17. Get in the Truck
Chapter seventeen
Get in the Truck
Melina
We’re halfway through Season Two of Yellowstone , and I’ve let myself get comfortable. Too comfortable.
Watching TV turned into cuddling, cuddling to kissing, and now I’m draped across Matt’s body—his hand on my hip, lips tracing a slow, lazy path along my jaw like we have all the time in the world.
Tonight, we do. The house is quiet—no kids, no interruptions, no reason to pull away.
I slide my hands through his hair, tilting to give him better access as his mouth drifts lower, teasing down my throat until my breath catches. His grip tightens, fingers pressing into my waist, making me feel wanted. Claimed. His.
My pulse jumps, but I don’t stop him.
The only thing that stops me is the sudden blast of end-credit music rolling from the TV. The shift jars me, and I let out a breathless laugh, pulling away just enough to catch his eyes.
“Okay,” I murmur. “That was not part of the show.”
Matt chuckles against my skin, lips still brushing my neck, hands refusing to move. “Guess we’ll have to rewind.”
I laugh again, easing back a little more. “Alright, but first—I need a bathroom break before we start the next episode. Or replay this one,” I tease.
His mouth curves against my throat. “I caught all the important parts.”
I roll my eyes, fighting a smile as I slide off his lap. “Uh-huh. Sure you did.”
“I can multitask.” His tone is playful, but his focus doesn’t waver, heat simmering in the way he drinks me in.
I shake my head, grinning as I walk down the hall. “Don’t miss me too much.”
“Always do.”
When I step out of the bathroom, Matt’s in the hallway, waiting. Not leaning or casual—he’s standing there, posture rigid, hands clasped behind his back.
“Miss me already?” I tease.
His eyes flick up, steady on mine, but his face is unreadable.
“Jesus, I was gone two minutes.”
No smirk. No smartass reply. Just stillness that makes my stomach tighten. Something’s off.
“So… I have this work thing.” His hand rakes through his hair, shoulders tight. “I was hoping you’d come with me.”
The invitation shouldn’t mean this much, but it does. Matt doesn’t share his world, and now he’s offering me a place in it.
“Of course.” I smile. “What kind of work thing?”
“It’s a charity event.” He pauses, deciding how much to give me. “Black tie.”
My brows shoot up. “Black tie?”
He nods once. “For military veterans and their families.”
My heart swells with pride, but his tone is careful. He’s holding something back.
“Matty…” I press softly.
“They’re… giving me an award.”
I stare, stunned. “An award?”
He shrugs, uncomfortable. “Valor. Service. Leadership. From my time in the Rangers. It’s not a big deal.”
“Matt, it’s a huge deal!”
“It’s really not.” His lips flatten, eyes sliding past me. “A plaque, handshake, couple of photos. That’s it.”
I step closer, trying to catch his face. “When is it?”
A muscle jumps in his jaw, betraying him. His pause is just long enough to set me on edge.
“Saturday.”
“Saturday?” My eyes widen. “As in three days from now?!”
He winces. He knew that reaction was coming. “Yeah.”
“Matthew Mason…” I give a sharp look. “How long have you known about this?”
His weight shifts, tension rolling off him like he’s half a second from bolting.
“A while.”
My voice sharpens as I plant my hands on my hips. “How long is a while?”
He rakes a hand down his face, muttering toward the floor. “Two weeks.”
“Two weeks?! And you’re just now telling me?”
His shoulders sag, defeated. “I wasn’t going to tell you at all.”
My chest tightens. “Why? Did you not want me to come?” The hurt slips out before I can stop it.
“Of course I want you there,” he says quickly. “I just… I was gonna try to get us out of it. I hate this shit—tux, cameras, people staring. Spotlight’s not my thing.”
He leans in closer, voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. “And now I’m wondering how many jaws I’ll have to break. Every asshole in that room is going to want you.”
That knocks the air right out of me. I step in, sliding my hands up his chest, tilting to kiss him slow, soft. “I only have eyes for you, Matty.”
The tension in his shoulders eases, heat lingering in his gaze.
I smile against his mouth, then pull back with a spark of energy. “Alright then. I’ve got three days to find a dress that’ll make you forget how miserable you are.”
His lips twitch. “You don’t need a dress for that, Mel. You already do it just by being you.
***
Matt presses his sleek, black AmEx into my palm with his usual confidence, ignoring my protests. “Get whatever you want.”
Not just any card—it’s one of those legendary no-limit Centurions, the kind millionaires show off. Sometimes I forget Matt isn’t just a soldier. He’s a PMC now, and contractors earn more money than I can fathom.
