Chapter 14
BEAR
My hands were tight on the wheel.
Ten and two. Like I was holding on to something that might rip loose if I let go for even a second.
The Escalade purred under me, but I barely heard it. My knuckles were white. My jaw ached from clenching.
Couldn’t go back to the cabin.
Couldn’t go back to Margie’s, either — not after that.
Not with my pulse still thundering in my neck and the taste of her still on my tongue.
What the hell was I thinking?
I pulled out of her driveway like I had somewhere to be. Truth was, I just needed to move.
She’d invited me in. Set the tone. Flirted. Poured wine. Curled into me on that damn couch like she was made for it.
And I’d let it get away from me.
I’d pulled her outside. Up against her aunt’s house, like some punk in a back alley.
“Idiot,” I muttered, hitting the steering wheel once with the heel of my hand.
She deserved soft sheets and candlelight. Not rough brick and headlights flashing while I had my face buried between her thighs.
I swallowed hard, ashamed of how much I’d liked it.
How I’d damn near come just hearing her cry out my name.
And now?
Now I was driving too fast down an empty stretch of highway toward nowhere.
Except... Zack’s.
That shitty little bar off the interstate halfway between town and the mountain. Neon sign always flickering. Music always loud. Crowd always drunk and half-dressed like it was August, not Christmas.
I pulled in and killed the engine. Sat there for a second, breathing.
Then I went inside.
The place smelled like beer, grease, and regret. The music was bumping — old rock mixed with some kind of bass-heavy remix — and the girls at the bar were wearing tank tops and tight jeans like they were in denial about the snow outside.
I slid onto a stool, nodding at the bartender.
“Whiskey,” I said. “Double.”
He poured. I drank.
And for the first time in days, I didn’t feel her warmth against me.
I felt cold.
Horny. Frustrated. A little pissed. Mostly at myself.
I stared at the mirror behind the bar, watching the way the lights caught the edges of my reflection — the clean beard, the new fleece, the effort I’d made.
All of it for her.
And I’d ended the night with her against a damn wall like I was just trying to get off.
The stool beside me shifted.
I didn’t look. I could smell perfume and cheap beer and too much body spray.
Someone said, “Hey, stranger.”
I didn’t answer.
Because she wasn’t her.
And no one else would be.
The whiskey burned going down. Not in a good way. Just enough to make my chest ache.
I didn’t want another, but I waved for one anyway.
Second drink sat untouched.
I wasn’t in the mood to get drunk. Wasn’t in the mood for company. Or the thumping bass. Or the girl three stools down eyeing me like I was the next bad decision she wanted to make.
What I wanted was Becca.
And I’d messed that up.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I let it sit there a second before I pulled it out.
JINX
So? How’d the date go?
I stared at the screen. Then typed back few words.
ME
I’m at Zack’s.
Didn’t take more than five seconds before the typing bubble popped up.
JINX
Alone at the bar?
I didn’t answer.
Another bubble.
JINX
Be there in 30. Don’t drive.
I didn’t argue. Didn’t say I was fine. Because I wasn’t.
I was wired too tight, sick in the gut, and caught somewhere between guilt and wanting to turn the damn Escalade around and knock on her door like a man with a plan instead of a problem.
But I stayed where I was. Watching the whiskey. Feeling the weight of my own mistakes settle in like frost on a windshield.
She was too good for this.
Too good for a man who couldn’t keep his hands to himself long enough to make her feel safe.
And the truth?
I didn’t just want her in the dark with her legs around me.
I wanted her in the morning. In the kitchen. In my shirt. In my world.
And now I wasn’t sure if I’d get the chance to prove it.
They were circling now. Like moths. Like sharks.
Perfume and glitter and drunk little laughs too loud for this early in the night. One leaned on the bar, giving me her side profile like I was supposed to take the bait. Another twirled her hair and pretended to be fascinated by the dart board she wasn’t playing.
I didn’t even look.
I just sat there, whiskey untouched, eyes fixed on nothing.
Because all I could think about… was her.
And how I’d lied.
Not with my mouth. I didn’t say the Escalade was mine. But I didn’t say it wasn’t, either. And I definitely didn’t say I’d booked the wine thing on a black Amex with no limit. Not because I was trying to impress her.
Because I was trying not to.
Because Becca was the kind of woman who looked past all that. And for once, I wanted to be seen the way I really am.
Not what I have. Not what I inherited. Not the damn money.
I still wore Walmart flannel. Still bought my boots for $25 a pair until they wore through. Still lived like I had to make things last, because most of the time, that’s what being a man was.
And now here I was, flush with more money than half the Wall Street boys I’d seen on TV, sitting in a dive bar, feeling like shit for swiping a card I never wanted to carry in the first place.
Because the woman I wanted — really wanted — had looked at the menu and ordered a damn soup so she wouldn’t cost me too much.
And if that didn’t gut me, nothing would.
Because she thought I was broke.
And she didn’t care.
She liked me.
