Chapter Eight
Garett
Garett’s boots scuffed against the gravel as he marched after Torin, his jaw tight with anger. Torin’s shoulders were squared, his steps brisk, but Garett closed the distance easily. When he reached him, Garett grabbed Torin’s shoulder, spinning him around.
“Don’t you ever slam my truck door like that again,” Garett barked, his voice low but sharp as a whip crack.
Torin froze, his defiance flickering for a moment, before his gaze dropped. “Sorry,” he muttered.
“Kitchen. Now,” Garett ordered, releasing him. “Get two bottles of water and sit your ass down at the table.”
Torin hesitated, glaring for a heartbeat too long before stomping into the house. They both removed their boots in silence. Garett followed, his chest tight, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Inside, the air was cooler, but it did little to cool the heat simmering in him.
He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching as Torin placed two bottles of water on the table and sat down, his movements stiff with irritation. Garett didn’t sit. He loomed, the weight of his anger pressing down on the room.
“Do you have any idea how close you came to blowing it tonight?” Garett’s voice boomed, each word escalating, filled with rising anger. “That club’s my workplace. You don’t get to come in there, throw attitude, and make me look like I can’t keep you in check!”
Torin’s mouth opened, but Garett raised a hand, cutting him off.
“I put that collar on you for a reason,” Garett continued, his tone sharp. “It’s to protect you—from yourself, from others, from the trouble you’d dive headfirst into if I wasn’t here. And don’t you forget it. The whole reason you’re in Montana is to work and stay out of trouble while I make sure nothing happens to you. At the club, you speak only when spoken to, and you keep quiet unless I say otherwise. Is that clear?”
Torin shot to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “You’re unbelievable!” he shouted, his voice cracking with frustration. “This is so unfair! I can’t say anything, I can’t do anything, and you expect me to just sit there like some robot? I didn’t ask for this! I didn’t ask for you…for you to control every part of my life!”
Garett stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “You don’t get to decide what’s fair, Torin. Not here, not now. You came to Montana because you needed someone to fix the mess you made, and that’s exactly what I’m doing. You don’t like it? Tough.”
“I hate it!” Torin shot back, his face red with fury. “I hate this place, I hate this life, and I hate that I ever agreed to come here! I want to go back to New York!”
Garett’s patience snapped, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “Enough! Go to bed. Now.”
Torin glared at him, his chest rising and falling as he struggled to contain his anger. Then, without another word, he stormed out of the kitchen, his footsteps heavy as he retreated to their bedroom. He left his empty, crumpled water bottle on the table, which aggravated Garett.
Garett stayed behind, leaning heavily against the counter. His hands gripped the edge, his knuckles white. The silence in the room felt deafening after the storm of their argument.
He let out a slow breath, his anger still simmering but edged now with exhaustion. Protecting Torin wasn’t just a job—it was a responsibility, one that weighed heavier with every misstep.
He rubbed his temples, muttering to himself, “Kid’s gonna drive me to an early grave.”
Part of this was his fault for not preparing Torin to meet his expectations at the club. If he were his sub, he would have punished him with a belt, but he had no right to discipline him. Garett had to remember Torin was not one of the twinks at the club who knew BDSM protocol and the expectation of a Dom. He would have to come up with better ways to discipline his immature behavior.
Garett went to his office, closed the door with a soft click. He leaned back in his office chair, the soft creak of the leather breaking the silence. The space reflected his personality: orderly, practical, and grounded. The walls were a warm beige, adorned with framed photographs of the Montana landscape—rolling hills, towering pines, and sunsets that seemed to go on forever. A bookshelf was displayed on one side of the room, its mantle lined with a few simple mementos, including a hand-carved wooden horse and a vintage clock that ticked steadily. The furniture was sturdy and comfortable—nothing too fancy—just like Garett himself.
On the desk in front of him sat an unopened bottle of water and a notebook, where he often jotted down thoughts or reminders. He disliked working on his laptop.
Garett ran a hand through his hair and sighed heavily. The night at Cowpokes was still playing in his mind, each moment of Torin’s defiance replaying like a broken record. He reached for his phone on the side table, scrolling through his contacts until he landed on his best friend Colton’s name.
Colton had always been a cowboy at heart, even when life had tried to steer him in a different direction. Born and raised in Montana, he’d spent his childhood on horseback, learning about the land like it was an extension of himself. His family had pushed him toward college, toward law school, hoping he’d trade in the ranch for a courtroom. And for a while, he had. He and Garett had gone through high school together, then college, where Colton had studied law, determined to make something of himself beyond the dust and fences of his hometown. Garett didn’t have many friends, but the ones he had were sacred to him.
He tapped the call button and waited, the line ringing twice before his friend’s familiar voice answered.
“Garett,” Colton greeted, his tone warm and steady. “What’s going on?”
“Colton,” Garett said, his voice heavy with frustration. “I need your advice. I’m losing my damn mind over here.”
“New sub?” Colton asked.
Garett leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Dante gave me this assignment—one-year, full responsibility for a twenty-one-year-old, New Yorker…city boy. I have to be with him at all times for his protection. I get it; I signed up for it. But tonight…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I took him to Cowpokes. Thought it would be good for him to see the environment, maybe learn a little. Instead, he was rude, mouthy, and made me look like I have no control over him.”
“Sounds like he’s testing boundaries.”
Garett’s jaw tightened. “Testing? He’s stomping all over them. I’ve tried being patient, but he doesn’t listen. Every time I try to explain why I’m doing this, he throws it back in my face. I don’t know what to do to get through to him.”
“First off,” Colton said, his tone practical, “remember that he isn’t your sub. He’s obviously coming from a complicated situation. He’s probably feeling trapped, even if you’re doing this for his safety. Balance authority with understanding.”
Garett exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve tried to be understanding, but he makes it damn hard. He doesn’t respect the rules, and when he acts out, it reflects on me. I can’t even discipline him.”
“He’s not your sub,” he repeated. “But set the tone early,” Colton advised. “Make it clear what’s acceptable and what’s not. Just don’t forget respect is a two-way street. He needs to feel like he has some control, even if it’s limited. Give him choices within the boundaries you set.”
Garett considered this, nodding slowly. “That makes sense. Maybe I’ve been too rigid.”
“Rigid is fine with your sub, but you have to adapt to who and what he is,” Colton said. “He will not respond to the same approach you’ve used with your subs. Figure out what he needs, not just what you think he needs.”
Garett rubbed his temples, the tension easing slightly. “You’re right. I’ve been so focused on the responsibility Dante gave me, I haven’t really thought about Torin’s perspective.”
“That’s a start,” Colton said. There was a pause before he added, “Why don’t you bring him to my place? Let him meet Henry. Sometimes, seeing how others navigate this dynamic helps. Plus, it’ll give you a break from being the only one in charge.”
“You think that’ll work?” Garett asked, skeptical.
“It’s worth a shot,” Colton replied. “Torin, I presume that’s him, might see things differently if he’s around someone who’s been through something similar and closer in his age. And you could use the support too.”
Garett sighed, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re always full of wisdom, aren’t you?”
“Just trying to help a friend,” Colton said with a laugh. “Bring him over tomorrow. We’ll keep it low-key.”
“Thanks, Colton. I appreciate it,” Garett said, his voice lighter now.
“Anytime, Garett. You’ve got this.”
As Garett ended the call, he sat in the quiet of his office, the weight on his shoulders feeling just a little lighter. He still had a long road ahead with Torin, but at least now he had a plan—and the support of someone who understood what he was going through.