8. BECKETT
BECKETT
Quinn’s frustrated groans carry across the barn, curses leaving her pursed lips every so often.
She’s trying to lift a saddle onto a mare’s back, fumbling with the weight of it, cheeks flushed with the effort.
I should probably step in, but instead I lean against the stall door and let her wrestle with it.
She grits her teeth, muttering something under her breath as the leather slips again, nearly taking her down with it.
I know I’m probably taking it too far—she doesn’t really need to do any of the mundane tasks I’ve been making her do all morning; even I don’t do most of it.
But I want to drive her crazy to the point of quitting.
“Need help, princess?”
She turns to me with a glare. “No, thank you. I’ve got this.”
“The sooner you give up, the better for the two of us,” I remind her.
She stops what she’s doing and walks up to me, a resolved look on her face. “You do know that I am not going anywhere, right? I am here to stay, so you might as well get used to it.”
Her words only work to make me angrier. “I don’t have to get used to anything, so do us both a favor and leave.”
“Not happening,” she asserts before turning around and going back to saddling the mare.
I hate how confident she is in all this. She’s stubborn enough not to ask for help, and just like it’s been all day, she will keep going until she gets it right or until she breaks.
And that’s when it hits me.
Jace set this up. He knew she’d dig her heels in, that she wouldn’t back down. And he’s counting on me to break right alongside her.
The realization knots hot and tight in my chest. I’m not some project that needs tinkering, and I sure as hell don’t need the mayor’s daughter following me around and using me as her own personal guinea pig.
I shove off the stall door before I can think better of it, my boots striking hard against the packed dirt as I stalk across the barn. If Jace thinks this is the way to fix me, he’s dead wrong.
Time to tell him to his face.
The man himself is in his basement office, seated behind a row of monitors, stacks of papers all over his messy desk. He looks like he was waiting for me, arms crossed, that smug air of control radiating off him like heat off blacktop. “You’re working with her. End of discussion.”
My jaw tightens. “You’ve lost your damn mind if you think I’m letting the mayor’s princess trail me around like some kind of charity case.”
“It’s not about you letting her. It’s about you needing her.”
I bark out a laugh, sharp and humorless. “Needing Quinn Atwood? The girl who’s never worked a day outside her daddy’s shadow? What the hell could she possibly teach me?”
“Patience. Responsibility. How to face a crowd without blowing up?” His tone never rises, which only makes it worse, like I’m some problem he’s already decided how to fix. “You want redemption, Beck? This is your shot. The whole town’s watching. And frankly, you don’t get to say no.”
“Funny,” I mutter, heat rising in my chest, “I didn’t realize redemption came in the form of babysitting a spoiled committee girl.”
“Careful,” Jace warns, voice low now, steel hidden beneath the calm. “This is more than just about you. It hurts us as your family to see you suffering like this. If you won’t do it for yourself, you’ll damn well do it for us.”
My hands curl into fists at my sides. He has no idea what he’s asking. Or maybe he does, and he just doesn’t care.
“I’m not doing it. I’m not babysitting Quinn Atwood so you can feel better about yourself.”
“You think this is about me?” he says, his tone calm in a way that makes me want to punch something. “This is about you, Beck. About giving you the chance to show this town you’re more than the mistakes you made.”
“I don’t need her to do that,” I shoot back. “I don’t need anyone.”
His mouth curves, not quite a smile. “You’ve been saying that for years. How’s it working out for you?”
The jab lands harder than I’d like to admit, burning under my skin. “You don’t get it. She’s—she’s a problem. Every second she’s around, I feel like I’m just waiting for something to blow up in my face.”
Jace shrugs. “Then maybe you should stop waiting and start fixing.”
I stand here a beat longer, chest heaving, words on the tip of my tongue that I know will only push him harder. But I bite them back, because I already know—arguing with Jace is like arguing with a brick wall.
So I turn on my heel and head for the only person left who might actually hear me out.
Dad.
I don’t even bother knocking when I push into my father’s office. If Jace won’t listen, maybe the old man will. At least he used to, back when I still mattered around here.
