
That isn’t what I expected him to say, and suddenly my defenses fall. I’m tired. I haven’t slept properly since those two pink lines appeared. Certainly, too tired to hold onto anger when other emotions are pulling harder.
Mason takes another step closer. “We didn’t come to corner you, Janey.”
I let out a quiet breath, my shoulders loosening despite myself. “It kind of feels like that.”
Brookes shakes his head slightly. “Then we’re doing it wrong.”
I look between them, at Mason with his rough edges and restless energy barely held in check, and at Brookes, whose calm nature always seems to make everything around him feel less chaotic.
And just like that, the fight drains out of me.
I don’t even realize I’ve stepped forward until Mason’s hands are on me, warm and solid at my arms, pulling me in close. Brookes steps in behind me, one hand settling at my back. It should feel overwhelming, being caught between them like this, but instead it feels like exactly what I need.
For a moment, I don’t think about what they’re here to tell me, or what they might want. I can’t process what any of this means. I just… let it happen.
My body softens in a way that surprises me, tension slipping loose in a rush as I lean into them. Mason’s chest is warm, and his hand cups the back of my neck in a way that feels protective without asking anything in return. Brookes rests his hands on my hips and bends to press a kiss to my temple.
I close my eyes for long enough to breathe and gather my thoughts.
When I open them again, I feel more centered.
“Okay,” I murmur, pulling back slightly. “Okay… you’d better come inside before you scandalize the neighborhood.”
They follow me in like they’ve visited before, lifting their hats and resting them on the console, looking around at the art on my walls and the photographs lining the shelves.
I lead them through to the den, dropping my bag by the door before heading to the fridge.
I reach for two beers and a bottle of water, pop the caps, and pass them over.
Mason takes his with a quiet thanks. Brookes’s fingers brush mine as he accepts his, the contact brief but startling. It’s the first time I’ve seen them since we were sweaty and naked and filled with the loose-limbed satisfaction that only a really great fuck can bring.
We settle with Mason on the edge of the sofa, Brookes in the chair opposite, and me somewhere in between, like I don’t quite know where to put myself in my own home.
The silence stretches for a moment, and I wait, wanting to hear what they have to say before anything that might spill from my lips can influence.
Then Mason leans forward, elbows braced on his knees. “We know you didn’t get the chance to tell us yourself.”
I glance at him, warily.
“I’m sorry for that,” he adds. “You should have had that choice.”
That… isn’t what I expected. I look at Brookes to check he’s in agreement.
He nods slightly. “You get to decide how this goes, Janey. Not us. We want you to know that you have options.”
Options?
I settle back against the chair, as the questions and demands I was braced for fail to materialize.
‘Options’ was the last thing I expected them to say.
Half of me imagined they’d demand I take care of it.
I mean, what man in his right mind wants to deal with a baby from a double team one-night stand?
I’m hardly wifey material in their eyes, just a girl to have a role in the hay with to scratch an itch.
The other half of me imagined them demanding I keep it.
I pictured them being possessive over their child.
Maybe wanting to raise it without me, to inherit their ranch and family legacy.
But the tension I’d braced myself for slips away in the face of their sweetness and patience. I wonder what Wade said to them. Did he teach them how to deal with me? Were they ready to fit into either of the roles I’d mapped in my mind until he told them that’d be the wrong tactic?
I love Wade like a brother, and the way he and Caleb have taken in my friend and her son, given them a home, and made them a family makes him honorable and good in my eyes. Still, I know he’s a shrewd businessman, and he could turn that skill to his personal life in a heartbeat.
“For what it’s worth,” Mason continues, “we’re here. Whatever you need.”
I let out a slow breath, my grip tightening slightly on the bottle in my hands.
“This… It’s knocked me sideways,” I admit. “I don’t even know what I need.”
“That’s okay,” Brookes says.
I glance at him.
“You don’t have to figure it out tonight,” he adds. “Or tomorrow. Or even the next day.”
I nod slowly. “Okay.”
Mason shifts slightly, his gaze softening. “You shouldn’t be handling this alone.”
“I’m not,” I say automatically, then pause. “I mean—I have Joelle—”
“You have us, too.”
I swallow, my eyes dropping briefly to my hands.
“We were thinking,” Brookes says carefully, “if you don’t want to be here on your own, you could come stay with us.”
My head lifts.
Mason nods. “Just for a bit. No pressure. No expectations.”
My first instinct is to refuse. I can feel it rising out of habit—independence and the need to hold onto normality.