I’ve never been given free rein like this, and the thought makes butterflies flutter in my stomach. I am determined to find a dress that will leave him speechless.
Belle Couture swallows me whole the second I step inside. Light glints off endless silk and satin, chandeliers scattering diamonds across mirrored walls. It’s dazzling—and completely disorienting.
“Need some help?” a clerk asks, smiling at my wide-eyed stare. I blink, and she chuckles. “It’s overwhelming, I know.”
“Very,” I admit with a nervous laugh.
She glances around, then back at me. “What’s the event?”
“It’s a charity gala honoring veterans,” I explain. “I’m attending with my…” I hesitate. Boyfriend? The word feels strange on my tongue. We haven’t labeled it yet, but how else do I describe him? “Well, boyfriend, I guess. He’s being honored.”
“What’s your budget?”
I pause, then shrug. “I don’t have one.”
She blinks, clearly surprised. “None?”
“He said to get whatever I want.”
Her eyes shine with a mix of envy and admiration. “Lucky girl.”
My cheeks warm, and I can’t help but smile. “I suppose I am.”
“Any color in mind?” she asks, tilting her head thoughtfully.
“Honestly, I hadn’t even thought about it.”
She studies me for a moment. “Black’s always classic, but with those blue eyes? Peach or gold would be stunning.”
“I do love rose gold,” I admit, softer this time.
Her smile widens. “Rose gold it is. Let’s take a look.”
The clerk loads my arms with gowns and ushers me into a dressing room. I cycle through them—lace, silk, sequins—each lovely, but none of them feel like me.
“How’s it going in there?” she calls.
“They’re all so beautiful,” I admit, “but I haven’t found the one yet.”
When I slip into the next one, everything stops.
The gown is breathtaking. Rose gold sequins shimmer like fire against my skin—a daring thigh-high slit, sweetheart neckline, and the back… God. The plunge sinks so low I’m not sure underwear’s an option. It’s sophistication wrapped in sin and hugs every curve as if it was made just for me.
I step out, and the clerk’s mouth falls open. “Wow. Just—wow.”
I smile, heat flooding through me. “I don’t think I need to try on anymore.”
“No,” she agrees. “You certainly don’t. You’re gonna be the hottest woman in that room!”
A laugh slips out, light and breathless. “That’s what I’m going for.”
I glance at the mirror again, nerves and giddiness tangling. “But… no bra and underwear might be an issue.”
“Girl, I got you,” she says, hurrying off. Moments later, she’s back with a nude, backless bodysuit. “What’s your bra size?”
“34D.”
“Perfect. Try this underneath.”
When I slip into it, relief washes over me—the girls are lifted, the fit flawless, the fabric invisible. Even if the dress shifts, I won’t give anyone a show. By the time I’m dressed again, I feel unstoppable.
At the register, I glance at the tag and nearly choke. “Holy shit.”
The clerk’s smile falters, almost apologetic. “He said no budget, right?”
My pulse stutters. “Right.” I swallow hard, staring at the number. A Monique Lhuillier. Over five thousand dollars. I’ve never spent that much on anything in my life, but Matt did say whatever I want .
I swipe the card before I can talk myself out of it.
“Thank you so much,” I say warmly. “You saved me today.”
“My pleasure, truly.” She smiles. “Enjoy the gala!”
The dress rides in the backseat like royalty, the garment bag stretched carefully across the seats, so it doesn’t wrinkle.
I tap Nicole’s name before I can second-guess myself.
She picks up on the first ring. “Spill. Did you find The One?”
“Oh, I found it,” I breathe, still dazed. “And I may have blacked out while swiping Matt’s card.”
A gasp, then a squeal. “Tell me everything. Color? Cut? Cleavage?”
“Rose gold. Sequins. A slit up to here,” I say, gesturing even though she can’t see me. “The back dips so low, underwear’s not even an option.”
Nicole shrieks. “Bitch! You’re gonna kill him dead. Forget the gala— That dress isn’t making it past your front door.”
I laugh, but my cheeks burn. “Nic, the price tag. It was Monique Lhuillier. Five grand. I almost choked at the register.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then, flatly— “And?”
“And what?”
“And he said no budget, right?”
“…Yes.”
“Then stop acting like you robbed a bank. You’re worth every damn penny, Mel.”
The warmth in her voice nearly undoes me. I swallow hard, blinking fast at the road. “You always know what to say.”
“Damn right. Now go home, pour a glass of wine, and practice your runway walk. I want video evidence.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Goodbye, Nicole.”
“Fine. But send me pictures. I’m not kidding!”
I hang up, still smiling as I drive.