Not Bear with the Amex. Not Bear with the Escalade.
Just Bear.
And I’d still managed to ruin it — to manhandle her up against a brick wall and make her feel like just another scratch to itch.
My throat burned. Not from the whiskey. From something else.
Guilt.
Shame.
Need.
My phone buzzed again.
JINX
10 minutes out.
Good. Maybe he’d talk some sense into me.
Or knock me out cold. Honestly, I deserved either.
Because the truth?
I had everything.
And I’d trade it all just to start tonight over — and do right by her.
I was on my second whiskey when I heard it.
“Bear.”
I turned. Donnie from the shop was squinting at me over the bar rail, holding a Coors in one hand, grease still under his fingernails.
“The hell’s goin’ on with that Prius?” he asked, sliding onto the stool beside me. “Banged up like it got in a bar fight with a snowplow. It yours?”
“Nah,” I said, slow. “Fix it.”
He blinked. “What?”
I turned toward him. “Fix it. Full work-up. New panels, touch-up, detail, everything. Put it on my account including the tow.”
Donnie frowned. “That Becca’s car?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “Just don’t tell her. Tell her the insurance came through after all. Say… I don’t know, DOT ruled it a snowplow incident. Fault was with the city or county or whatever. She’s clear. Everything’s covered.”
He stared at me like I’d lost my damn mind.
I slammed my fist lightly on the bar. “Make it sound good, Donnie. She’ll buy it. You just take care of the rest.”
He raised both hands. “Okay, okay. Boss, ma’am. Say no more.”
Everyone in Pigeon Forge knew who I was. And when I said handle it, they didn’t ask twice.
I sat back, nursing what was left of the whiskey, when I heard boots crunch behind me.
“Perez,” someone said — voice familiar, loud.
I turned. Rego. Local landscaper. Always smelled like mulch and diesel.
“No patch tonight?” he asked, eyes on my plain jeans and the North Face fleece. “No kutte?”
I flicked the edge of the zip-up with two fingers.
“Rollin’ in this,” I said dryly. “Don’t ask.”
Rego grinned, whistled low. “Damn. You got yourself a real date, huh?”
Didn’t answer. Just went back to my glass.
That’s when the door swung open again, and I didn’t even have to look to know it was Jinx. I could feel him from across a room — sharp energy, cocky step, heavy jacket with one snap always undone.
He clapped a hand on my shoulder, leaned in. “You good?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
“Thought not.”
He flagged the bartender and ordered two more doubles, then settled in beside me like we were just two regulars waiting out a storm.
We didn’t talk much after that.
We didn’t need to.
Sometimes the best kind of brotherhood is just sitting still with a man when he’s coming undone — no advice, no jokes, just silence and weight.
And whiskey.
The Tahoe was rattling up the mountain road, tires grinding on gravel, heater blasting, but I still couldn’t get warm.
Jinx was behind the wheel, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel like he hadn’t a care in the world. Grease and Axel were half-dozing in the back, boots up, jackets undone, talking low about some bar fight they narrowly avoided last weekend.
Me? I stared out the passenger window, jaw tight, teeth grinding.
Still tasting Becca on my lips.
Still smelling her perfume on my damn collar.
Still kicking myself for letting it get away from me like that.
“You gonna keep sulking like a kicked dog, or...?” Jinx said, glancing over at me.
I didn’t answer.
He snorted. “Don’t look so damn miserable. According to my weather app, another snowstorm’s heading in at the end of the week. Could dump one to three feet.”
I looked at him. He was grinning now.
That was never good.
“You get her back up at the clubhouse,” he went on, real casual-like. “Tell her you busted your knee or came down with the flu or somethin’. Hell, make up some sob story. Say the waitstaff’s down bad and we need help. Say she could clean up on tips. Whatever.”
I stared at him.
“Then—oops,” he said, snapping his fingers. “She accidentally gets snowed in again. Just like last time. Just you and her. Your cabin. No one else around but the snow and the pine trees and your sad-ass pining heart.”
I rolled my eyes. “Real smooth, Jinx.”
He smirked. “What? Problem solved. And maybe you’ll stop mopin’ around the place like someone shot your dog.”
“Shoot me.”
“C’mon, man. You want her. She wants you. The tension’s so thick, Axel thought we were about to crash the truck from the way you were vibrating.”
I shook my head, but he wasn’t wrong.
I was vibrating. Still.
From the kiss. The wall. Her breath in my ear. The way she looked at me like she saw me, stripped-down and raw, and still leaned in anyway.
“She’s different,” I muttered.
“Yeah,” Jinx said, serious now. “And that’s why you don’t screw it up. Don’t wait ‘til the snow’s melted and she’s back in Charlotte or wherever, tryin’ to figure out why you never called.”
I didn’t say anything.
Didn’t have to.
The idea was already taking root.
One to three feet of snow.
Just enough to trap her. Just enough to keep her.
Maybe fate was trying to give me a do-over.
And this time, I wasn’t gonna waste it.