Chapter 41
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
"I will fuckin' kill—"
Calvin took two big steps toward me, still too far for me to pull her into my arms and hold her.
"No, not like that." She reached a hand up and tucked her hair behind her ear, lettin' her hand trail down, like she was followin' the path he'd taken. "My hair. My face, my neck." A shudder worked its way up from her boots to her roots.
I closed the remainin' distance between us slowly and threaded my fingers through the silky black strands of her hair that were a little wild after a long day on the ranch.
"Cut it off," I said. "You'll still be the most goddamn beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on.
" I fisted her hair a bit, tiltin' her head back to look up at me.
The move had her lips partin' and her breath catchin'. "And your face? Your neck?"
I kissed her cheek, bit her earlobe, dragged my tongue down the column of her throat and back up again until I brought my lips to hers.
"They're mine. What his hand did, my lips can easily erase."
She squeezed her eyes shut and a tear slipped down her cheek, so I kissed it away. Kissed away the rest that followed while she silently cried in the middle of the barn.
When she was all dried out, I kissed her lips once, slow and soft. "Let's go home, baby."
She looked up at me, hazel eyes takin' a turn for green. The sucker in me hoped that maybe they'd turned that shade because they were reflectin' back the same love that was in mine.
Yet another thing I'd avoid sayin' out loud, but damn I hoped she felt it.
Calvin took a shaky breath and nodded.
I took her hand and led her outta the barn toward my truck.
"Brody, my truck—"
"I'm drivin'. I'll bring you back in the mornin'."
"You don't have to—"
"What's this?"
The voice came from behind us, smooth as silk and just as slippery.
I turned. Wyatt Cole was leanin' against the barn door like he'd been waitin' there the whole damn time. Arms crossed. Hat tipped back. Smile wide enough to sell you somethin' you didn't need.
But his eyes weren't smilin'. They were on Calvin's hand in mine.
"Was just comin' to find you, baby." He pushed off the wall and took a step closer. Casual. Easy. Like he had every right to be here, every right to call her that, every right to exist in the same air she was breathin'.
Calvin's fingers tightened around mine.
"She ain't your baby." The words came out low. Steady. Didn't sound like my voice at all.
The smile faltered. Just a flicker—there and gone—but I caught it. The charm crackin' at the seams and somethin' ugly peekin' through underneath. He looked at our hands again, then back at me, and whatever he saw on my face didn't impress him much.
"And you ever touch her again," I said, "there won't be a body left to search for."
I meant it. Every word. Said it the way you'd say the sky is blue or water is wet. Just a fact of the world he was livin' in now.
Wyatt laughed. Tipped his head back and laughed like I'd told him the funniest goddamn joke he'd heard all year. When he leveled his gaze back on me, the smile was firmly in place again, but his eyes were black.
"I had her first." He looked at Calvin when he said it. Not at me. At her. "I'll have her last. I ain't goin' nowhere now that I found her."
Calvin's hand was on my arm before I knew I'd moved. Not pullin'—pressin'. Steady pressure. The same way she'd stop a horse from boltin'.
She knew before I did that he wanted me to swing. That my fist connectin' with his jaw out here on the gravel with no witnesses would be a story he'd spin any way he wanted.
I let her lead me to the truck. Got the door for her. Closed it. Walked around to my side with my back to Wyatt Cole and every nerve in my body screamin' at me to turn around.
But I didn't.
Instead, I took my girl home.
We rode in silence the whole twenty minutes from the ranch to the house. Didn't even need to stop at the apartment for a change of clothes because sometime over the last few weeks, all my shit ended up at the house anyway.
We'd found a cheap-ass washer and dryer that were tucked into the rundown, dirty old basement.
They were a great addition to our ancient refrigerator that had a persistent rattle and the single-burner stove—if you could even call it that—sittin' on the kitchen counter.
I'd kinda imagined the house comin' together a little more fanciful, but Calvin and I weren't fanciful people.
And there'd be plenty of time to upgrade. Right now, we were playin' house.
And I fuckin' loved it.
Loved comin' home to her.
Loved goin' to bed with her.
Loved wakin' up to her—then immediately fuckin' her.
But tonight, I'd love lettin' her find a safe space to crash after a shit day—one with me and Cat and the comfort of a bed she'd picked out new sheets for.
It wasn't much, but it was enough.