“Dad, this thing with Quinn Atwood—it’s not happening.” The words come out sharper than I intend, but I don’t take them back. My hands are already curled into fists at my sides. “I don’t need her, I’m not her pity project, and I sure as hell don’t need her poking around in my life.”
He doesn’t look up right away, just keeps reading over a sheet of paper like I’m some impatient kid stomping his boots in the doorway. When he finally does meet my eyes, it’s with that heavy weight that’s always made me feel twelve years old again.
“Beck,” he says, calm, steady, like he’s defusing a bomb, “this isn’t about what you want. It’s about what you need. And it’s about time you stopped running from it.”
I shake my head, a bitter laugh scraping out of my throat. Of course. Of course Jace has already poisoned the well. “So that’s it? I don’t get a say in this? All I have to do is roll over and let her use me like some screw-up you all want to polish up so he can finally shine?”
His jaw tightens. “You are a Morgan, goddammit. It’s time you start acting like it. Quinn will be good for you. And you’re going to give her a chance.”
The finality in his tone is like a slammed door. My chest burns, fury clawing up my throat because no matter what I do, no matter how much I’ve tried to outrun it, nobody in this family ever really hears me.
So I storm out before I say something I can’t take back, before the frustration curdles into something worse.
I shove the door open so hard the frame rattles, the echo of it slamming shut behind me following me down the hallway like a damn taunt.
Everyone always has a plan for me, a lesson, a lecture.
Jace with his smug confidence, my father with his steady voice that allows no argument.
They think they know me. They think they know what I need.
I push out into the sunlight, the ranch sprawling wide and endless, but even out here, I can’t breathe. My boots crunch against the gravel, each step faster, harder, like I can outpace the weight pressing down on me.
Quinn Atwood. Just saying her name in my head makes my jaw clench. She doesn’t belong here, with her polished nails, her shiny ambition, her perfect little world that’s never been gutted the way mine has. And now she’s supposed to be my salvation? My punishment? My leash?
I drag a hand down my face, cursing under my breath. The horses in the nearest corral lift their heads at the sound, ears flicking, eyes tracking me like they know I’m one wrong move from snapping. Maybe I am.
But underneath the fire, there’s that hollow ache I can’t shake, the one that whispers maybe they’re right. Maybe I’ve been running too long. Maybe the town still sees me as the reckless kid who ruined everything because I’ve never given them a reason to see anything else.
I kick at a loose stone, watching it skid across the dirt. Damn it. I don’t want Quinn here. I don’t want her smile, her sharp tongue, her judging eyes seeing every one of my cracks. But it doesn’t matter what I want.
Because for the first time in a long time, my father’s word is final. And that means I’m stuck with her.
I grab a pitchfork and set to work in the stables, different from the ones I left her in because I don’t want to see her.
My muscles strain with each angry heave, sweat beads down my spine, the sharp tang of hay and manure thick in the air, but no matter how hard I push, it doesn’t burn the fury out of me.
The tighter I grip, the harder I swing, the more it circles back, festering.
Quinn’s face flashes in my head—bright eyes, stubborn chin, the way she held her ground even when I wanted her gone. I hate that about her. I hate that I don’t hate it enough.
“Son of a—“ I slam the fork down, the clang echoing off the stall doors. The mare nearest me whinnies, shifting nervously, and guilt pricks at me. I soften my voice, steady my hands, give her a pat on the neck until she calms. She deserves better than my temper. Hell, they all do.
But I can’t stand this restless fire in my veins anymore. Not tonight. Not with everyone waiting for me to play along like I’m some damn redemption story.
I pull my phone from my back pocket, thumb hovering over Landon’s number. He won’t ask questions. He never does. That’s the beauty of it—Quinn’s golden-boy brother is just as reckless as me, only nobody cares enough to nail him to a cross for it.
I hit call. The second he picks up, my voice is steady, cold, decided. “Drinks. Tonight. You in?”
Because if they want me to play the good son, the reformed Morgan, they’re going to have to wait. Tonight, I’m not giving a damn.