Chapter 1
PRESENT DAY
Dylan
Noise rolls over me the moment I step inside.
Deep male laughter carries from the living room, low and easy, layered with the higher pitch of women talking over each other, the clink of glasses, the soft rustle of gift wrap being shifted from one place to another.
It smells like coffee and sugar and something warm from the oven, the sweetness so thick I can almost taste it.
I pause just past the doorway, letting it hit me.
What holds my attention is not the party itself or the decorations or even the neatly stacked gifts lining the wall.
The noise and movement fade into the background until they barely register.
What matters are the men filling the space, the ones I’ve known longer than anyone else here.
My brothers, not by blood but by everything that counts, stand at the center of it all, grounded in a way I don’t remember them ever being before.
Caleb stands near the couch, with one hand braced on the back as he leans down to murmur something into his woman’s ear.
Maggie tilts her head toward him, her smile softening in a way that doesn’t belong to anyone else in the room.
His fingers drift over her shoulder without thought, settling there like they’ve always known that spot.
Across the room, Logan and Asher move around each other without looking, one reaching for a drink while the other shifts a chair, their rhythm so practiced it doesn’t need words.
Josie laughs at something one of them says, the sound bright and full, and Logan’s head turns instantly, attention locking on her like nothing else matters for that one second.
Jeremy stands near the center of it all, Clara tucked into his side, his hand spread wide over her lower back like he’s anchoring her there. The baby is passed from arm to arm, but every time Clara reaches out, Jeremy’s gaze follows, steady, tracking, making sure she doesn’t have to ask twice.
I exhale slowly, the noise settling deeper into my chest.
They make it look easy.
I know better than to believe any of this came easy, because I’ve watched each of them fight for what they have now.
I’ve seen the long hours, the setbacks, the moments that could have broken them if they’d let it, and I’ve watched those same edges get worn down and rebuilt into something stronger.
What unsettles me is not the effort it took to get here, but the way they stand now with their women beside them.
That part looks easy.
Like they stepped into something that was always meant to fit. There’s something in the way they look at them, something steady and unguarded, like they’ve found a place where they don’t have to brace for impact anymore.
My fingers curl loosely at my sides as I move further into the room, nodding at Asher and Josie and accepting a clap on the shoulder from Logan as I pass. He doesn’t say anything, just gives me that quick, knowing look before turning back to Josie, his hand already finding hers again.
I don’t linger.
Caleb straightens when he sees me, his grin wide, unguarded, the kind that would’ve gotten him punched in high school if he’d worn it like that back then.
“About time you showed up,” he says, pulling me into a brief, solid clasp of hands that turns into a shoulder bump. “We were starting to think you got lost on the way.”
“Hard to get lost coming home,” I reply. Despite how unsettled I feel, my voice comes out steady, even as my gaze drifts past him to where his woman sits, watching us with quiet curiosity.
He follows my line of sight, something softening in his expression before he looks back at me. “Yeah,” he says, quieter now. “It is.”
We stand there for a moment, the noise of the room filling the space between us, easy, familiar. He leans back against the wall, crossing one ankle over the other, but his attention doesn’t stay on me for long. It keeps slipping back to her, like a tether he doesn’t even try to hide.
I watch it happen.
The way his body angles toward her without thought. The way his focus shifts even when he’s still talking to me, like part of him is always checking in, always aware.
“You’re unbearable,” I tell him, nodding toward her.
He huffs out a laugh, not even bothering to deny it. “Yeah, I’ve heard that.”
“From her?”
“From everyone.” His mouth curves, slow and satisfied. “Don’t care.”
I shake my head, but there’s no bite in it. “You used to be tolerable.”
“Used to be a lot of things,” he counters, pushing off the wall. His gaze flicks back to her again, lingering this time. “Turns out I like this better.”
I study him for a second, taking in the loose ease in his shoulders, the way his jaw isn’t set the way it used to be, the constant edge worn down into something steadier.
“Happy looks bad on you,” I mutter.
He grins wider. “Liar.”
Maybe.
I don’t say it out loud.
Instead, my gaze shifts again, moving through the room, taking it all in.