“I can’t leave everything,” I say.
“We’re not asking you to. But you could take some vacation. Or sick days?” Brookes says quickly. “Have you eaten?”
I blink, thrown by the shift. “Just lunch.”
“I’ll make dinner,” he says, already standing. “If that’s okay.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” he replies simply.
I watch him head toward the kitchen, moving through my space with an ease that feels good.
Mason shifts closer on the sofa, brushing my ankle lightly. “Sit back.”
I frown at him. “What?”
“You look like you’re about to fall over,” he says. “Put your feet up.”
I hesitate, then I do it, because arguing feels like more effort than I have right now.
He lifts my feet into his lap without making a thing of it, his hands warm as they settle around my arches. The first press of his thumbs makes me inhale sharply, tension unraveling in a way I’ve never experienced before.
Mason Fletcher, big, bad cowboy, is giving me a foot rub while his brother prepares a meal.
It’s as though I’ve slipped into another dimension where up is down and down is up, and rough ranchers are domesticated.
A different kind of Bermuda Triangle where cowboys are gentle and emotionally intelligent.
“Better?” he murmurs.
I let my head fall back against the cushion. “Yes.” It comes out breathy and a little too much like what I gasped when he was inside me, and his brother was playing with my clit.
His mouth curves slightly, but he doesn’t push it. He keeps going with perfect pressure.
In the kitchen, I can hear Brookes moving quietly, the sounds of chopping carrying through the space between us.
For the first time all day, my thoughts start to slow.
The panic is still there. The uncertainty hasn’t gone anywhere.
But I no longer feel like a plastic bottle tossing back and forth in the ocean. The appearance of these men has given me an anchor of sorts. They said the word options, then Brookes made a light suggestion and left it with me.
I could take some time off. Give myself the time and space to think this through.
Maybe it’s a good idea.
By the time we’re sitting around the table with plates in front of us, I’m in awe.
Brookes has rustled up a pasta dish that smells restaurant-quality.
Mason pours me water and passes me bread as Brookes spoons a large helping into the bowl in front of me.
I look at them, and it’s like I’m seeing them for the first time.
Mason has at least a day's worth of growth on his face, and Brookes has tired smudges beneath his eyes. They’ve lost the varnish of our lust-filled night, and become entirely human in my eyes, and somehow even more impressive.
It was supposed to be one night. A delicious mistake that I could giggle about in years to come.
A moment where I let my hair down for a fleeting but awesome night of passion.
The weeks that have passed have given them an almost mythical glow that has slipped away in the bright yellow light of my kitchen.
But sitting here now, with Mason’s knee brushing mine under the table and Brookes watching me like he’s ready to respond to my every need, I can’t help thinking about what they’d be like as fathers and partners.
Brookes would be great at explaining how things work, and being patient when emotions ran high.
Mason would be high energy and fun. The parent who’d be able to keep control while making sure everyone had what they needed.
They’ve shown that they’re empathetic and calm in crisis.
That they’ll listen and support me and try to understand my concerns.
They’ve shown that they’re so much more than I was prepared to give them credit for.
But they still won’t be good enough in Mom’s eyes.
Maybe one of them might have a small chance of proving himself. But two of them?
They’ll always be perverts for wanting to share, and I’ll become the degenerate daughter who lets her down when it counts.
They won’t be able to face their friends or hold their head up in the community.
“Let me ask you something,” Brookes says. “If you had a totally free choice to do whatever you wanted, what would you do?”
I blink at him.
“With work,” he clarifies. “With your life. The baby. Us. If nothing else was pushing on you, what would your life look like?”
I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out, because I’ve never really thought about it like that.
There’s always been a ‘right path’. A sensible one. A version of my life that fits neatly into other people's expectations.
The idea of choosing because I want it feels… unfamiliar and radical. Am I so lacking in imagination and so shackled by other people's thoughts that I don’t even know how I feel?
“I don’t know,” I admit.
Mason leans back slightly, watching me. “That’s okay.”
“It isn’t something I’ve had to decide before.”
Brookes nods. “Then you don’t have to decide it tonight either.”
Free choice.
His words sit quietly in my mind, unfamiliar and overwhelming.
I feel like I’m facing that puzzle with the doors and the goats, except behind every door is a baby I haven’t even had a chance to want.
A baby I’ve already pictured in my mind, despite working hard not to.
A baby who could look like either of the good men around me.
Free choice.
Nothing in life comes for free. And choice is always an illusion.