Chapter Six
Garett
Garett leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, as he glanced at Torin. The younger man’s shoulders were stiff, his hands fidgeting against his jeans, betraying his nervous energy. Garett nodded toward the kitchen.
“Make us a cup of coffee,” he said, keeping his voice calm but firm.
Torin hesitated for a split second before nodding and shuffling toward the kitchen. Garett waited in the hallway until he heard the clink of mugs and the low hum of the coffee machine.
When Garett finally stepped into the kitchen, he found Torin at the big wooden table with two steaming mugs already set down. Torin looked up when Garett entered, his expression uncertain, but he didn’t move or speak. Garett sat across from him, picking up his mug and letting the heat seep into his hands.
“Alright,” Garett began, setting the mug down after a sip. “Let’s talk about how this is going to work.”
Torin straightened slightly, his eyes blinking at Garett’s face and then back down to the table. Garett wasn’t sure if it was nervousness or respect—or maybe a mix of both.
“First,” Garett continued, “you’ve got free rein in the common areas. Kitchen, living room, backyard. Just clean up after yourself. I don’t care how you organize your space in the guest room, but don’t let your mess bleed out into the rest of the house.”
Torin nodded quickly, his hands gripping his mug.
“Second,” Garett said, leaning back in his chair, “no loud music. Use headphones. I don’t mind if you’re having a good time, but we’ve got to get up early in the morning sometimes. That’s non-negotiable.”
Torin’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile. “Guess my dancing club nights are canceled then?”
Garett raised an eyebrow but smirked. “Guess they are.”
He continued, his tone firm but not unkind. “Third, if you’re going to have people over, let me know in advance. Doesn’t matter who it is, just a heads-up. And no overnight guests.”
Torin’s expression tightened at that, and Garett caught the flicker of something—annoyance, maybe—but it passed quickly.
“Got it,” Torin said, his tone neutral.
“You’re not allowed to contact Bishop by any means. If he contacts you, inform me, and I’ll make sure he stops.”
“What the hell is that about?” The red in Torin’s face matched the explosive tone of his voice, a clear sign of his rage.
“Why the fuck are you here for a year? Explain that to me.” Garett lost his patience, and his voice came off as shouting at Torin.
“Bryon is my business not yours.”
Garett sat at the kitchen table, his hands clasped in front of him, his steady gaze fixed on Torin. The soft light from the overhead fixture illuminated the tension etched across his face. He took a slow breath, bracing himself. This conversation wasn’t going to go over well—he quickly learned Torin’s volatile temper would erupt at the mere mention of Bishop’s name; the air crackled with tension. He had to lay down the rules regardless of his anger.
“You’re not to have any contact with Bishop or Byron,” Garett said firmly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. “No calls, no texts, no emails. Nothing.”
Across from him, Torin froze for a moment before his expression twisted into disbelief. “What?” he snapped, his voice sharp. “You can’t tell me who I can and can’t talk to!”
Garett’s jaw tightened. He had expected this reaction, but it still grated on him. “I can, and I just did,” he replied, his voice calm but with a hard edge. “You’re here on the ranch for a reason, Torin. You’re here to stay safe. Byron is not part of that equation.”
Torin slammed his coffee mug onto the table, the sound echoing in the quiet kitchen. “Safe?” he spat. “You think I’m some helpless kid who needs to be kept on a leash? I’m not some prisoner you can just control, Garett!”
Garett felt a flicker of frustration rise in his chest. He leaned forward, his voice lowering. “You’re not a prisoner, but you’re under my protection. And that means you follow my rules.”
Torin’s face flushed with anger, his hands gesturing wildly. “This isn’t protection—this is control! Byron hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s the one person I can actually talk to about what’s happened. He’s—”
“He’s part of the problem,” Garett interrupted, his voice sharp now, cutting through Torin’s words. The flare of fury in Torin’s eyes only deepened, but Garett pressed on. “Do you think I don’t know what he put you through? The manipulation? The chaos? You’ve told me yourself how toxic things were with him. And I’ll be damned if I let him drag you back into that mess while you’re here trying to rebuild.”
Torin shot to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me, Garett! You’re not my father, and you sure as hell don’t own me!”
Garett stood too, his taller frame towering over Torin, though he kept his tone steady. “I don’t own you, but I do care about you. And right now, that means making decisions you might not like. If keeping you safe and sane means cutting Byron out of your life, then so be it.”
Torin’s chest heaved with indignation; his fists clenched at his sides. “You think you know everything, don’t you? You think you’re so perfect and have all the answers. Newsflash, Garett—you don’t understand what I need!”
Garett’s shoulders tightened, a heavy weight settling over him. “You’re right,” he whispered, his tone softening just enough to catch Torin off guard. “I don’t know everything, and I don’t always have the answers. But I’ve seen what happens when people like your Byron get their claws into someone like you. I’ve seen the damage it does. And I’m not going to stand by and let it happen again. Not while you’re under my watch and roof.”
Torin faltered for a moment, the fire in his eyes dimming slightly, but the defiance was still there. “This isn’t fair,” he muttered, his voice cracking slightly. “You don’t understand how much it hurts to just cut someone off like that.”