Logan brushing his thumb over Josie’s wrist as she talks.
Asher leaning in close, his voice low enough that I can’t hear what he says.
Jeremy bending his head toward Clara, his mouth moving against her hair for a brief second before he straightens again, like he needed that contact more than the conversation.
Each of them stands there with one woman at their side, and the realization settles in a way I can’t ignore.
They're not chasing the next distraction or filling time between conquests.
They've chosen a partner and built a life around her, not something temporary to fill the space between everything else or to slake some of my baser needs.
My jaw tightens before I can stop it, and I shift my gaze away, unwilling to let that thought take root any deeper than it already has.
I’ve tried, in my own way, though nothing that looks like this.
Nothing that carries that kind of weight or permanence.
Finding willing women has never been the problem for me, and there have been more than enough of them over the years.
It always starts the same way, easy and uncomplicated, with no expectations beyond the moment.
But it never stays that way for long, because sooner or later something shifts.
Questions begin to surface, quiet at first, then sharper, followed by expectations I have no intention of meeting and demands I can’t or won’t answer.
Where are we going?
What does this mean?
Why won’t you stay?
I don’t do that. I don’t build my life around someone else’s needs. Don’t adjust my pace, my decisions, my direction to fit another person’s expectations. Everything I have exists because I stayed focused, because I didn’t let anything pull me off course.
As I watch them now, something doesn’t quite settle the way it should.
I can see the shift in them clearly enough, the way they’ve moved from who they were to who they are standing here today, but I don’t fully understand how they made that transition.
There was a choice somewhere along the line, a moment where they stepped into this and didn’t look back, and that’s the part I can’t quite grasp.
More than that, I don’t understand why they would want to.
Caleb clears his throat, pulling me back, and I realize I’ve been staring too long. He studies me for a second, something sharper in his gaze now.
“You ever going to give it a real shot?” he asks, jerking his chin toward the room.
I huff out a breath, shaking my head. “Give what a shot? Settling down?”
He nods. “Not running the other way the second it gets real.”
I meet his eyes, holding the look. “I don’t run.”
His brow lifts. “Maybe.” His eyebrows lower, and his forehead furrows. “But you don’t stay either.”
That lands closer than I like.
I shift my weight, glancing toward the kitchen. “I need coffee.”
“Of course you do.” His mouth twitches, but he pushes off the wall anyway. “I’ll check on Mags.”
He doesn’t wait for a response. Just moves, drawn back across the room like that invisible line is pulling him in again.
Pussy-whipped. That’s all.
I watch him go for a second, then turn away, heading for the kitchen before anyone else decides to drag me into another conversation about how good this all is.
The noise fades a little as I step into the quieter space, the scent of fresh coffee stronger here, richer. I reach for a mug, the ceramic cool against my palm, and pour without thinking, the dark liquid filling the cup in a slow, steady stream.
“Too much happiness for you?” Jeremy’s voice reaches me from the doorway, and when I turn, I find him already there, filling the space without stepping fully into it.
One shoulder rests against the frame, his body angled just enough to block the way out, as if he anticipated exactly where I’d try to go next.
His arms fold loosely across his chest, but there's nothing guarded about the stance.
I glance past him out of habit, catching a partial view of the living room over his shoulder.
Movement, light, the blurred shapes of the others still gathered together.
Jeremy doesn’t move to give me a clearer line of sight.
If anything, he shifts a fraction, not enough to be obvious, just enough that I’d have to step closer to get around him.
When my attention returns to him, his mouth has curved slightly at one corner, the expression holding something back. His gaze lingers on my face for a beat longer than necessary, as if he’s measuring the reaction he just pulled from me and finding it exactly what he expected.
I decide not to take the bait and shrug casually. “Refueling.”
“Sure.” He steps up beside me and reaches for a mug, his sleeve brushing mine as he moves past, the contact light but deliberate enough that I feel it. “Didn’t take you for the baby shower type.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“You’re in the kitchen.” He pours his coffee, then leans back against the counter, watching me over the rim of his cup. “That doesn’t count.”
