Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
ACE
P ass me that two-by-four.” I point without looking up from the corner joint I’m securing.
Cody slides the lumber across the scaffold. The predictable weight of it feels good in my hands.
The cabin’s taking shape nicely. Damien circles the perimeter, checking our work.
My nail gun feels heavier than usual. I position it against the beam, squeeze the trigger, and miss the mark completely. The nail skitters off at an angle.
“Shit.” I realign and fire again. Perfect this time, but the mistake sits wrong.
In BUD/S training, we did weapon drills after being awake for seventy-two hours straight. My hands never shook. Not once. Even in the sandstorms of Fallujah, I maintained precision that earned grudging nods from command. Missing a simple nail shot is amateur hour.
“You hungover or heartbroken, Lincoln?” Hank calls over, eyebrows raised.
I wave him off. “Whatever, man.”
“Definitely heartbroken,” Cody says, passing a hammer to Hank. “Saw him outside the VA Center yesterday with Andrea.”
My shoulders tighten at her name. I try to grin and play it off like it was just a boring day, but I can’t. I don’t want to. Spending the day with Andrea was the best day I’ve had in a long time.
“What did you do?” Jordan asks. “Is she mad at you?”
“Nah, everything’s fine.” I try to keep my statement light, but I can hear the underlying heaviness in my voice. Frustration twists in my chest.
“Maybe you should—” Hank starts, but the crunch of tires on gravel cuts him off.
Jax’s truck pulls up to the site. His timing is either terrible or perfect, depending on whether you’re asking me or the universe’s sense of humor.
“Boss is here,” Jordan calls out, immediately straightening his posture.
Damien steps forward as Jax approaches. “Hey, Boss. We’re on schedule. South wall will be done by the end of the day.”
Jax nods, scanning the structure with an experienced eye before landing on me. “Looking good.”
“Should be wrapped before Jake from Ghost Security comes for his next inspection,” Damien adds.
Jax studies me longer than necessary. “Heard you helped with the wedding decorations yesterday.”
Not a question. The crew’s eyes shift between us, then everyone is suddenly very interested in getting back to work, even though I know they’re listening.
“Yeah, man. Just helping Leesa out.” I keep my tone casual, shoulders back. The years of military bearing come in handy when you’re lying to your commanding officer.
Jax steps closer, lowering his voice. “Appreciate the help, but remember our deal.”
Our deal. The condition of my employment: don’t touch his little sister. Don’t look at her. Don’t even think about her.
Too late on all counts.
“Copy that,” I say, but something shifts inside me. A quiet rebellion brewing beneath the surface compliance.
Things are about to change.
I return to work. The nail gun suddenly feels like a weapon I’m disarming rather than a tool I’m using. I catch Rowan glancing at my white-knuckled grip. Jordan and Cody exchange looks when I triple-check a measurement that needs only a glance.
Jax walks the site with Damien, discussing timelines and materials, but I feel his eyes on me at regular intervals. I force myself to keep my face neutral. The same technique I used during interrogation resistance training. The irony isn’t lost on me.
Who the hell gave him the right to dictate his sister’s life anyway? Andrea’s a grown woman who has a mind and life of her own. Why have I been so stupid to listen to Jax?
My jaw clenches. I know why I follow Jax’s rules.
By the time Jax and Damien finish their inspection, it’s break time. The guys scatter across the clearing, seeking shade under nearby silver pines.
I stand alone at the edge of the site, looking down the trail that leads back toward town. Back toward the hardware store where Andrea works. I wonder if she’s on shift today. I wonder if she’s thinking about yesterday, too.
A memory surfaces: Andrea behind the counter at Heartland Hardware three months ago. I’d come in for basic supplies but couldn’t remember the size of the specialty screws needed for the cabin’s custom windows.
“Three-eighths with the flat head,” she’d said before I even asked, sliding a box across the counter. Her smile knowing but not condescending. “For those frames you’ve been working on.”
She’d remembered. Not just what I needed, but why.
What if it’s not a crush? My hand moves to my chest, rubbing at an ache that’s been growing every day for the past three years.
“Water?”
I turn to find Hank holding out a bottle. His expression says he knows exactly where my mind was wandering.
“Thanks.” I take a long drink.
“Just sayin’, if you’re serious, better start acting like it.” Hank’s voice is casual, but his eyes are not.
I give Hank a hard look, assessing whether he’s fucking with me or trying to be genuinely helpful. “What are you talking about?”
Hank chuckles and shakes his head. “Ace, I know a lovesick man when I see one. Give me some credit.”
“It’s complicated. Jax gave me a chance when no one else would.” The truth isn’t easy to say. I’m more comfortable with jokes than vulnerability.
Hank leans against a stack of lumber. “Remember that bar fight in Jefferson? When those bikers got into it with Hank and Cody?”
I nod, unsure where he’s going with this.
“You jumped in without thinking, even though the odds were shit.” Hank shrugs. “You’ve never hesitated to risk your neck before. What makes this different?”
That’s a damn good question.
* * *
My truck idles at the worksite overlook, engine rumbling beneath me while I stare at my phone. The sun sinks toward the mountains, painting the valley in gold.
I type, About yesterday... and stare at the words. Too vague. I delete it.
I should have been clearer yesterday. I want to see you. Not just for a beer. Too much. Delete.
Can I take you out sometime? Also, too vague. Makes me sound like a man who doesn’t know how to ask out a woman. Delete.
“Dammit,” I mutter, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat. I rub the knots in my shoulders, but I can’t ease the tension.
I roll down the window of my truck, letting mountain air rush in, but it doesn’t help. I can’t get yesterday out of my head—Andrea close enough that I could have reached out and pulled her into my arms, the way her tank top rode up when she reached to hang some lights, revealing a strip of smooth skin I wanted to trace with my tongue.
“Man up, Lincoln,” I tell myself, retrieving the phone. “It’s just a text message.”
But it’s not just a text. It’s Andrea. It’s the line I’ve been afraid to cross for three years.
Words never fail me with women. I’m the guy with the easy line, the disarming joke. But with Andrea, it feels like I can’t use the same lines. She makes me feel like I’ve never done this before.
I try again: You free for dinner next Friday? Too direct.
“ Need help with anything else at the VA Center? ” Lame.
I rub my hand across my face in frustration. “Why is this so damn hard?”
The phone buzzes in my hand, startling me. Andrea’s name lights up the screen.
I hear we’re both on flower duty. See you in the a.m.?
I read it three times. Then again. She’s reaching out after our awkward parting. After she turned down my invitation.
I still see her walking away. I’d wanted to follow her, to wrap my arms around her sexy curves. To press my lips against her neck. To whisper all the things I’ve been bottling up since the day Jax introduced us and immediately warned me off.
My thumbs move before my brain engages. Absolutely.
Tomorrow will be different. No more dancing around what I want. No more letting Jax’s protectiveness dictate my choices. No more hiding behind jokes and deflection.
It’s time to man up.