Chapter 7
JAKE
T he sun rises over Rustic Junction's mock Old West storefronts, casting long shadows across the dusty main street.
I've been awake for hours, watching Trish sleep in the adjacent motel bed.
Despite my reservations in Basic Plaines, nothing has happened beyond sleep since our kiss.
Last night, was harder than the night before.
Her body curled toward mine during the night, seeking warmth or comfort, but I maintained the boundaries I'd set for myself and remained in my own bed.
I ease out of bed without waking her, needing the solitude of a morning run to clear my head.
After the revelations and near-intimacy of last night, my thoughts are more tangled than they've been in years.
The security professional in me knows I've compromised objectivity by developing feelings for Trish. The man in me doesn't care.
As I run through the empty streets of Rustic Junction, I try to make sense of what's happening between us.
The attraction was immediate, unexpected, and powerful.
But it's more than physical. There's something about her directness, perception, and personality that draws me to her in ways I haven't experienced in nearly six years.
Six years since Afghanistan. Since coming home. Since Valerie.
By the time I return to the Rustic Love Hotel, the sun has fully risen, and tourists are beginning to appear on the boardwalks, ready for a day of staged gunfights and saloon shows.I pause outside our room, steadying myself before entering.
Trish is awake, sitting cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through her phone.She looks up when I enter, her eyes widening slightly as they take in my sweat-dampened t-shirt.
"Morning," she says, her voice carefully neutral."Good run?"
"Productive," I reply, which isn't exactly an answer."How did you sleep?"
"Better than expected." She sets her phone aside."We need to talk about Basic Plaines."
I nod, appreciating her directness."We do. Let me shower first."
"Of course."
In the bathroom, I let the hot water sluice over me, hoping it might wash away some of the tension coiled in my muscles.It doesn't. When I emerge, dressed in fresh clothes, Trish is standing by the window, looking out at the staged Western town.
"This place is something else," she says without turning."You weren't kidding when you said it was like a movie set."
"It's designed that way," I explain, moving to stand beside her but maintaining a careful distance."Most of the 'residents' are actually performers."
"So, nothing here is real?" There's something pointed in her question that has nothing to do with Rustic Junction.
"The buildings are real," I say."The experiences people have here are real.The context is just... curated."
She turns to face me then. "Like you?A curated version of Jake Winters, security consultant, ride share driver, occasional control freak?"
A small smile tugs at my lips."I've never claimed to be an open book, Trish."
"No, you haven't." She sighs, running a hand through her sleep-tousled curls."Look, I've been thinking about what you told me the other night.About the security contract for Jordyn's wedding."
I wait, giving her space to continue.
"I understand why you didn't mention it right away.Professional discretion and all that.But I need to know if there's anything else you're not telling me that might be relevant to... whatever this is between us."
It's a fair question, one I've been anticipating since our conversation in Basic Plaines.The problem is, there are aspects of my security work that I'm not at liberty to disclose, even to her.
"My involvement with the Kane-McCrae wedding is strictly professional," I begin carefully. "But yes, there are details about the security operation I can't share. Not because I don't trust you, but because client confidentiality is non-negotiable in my line of work."
"Just like doctor-patient privilege or attorney-client confidentiality," she says, nodding.
"Exactly."
"I understand that part. But Jake..." She hesitates, then looks at me directly.
"Yesterday you explained why you drive for RoadRunner - the controlled interaction, the clear parameters.
I get that. But there's something else, isn't there?
Something about how you can just... arrange premium vehicles, perfect routes, override system protocols when needed? "
I feel my chest tighten. She's more observant than I gave her credit for.
"You don't drive for RoadRunner," she continues, her voice growing more certain. "You ARE RoadRunner, aren't you?"
The direct question hits home. I meet her gaze, knowing there's no point in deflection now.
"Yes," I admit quietly. "I created the platform. I own the company."
Her eyes widen, jaw dropping slightly as she processes my words. "Holy shit. I figured there was something you weren’t saying, but I was just going on a hunch. You're THE Jake Winters? The tech mogul Forbes called 'the invisible billionaire'?"
I shift uncomfortably under her scrutiny."The media exaggerates. But yes, I founded and own RoadRunner."
“I don’t know, I always imagined you’d be off lounging on a private island somewhere. Isn’t that what billionaires do? Leave your employees to do the grunt work?”
"I prefer to maintain a hands-on approach to quality control," I say, my explanation sounding hollow even to my own ears."And as I told you before, I find driving... clarifying."