By the time I pull into the driveway, I’ve already booked the stylist who did Harper’s hair and makeup for prom last year. Excitement buzzes through me, stronger by the minute. I’m going to make Matt forget every reason he has for not wanting to attend this event.
I carry my new dress carefully into the bedroom, hanging it in the closet like a priceless artifact. I let out a breath, realizing I have the whole afternoon free—a rare luxury.
I drift into the living room, expecting to find Arrow sprawled on the couch or guarding the front window. Instead, he’s on the floor in the middle of the room—too still.
“Arrow?” My tone softens as I step closer.
His eyes lift to mine—clouded, distressed. He tries to stand, but his legs buckle as he collapses with a low whine.
“Arrow!” Fear cracks on my words as I drop to my knees beside him.
There’s vomit on the carpet. I stroke his thick fur, my voice laced with concern. “Are you sick, buddy?”
He lurches again, gagging hard, then empties his stomach a second time. Before I can react, his whole body seizes in violent convulsions.
“Oh my God!” The sound tears from my throat, panic flooding me. This isn’t a bug. This is life-threatening.
My hands shake as I fumble for my phone, heart hammering. Matt answers on the first ring.
“Hey, beautiful,” he says casually.
“Something’s wrong with Arrow!” My voice shakes, raw terror bleeding through.
His tone shifts instantly, hard and commanding. “I’m pulling up now.”
Thirty seconds later, he bursts through the door. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know!” Tears stream down my face. “I just got home. He’s throwing up and can’t stand. I think he had a seizure!”
Matt drops to his knees beside Arrow, eyes darting to the puddle on the floor. The color isn’t normal—dark, almost black—and the sharp, rancid odor hits a second later. His expression hardens.
“Get back!” His tone cracks like a whip.
I jerk my head up. “What? Why?”
“Melina, move away. Now.”
“Tell me what’s happening!”
His jaw tightens. “It’s zinc phosphide poisoning.”
Horror chills me to the bone. “What? How do you know that?!”
“I just know, Melina!” His voice is sharp, urgent. “We have to go. Now. Get in the truck.”
My pulse hammers as adrenaline surges. I sprint for the door, barely breathing, while Matt scoops Arrow into his arms, muscles straining but movements steady and controlled.
He lowers him gently into the backseat. I climb in after, dropping to my knees beside Arrow.
“No—up front,” Matt snaps.
“I’m not letting him die back here alone!” The words rip out of me, fierce and unyielding.
Matt freezes for half a beat, eyes flashing. He knows I won’t budge. “Fine. But if he vomits again, you cover your mouth and move up here immediately. Phosphide poisoning is lethal to humans, too.”
We peel out of the driveway, tires screeching. Matt lowers all the windows with one swift motion, carrying the fumes away. His jaw is set, eyes locked on the road.
“Call Steele,” Matt snaps, triggering the truck’s system.
The line clicks, and Steele comes through, calm and steady. “What’s up?”
“Nearest open emergency animal hospital. Now.”
“On it.” A beat of silence, then he’s back. “Four miles. King Animal Hospital.”
“Send it,” Matt barks, ending the call.
An address flashes onto the screen, and he taps it without hesitation, the route loading instantly.
“You said you had just gotten home?” His eyes stay locked on the road, expression grave.
“Yes,” I choke out.
“When was the last time he was outside?”
“I put him out right before I left.”
“Give me a time, Melina.”
“About noon. A little over…” I glance at my watch, pulse racing. “…two hours ago.”
Matt’s jaw tightens, gaze hardening in the rearview.
Three agonizing minutes later, we skid into the clinic parking lot. Matt is out of the truck instantly, yanking open the back door.
“Come on, buddy. You’re gonna be okay,” Matt murmurs.
He bursts through the doors like a force of nature, his words slicing through the air. “Zinc phosphide poisoning. Vomiting, lethargy, convulsions. Ingestion about two—two and a half hours ago.”
A vet tech rushes forward, carefully lifting Arrow from his arms. Her voice is steady but clipped with urgency. “We need to get him back immediately.”
We move to follow, but she steps into our path, firm but gentle. “Let us help him, okay?”
Then she disappears down the corridor with Arrow, the door swinging shut behind them like a gunshot. The sharp bite of antiseptic burns my nose, the hollow waiting room pressing in until I can’t breathe. My feet won’t move. Hands won’t stop shaking.
“Mel.” Matt’s voice cuts through the fog. His hand finds mine, rough and insistent, squeezing until I look up.
I meet his eyes—hard and steady, but shadowed with fear that reflects my own. He pulls me close, his grip firm, anchoring me. “He’s going to be okay,” he whispers into my hair, worn at the edges but steadfast, urging me to believe it.