Chapter 22
Janey
The house feels different after my parents leave.
The air still feels thick with everything we said out on the porch. Every word echoes inside me, like a bell that won’t stop ringing. I keep seeing my mother’s face, my father’s pain, and hearing my own voice saying things I never thought I’d have the courage to say.
My legs shake so badly I almost stumble on the first step.
Mason catches me at once, his arm banding around my waist. “Easy, sweetheart.”
“I’m okay,” I whisper, but the words come out thin.
Brookes is on my other side, his hand warm at the small of my back. “You don’t have to be okay yet.”
The gentleness in his voice nearly undoes me.
They guide me inside with their big bodies close around mine, like they’re afraid the whole world might come crashing through the door after us. The house smells like beef stew and fresh bread, rich and warm and, after everything that happened, painfully domestic.
The pot still simmers on the stove.
I stare at it for a second, strangely dazed. “I forgot about dinner.”
Mason looks toward the stove, then back at me, his mouth softening. “Dinner can wait.”
“No.” My voice shakes. “I don’t want to wait. I just… I want normality, even if it’s for a minute. And you’ve been working all day. You need to eat.”
Brookes’s expression softens, the fierce protectiveness easing into tenderness. “Then normal is what you get.”
Mason pulls out a chair at the big wooden table. “Sit down, sweetheart. You’ve had a hell of a night. Let us take care of you.”
I sink into the chair gratefully. My body feels wrung out, but my mind is still spinning. I can still hear Mom’s voice. Still see the flash of betrayal on her face when Dad asked if Mason and Brookes were good to me.
Are they good to you?
The answer had been so easy.
Yes.
They’re good to me in every way that matters.
Brookes moves quickly around the kitchen, filling bowls with stew while Mason slices the fresh bread I baked earlier. Cabinet doors open, spoons clink, and the kettle starts to hum as Mason puts water on for tea. They work together like they always do and this time, I get to watch.
With broad capable shoulders, worn jeans, and sun-browned hands, they’re cowboys who can mend fences, break horses, calm nightmares, and make me feel like the most precious thing they’ve ever held.
Brookes sets a steaming bowl in front of me, then bends to kiss the top of my head.
“Eat a little, darlin’.”
Mason sits on my other side and slides a thick slice of buttered bread onto my plate. “You need your strength.”
My throat tightens. “You both keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true,” Mason says.
Brookes reaches beneath the table and rests his hand on my thigh. “And because taking care of you is the only thing keeping us from walking out to the road and yelling at the dust cloud your mother left behind.”
A laugh breaks out of me before I can stop it. It’s watery and shaky, but it’s real.
Mason’s eyes warm. “There she is.”
I pick up my spoon and take a bite. Warmth spreads through me, little by little.
The stew is full of beef, potatoes, carrots, and herbs; real comforting ranch food, meant to fill empty stomachs and warm hearts.
For a few minutes, we eat quietly, then Brookes reaches over and rests his hand on my thigh.
“You were incredible out there, Janey. Standing up to them like that… I know how hard that was for you.”
I stare down at my bowl. “I was terrified.”
“I know,” he says.
Mason sets his spoon down. “You stood there and told the truth even though it cost you. That’s courage, Janey.”
My eyes sting again. “I don’t feel courageous.”
“You looked it,” Brookes says softly. “You looked like a woman choosing her life.”
A woman choosing her life.
No longer a daughter asking permission, or a frightened girl waiting to be told she’s done right or wrong.
A woman.
A mother in waiting.
Loved by two men who had stood beside me and never once tried to speak over me.
“I meant every word,” I whisper, staring down at my bowl. “I’m tired of hiding. Tired of being scared all the time. Tired of loving you both like it’s shameful.”
Mason’s jaw tightens. “There is nothing shameful about this.”
“I know that now.” I lift my gaze to his. “But part of me didn’t until I heard myself say it to her.”
Brookes’s hand stills on my leg. “And now?”
I look at both of them. Mason is strong and fierce, his dark eyes watching me like he’d hold up the roof to keep me safe. Brookes is all rough tenderness and quiet devotion, his hand resting on me, in a way that’s warm and anchoring.
“Now I know exactly where I belong.”
“All of you, Janey. The brave parts. The scared parts. The parts that still worry about what your mom thinks. The parts that want to forgive her and the parts that are angry. We love every single piece, Janey. And we’re not going anywhere.”
Brookes nods, his thumb stroking slow circles on my leg.
“You’re ours, darlin’. You’re ours through the hard days.