I take a sip, letting the heat settle on my tongue before I answer. “Your house. Your party. I showed up. That’s more than enough.”
He hums softly, not arguing, just… waiting.
Jeremy’s good at that.
I set the mug down, the ceramic clicking lightly against the counter. “My assistant quit.”
The words leave me without buildup, landing in the quiet space between us as if they’ve been waiting there all along. I don’t dress them up or soften them, because there’s no point. The truth stands on its own, stripped down to exactly what it is.
Jeremy doesn’t react right away. He lifts his cup and takes a slow sip, his gaze staying on me over the rim as if he’s turning the words over before he touches them.
There’s no surprise in his expression, no immediate judgment, just a steady kind of attention that tells me he’s already turning it over, already looking for what sits underneath.
“The one you hired six months ago?” His voice is even.
I give a short nod.
Jeremy lowers his cup. “Let me guess. Same reason as the last one.”
I roll my shoulders once, the movement loosening some of the tension sitting there. “Same thing that always happens.”
He doesn’t look convinced. “And why is that?”
I meet his gaze. “She started expecting something that wasn’t part of the deal.”
Jeremy’s jaw shifts slightly, but his expression stays neutral. “And you made it clear it wasn’t on the table.”
“From the start. You know that!”
“And she didn’t believe you.”
“They never do.” The words come out flatter than I intend. “Not long term.”
He studies me for a moment, something measuring in his eyes, then sets his cup down beside mine. “You ever think it’s not about what you say?”
I let out a short breath, something close to a laugh. “Enlighten me.”
“You tell them the rules,” he says, pushing off the counter to stand fully upright, facing me now. “Then you’ll fuck them. And tell them there will be no future, no relationship, and—god forbid—no promises."
"Exactly."
"And somehow every single one of them walks away disappointed."
I shrug. "That's not my problem."
"Maybe not." He folds his arms and studies me. "You ever stop and wonder why it keeps happening?"
"Because people hear what they want to hear."
"Maybe."
I narrow my eyes.
"Or maybe they look at a guy who owns half the damn town, knows exactly what he wants, and takes charge of every room he walks into, and they figure eventually he's going to want the same things they do," he says.
I bark out a laugh. "That's ridiculous."
Jeremy's expression doesn't change. "They think they're different."
I snort. "They're not."
"I know that. You know that." He picks up his coffee again. "They don't."
"Not my responsibility."
"No. But it's interesting that they all come to the same conclusion." Jeremy takes a sip of his coffee but keeps his eyes on me.
Asshole!
I cross my arms. "And what's that?"
"That eventually you'll choose someone."
A laugh escapes me.
Jeremy doesn't join in.
The sound dies faster than I’d like. "That's not happening."
"No?"
Something in his expression irritates me.
"You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The one where you think you've figured me out."
Jeremy's mouth twitches.
"No. I think you've figured yourself out. I just don't think you like the answer."
I shake my head. "Trust me. There isn't some hidden part of me waiting to be discovered."
Jeremy huffs out a quiet laugh. "That's exactly what every stubborn bastard says right before he proves himself wrong."
I drag a hand over the back of my neck, the heat from the room still clinging to my skin. “Look, if a woman thinks I’m about to settle down, they should listen better.”
Jeremy’s mouth curves slightly, but there’s no humor in it. “Or you should stop picking women who see you as a challenge.”
“I don’t pick them for that.”
“No.” His gaze holds mine. “You pick them because they don’t challenge you.”
That hits.
I go still, the words settling in deeper than I want them to.
Jeremy doesn’t push it. Just watches me for a second longer before reaching for his coffee again.
“Difference is,” he adds, almost as an afterthought, “the right woman won’t ask you to change.”
I glance past him, back toward the doorway, where the noise from the living room filters in again, softer now, warmer.
“And what does she do?” I ask.
His gaze follows mine, landing on his wife. “She makes you want to.” His expression softens.
I don’t answer.
I just pick up my coffee again, the heat grounding, familiar, and take a slow sip while something unsettled shifts low in my chest.
That’s not something I’ve ever wanted.
…Is it?