She stares at me like she's seeing me for the first time."So that's why the premium vehicle, the perfect driving record, the meticulous route planning.You're not just some guy with a side hustle.You're the CEO of one of the fastest-growing tech companies in America."
I try to read her expression--shock, certainly, but also something else.Betrayal? Anger? Curiosity?
"Does this change things between us?" I ask directly.
She laughs, the sound sharp and surprised."You mean besides the fact that I've been sharing motel rooms with a secret billionaire?That I kissed a man who could buy this entire town on a whim?"
I frown. "My financial status doesn't define me, Trish."
"And what about us?" she asks, her voice softer but still tinged with disbelief."Is that convenient too? Another quality control check for the company founder?"
I look at her directly, needing her to see the truth in my eyes."There is nothing convenient about what's happening between us, Trish.It's complicated everything."
"Good complicated or bad complicated?" she challenges, still visibly processing the revelation but returning to sit beside me, maintaining a careful distance.
"Both," I admit. "You're a distraction from work that requires my full attention.But you're also..." I struggle to find the right words."You're the first person in a very long time who's made me want more than what I've settled for."
Something shifts in her expression, a softening around the eyes."And what exactly have you settled for?"
The question hits a tender spot I've avoided for years."Control. Distance. Safety." I look down at my hands."After Afghanistan, after what happened when I came back, it was easier to keep people at arm's length."
"What happened when you came back?" she asks softly, her hand covering mine.
I take a deep breath. This isn't something I discuss, ever.But Trish deserves honesty if we're going to continue whatever is building between us.
"I got involved with someone.Valerie. She seemed to understand me, understand what I needed after years in combat zones.
" I pause, choosing my words carefully."I've always had certain.
.. preferences when it comes to intimacy.
A need for structure, for rules.Sometimes taking control, sometimes relinquishing it. "
Understanding dawns in her eyes."BDSM."
I nod, watching her reaction closely."Yes. I'm what they call a switch.I can take either role, depending on the partner, the situation.With Valerie, I thought I'd found someone who respected that, who understood the importance of trust in that kind of relationship."
Trish's expression remains open, interested rather than judgmental.It gives me the courage to continue.
"During one session, when I was in a vulnerable position of being physically restrained, and emotionally open, she violated every boundary we'd established.
Used my vulnerability against me in ways I won't detail.
" My jaw tightens at the memory."It wasn't just the physical pain, though that was significant.
It was the betrayal of trust.In BDSM, that trust is everything. "
"I'm so sorry, Jake," Trish says, her fingers tightening around mine."That's horrible."
"After that, I shut down that part of myself completely.Built walls. Established rigid control over every aspect of my life.It was safer that way." I meet her eyes again."Until you. Something about you makes me want things I've denied myself for years."
"What things?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Connection. Surrender. The freedom that comes with trusting someone enough to be vulnerable again."
She absorbs this, her gaze never leaving mine."And that scares you."
"Terrifies me," I correct. "But not as much as the thought of walking away from whatever this is between us."
"I feel the same way," she admits."And for what it's worth, I understand boundaries and consent better than most.Owning a marketing firm requires me to honor people's boundaries, respecting their stories and their view of life, knowing when to push those limits and when to back off."
The parallel isn't one I'd considered, but itresonates."I believeyou."
She leans forward slightly. "So, whatnow?"
"Now, we keep driving," I saypragmatically."We reach Foxfire Valley by tomorrowafternoon.You attend your dressfitting.I begin securitypreparations.And we take each day as itcomes."
"Very zen of you," she teases, though the levity doesn't quite reach hereyes.
"Not zen. Just realistic." I squeeze her handgently."I'm not walking away from this,Trish.But I also can't make promises about what happens after thewedding."
"I know." She smiles, though it's tinged with a sadness that makes my chestache."Meneither."
We sit in silence for a moment, both aware of the unspoken complications but unwilling to let them overshadow thepresent.Finally, Trish stands, breaking themoment.
"Well, if we're spending our day in a fake Old West town, I'm going to needcoffee.Lots ofit."
I stand as well, grateful for the shift topracticalities."I hear the Guns Blazing Saloon serves a decentbreakfast.Though, probably not as good as Kathy'sDiner."
"Nothing could be as good as Kathy's pancakes," she says with exaggeratedreverence."But I'm willing to be disappointed for the sake of experiencing all this Old Westkitsch."
As we gather our things and prepare to check out, I watch Trish with an awareness that's both comfortable andunsettling.
Whatever happens after we reach Nevada, these days on the road with her have changed something fundamental inme.
As I'm now aman who might be ready to live again, not justexist.