Through the stares and the gossip and whatever else comes our way.
We’re claiming you, and we’ll protect you.
And that baby you’re carrying? We’re going to love that child with everything we have. ”
Tears prick my eyes again, but this time they feel different. Cleansing.
“I love you both,” I whisper. “So much it scares me sometimes.”
Mason leans in and kisses me softly, then rests his forehead against mine. “Good. Because we’re never letting you go.”
Brookes kisses the side of my neck, then my shoulder. “Finish your food, baby. Then we’re taking you upstairs and showing you exactly how much you belong to us.”
The rest of the meal passes in a warm, quiet haze. They keep touching me with little reassuring brushes of fingers on my arm, my thigh, my cheek. When I finally push my bowl away, Mason stands and scoops me up like I weigh nothing.
“Bedroom,” he says simply.
Brookes rises behind us, gathering the empty bowls with one hand before seeming to reconsider. He leaves them on the table.
“Dishes can wait.”
That makes me smile against Mason’s chest. “Scandalous.”
Brookes follows us toward the stairs. “Darlin’, after tonight, dirty dishes will be the least scandalous thing about this house.”
For the first time since my parents arrived, I laugh without pain.
Mason carries me upstairs, and Brookes stays close, one hand trailing along my calf, then my ankle, like he can’t bear not touching me.
The moment the bedroom door clicks shut behind us, the last thread of my restraint snaps.
I turn in Mason’s arms and kiss him hard, pouring every fear, every ounce of relief, and every bit of love I have into it.
He moans into my mouth, his hands sliding down to grip my ass and pull me flush against him.
Brookes presses in from behind, his lips brushing my neck. “Easy, darlin’,” he murmurs. “We’ve got you. Let us love you right tonight.”
The bed has been unmade since this morning. One of Mason’s shirts lies over the chair. Brookes’s good hat rests on the dresser. My book sits open on the nightstand.
It looks lived in.
Shared.
Ours.
They undress me slowly, taking their time to drink their fill of my curves. Mason peels his flannel shirt from my body as Brookes drops to his knees and kisses every inch of my stomach, whispering against my skin.
“Look at you,” he breathes, voice rough with wonder. “Carrying our baby. Your body’s already changing for us. So fucking beautiful.”
Mason’s hands cup my breasts from behind, his thumbs circling my darkened nipples until I whimper. “These are fuller now,” he growls softly. “Getting ready to feed our child. God, Janey… you have no idea what that does to me.”
I tremble between them, overwhelmed by their words, their heat, and their hunger. My skin feels too tight, too sensitive. Every touch sends sparks racing through me.
They lay me down on the big bed together.
For long minutes, they simply worship me, mouths and hands everywhere, tasting, touching, and claiming.
Brookes settles between my thighs and licks me with slow, deep strokes of his tongue.
Mason kisses me through every moan, swallowing my cries while his fingers play with my sensitive nipples.
When I’m shaking on the edge, Brookes moves up my body and slides inside me in one smooth, claiming thrust. I gasp at the stretch, still slick and tender.
“That’s it,” he rasps, burying himself to the hilt. “Take me, baby. Let me feel how much you need us.”
Mason kneels beside us, stroking his huge cock as he watches Brookes fuck me with deep, deliberate strokes. Every thrust pushes me higher until I come hard around Brookes, crying out both their names.
They switch.
Mason flips me onto my hands and knees and pushes back inside me from behind, groaning at how wet and open I am.
“You’re ours,” Mason growls, hips snapping forward. “This pussy is ours. This belly is ours. This baby is ours. Say it.”
“I’m yours. All yours.”
Brookes’s hand tangles gently in my hair. “That’s our good girl.”
The words send me spiraling again. I come hard, clenching around Mason as he fucks me through it. He follows with a deep groan, pressing in as far as he can and filling me with hot, thick pulses of his release.
Brookes flips me over and takes his place immediately after, sliding once again into my cum-slick heat with a possessive growl. He fucks me slower this time, deeper, grinding against that perfect spot with every thrust.
“Gonna fill you up again,” he rasps against my ear. “Keep you dripping with us for days.”
I whimper, pushing against him desperately.
Brookes continues. “I want you to feel us leaking out of you every time you move tomorrow so you remember exactly who you belong to.”
Mason lies beside us, kissing me deeply while his fingers stroke my swollen clit. “Come for us one more time, sweetheart. Let us feel how much you love being claimed like this.”
I shatter again, crying out as Brookes thrusts deep and comes inside me with a guttural moan, adding to the mess already leaking down my thighs.