Garett’s chest ached at the raw emotion in Torin’s words. He reached out, his hand resting on the table between them. “I know it hurts,” he said, his voice softer now. “But sometimes the people we think we need the most are the ones holding us back. You might not see it now, but I promise you, this is what’s best.”
Torin’s shoulders slumped, his anger giving way to something more vulnerable. He looked away, his jaw tight. “I hate this,” he muttered.
“I know,” Garett said simply, his heart heavy. But he wouldn’t back down—not when it came to Torin’s safety. Not when it came to protecting him from the things he couldn’t yet see were dangerous.
The silence between them stretched, thick with tension and unsaid words. Garett remained standing, watching as Torin wrestled with his emotions. He hated being the bad guy, but he’d do it a thousand times over if it meant keeping Torin safe. This wasn’t merely a job or a favor; Torin’s well-being was deeply important to him, a feeling that transcended professional obligations and personal debts.
“And the last rule,” Garett said, watching Torin carefully, “if you’ve got an issue with anything, come to me directly. Don’t let it fester. Same goes for me—if I’ve got a problem, I’ll tell you. Deal?”
Torin hesitated, then nodded. “Deal.”
Garett took another sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving Torin’s troubled face. The younger man seemed to mull over the rules, his brow furrowed slightly.
“What do you think?” Garett asked.
Torin shrugged, his lips quirking into a small smile. “Fair enough. Just don’t expect me to always be quiet before nine.”
Garett huffed a quiet laugh. “I won’t but try not to push your luck.”
For the first time since Torin arrived, Garett thought he saw a bit of ease in his posture. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
“Let’s get ready for Cowpokes,” Garett said.
“What should I wear?”
“First, take a shower. Everything you need is in the bathroom. Wear jeans and a plain color T-shirt. Do you have black boots?”
Torin nodded with a smile.
Both of them went to their rooms, showered, and dressed. Torin’s room was being used as a closet since he’d be sleeping in Garett’s room. Garett walked into the living room, his boots scuffing softly against the hardwood floor. The sight of Torin sitting on the couch caught his attention. The younger man was curled up with a book, his blond hair falling into his eyes as he read. It was such a quiet, unguarded moment of Torin letting his guard down for the time since he had arrived.
Torin must have sensed Garett’s presence because he glanced up, his gaze sweeping over Garett’s black leather vest, matching pants, and boots. A slight smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“You look like you’re ready to fight crime,” Torin said, closing the book and setting it on the armrest.
Garett snorted softly, stepping into the room. “Not quite. I’ve got something for you.”
Torin raised an eyebrow as Garett pulled a leather collar from his pocket. It was simple, black with a small silver clasp. Garett held it out, watching Torin’s expression shift from curiosity to something unreadable.
“Are you really going to put that on me?” Torin asked, though he clearly already knew.
Garett cleared his throat, forcing himself to sound casual. “You’re coming with me to Cowpokes tonight. This”—he held up the collar—“is to make sure no one gets the wrong idea and starts hitting on you.”
Torin’s smirk returned, sharper this time. “Oh, so I’m your property for the night?”
Garett’s jaw tightened at the teasing tone. He wasn’t sure why it rubbed him the wrong way—it wasn’t like this was real. Except some part of him wished it was. Wished this collar meant something more than just protection at a rowdy BDSM club.
“It’s not a joke, Torin,” Garett said, his voice firmer. “Cowpokes can get…messy. People there know me, and if they see you with me, they’ll back off. The collar’s just a signal.”
Torin’s gaze softened, the teasing edge fading. “Alright,” he whispered. “I get it.”
Garett nodded, stepping closer. “Good. But there’s more to it than just wearing this. When we’re there, you stick by me. No wandering off, no talking to strangers unless I’m with you. And for the love of God, stay out of trouble.”
“Trouble?” Torin repeated, leaning back against the couch. “Me? Never.”
Garett raised an eyebrow. “I mean it, Torin. Cowpokes isn’t the place to test your limits if you’re new to the lifestyle. People there don’t play around.”
Torin tilted his head, studying Garett with a curious look. “You’re really serious about this, huh?”
Garett exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I am. I don’t want to see you get hurt, alright? So just do as I say, and we’ll get through the night fine.”
Torin nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll behave.”
Garett stepped closer, the collar still in his hands. He hesitated for a moment before reaching out, fastening it around Torin’s neck. His fingers brushed against Torin’s skin, and he ignored the warmth that spread through his chest.
The collar clicked into place, and Garett stepped back. Torin reached up, his fingers brushing over the leather.
“How do I look?” he asked, his tone light but his eyes searching Garett’s face.
Garett forced a smirk, hiding the ache in his chest. “Like someone who will not get into trouble tonight.”
Torin chuckled, and Garett turned away, grabbing his keys from the counter. “Come on. Let’s go.”
As they walked out the door, Garett couldn’t help but glance at Torin out of the corner of his eye, the collar standing out against his pale skin. He told himself it was just for tonight, just for safety. But deep down, he wished it was real. Again, the thoughts returned with wanting this collar to be more than just a precaution. Making Torin his sub was the most ridiculous thought entering his mind at that moment. The boy knew nothing about the lifestyle nor did he show any interest.
But that wasn’t something he could admit—not to Torin, and definitely not to himself.