Chapter 7-Benji
Yesterday morning—Esme standing in my bathroom with next to nothing on, touching me like she never forgot how, that look in her eyes like I was already hers—yeah, that was a close fucking call.
I know where this ends if I let it, but I need the truth first. Need to know we’re not walking into the same damn fire again.
Hence, the road trip.
We’re sitting in the truck with about half a million dollars’ worth of bull spunk in the back.
Yeah. That’s my life now.
Cryogenic chamber humming steady behind us, holding carefully cataloged semen straws from some of the best damn genetics we’ve built at Jersey Iron Ranch.
It’s secured, temperature locked, monitored through Micah’s system like it’s Fort Knox on wheels.
Because it kind of is.
This run matters.
Every run matters.
But this one?
This one’s got more riding on it than usual.
I grip the wheel a little tighter as we roll down the long stretch of road cutting away from the ranch, dust kicking up behind us in a thick cloud.
Beside me—she shifts.
Esme.
And yeah, that still feels strange as hell.
Having her here.
In my truck.
In my space.
Still smelling sweet and desirable as ever.
Like cinnamon apples and vanilla.
She’s close. Close enough that if I reach out—if I even stretch my leg out a bit—I could touch her.
I don’t.
But I think about it.
Too damn much.
Behind us, Alex is sitting in the backseat, headphones on, staring down at his phone like his life depends on it.
Good. I’d hate to have to deck him.
Because, yep, I already had that conversation.
Caught him staring at Esme’s ass when she bent over to grab her weekender bag before we left.
Didn’t like that.
Didn’t like that one bit.
“Eyes in your fucking head,” I’d told him.
He got the message.
Real quick.
Because, yeah, married or divorced? It doesn’t seem to matter.
My girl. Mine.
I exhale sharply through my nose.
Christ.
There it is again.
My girl.
I know.
I fucking know.
I shouldn’t be thinking about her like that.
Shouldn’t be claiming her or anything remotely like it.
Not when everything between us is still a mess.
Not when I don’t even know the truth yet.
But technically? According to my lawyer, her producer and that fucking dating app were right.
She’s still my wife.
He’s doing more research, but it looks like the marriage is still very much legal.
And the fact is, I’ve never been good at pretending I don’t feel something when I do.
Especially when it comes to her.
“I still don’t know why I’m coming with you on this trip,” she mutters, shifting in her seat, arms crossing loosely over her chest.
But I can hear it.
Under the words.
That spark.
That little edge of excitement she’s trying not to show.
And yeah—I know it’s there.
Because over the past few days?
I watched.
Everything.
Twelve damn hours of her videos.
Old ones. New ones.
Ones with shitty lighting and ones with full production setups.
Her laughing. Talking. Driving. Living.
Long hair blowing in the breeze. Lips stained red from that apple pie flavored balm she likes to wear.
I wasn’t there when she was building something from nothing—but I’ve seen it now.
And the more I watched?
The more I realized something I probably should’ve known all along.
Esme’s got guts.
Always did.
But this?
This life she built?
Living on the road, figuring it out on her own, putting herself out there for the world to see—that takes something else.
Something stronger.
Braver.
And yeah—she’s smart. Funny. And pretty.
So goddamn pretty it should be illegal.
But that’s not what gets me.
Not really.
It’s the way she kept going.
The way she didn’t break.
The way she didn’t need anyone.
And knowing that?
Knowing she doesn’t need a big, strong man to survive?
Yeah, that just makes me want to be that man even more.
Which is probably fucked up.
But I don’t care.
“You’re coming with me,” I say, keeping my eyes on the road, voice steady, “while the lawyer checks to see if that fucking dating app of yours got it right.”
She huffs out a breath beside me.
“It’s not my dating app—”
“If we’re still married,” I cut in, glancing at her briefly, “and when he gets back to me with his final report, I’ll let you know.”
Her jaw tightens.
“But Benji—”
“Until then,” I continue, talking over her, my tone dropping, because this part is more serious now, “you’ve got a stalker. Someone already broke into your place. I’m not leaving you like a sitting duck back at the ranch.”
She goes quiet.
I can feel her looking at me.
Really looking.
“And this?” I add, nodding toward the road ahead. “This works. I keep you close. I keep you safe.”
“Safe,” she repeats softly.
There’s something in that word.
Something complicated.
I don’t dig into it.
Not yet.
“Anyway,” I go on, forcing a little edge of normal into my voice, “you’ll like South Dakota. Don’t think you’ve been there.”
She frowns slightly.
“What? How do you know that?”
I shrug.
“Haven’t seen it in your videos.”
Her head snaps toward me.
“Have you been following my socials?”
I huff out a short laugh.
“I didn’t even know they existed until a few days ago when you showed up,” I admit. “But I’m catching up.”
That earns me a look.
One of those looks.
Half surprised. Half something softer.
“And?” she asks carefully.
“And what?”
“What do you think?”
She whispers the question like she’s almost afraid to ask.
I grip the wheel, jaw tightening just a little.
Because I don’t do this.
Don’t say this kind of shit out loud.
But she deserves it.
“I know it doesn’t mean anything,” I mutter, “but…”
I trail off.
Then force it out anyway.
“It’s good. Real good. And I’m proud of you, Ezzy.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Real.
I risk a glance at her.
And it hits me like a punch to the chest.
Her eyes are glassy.
Not crying.
Not quite.
But close.
“You are?” she asks, voice softer than I’ve ever heard it.
“Yeah,” I say simply. “You did amazing.”
She looks away quickly, blinking a few times, like she’s trying to get herself together.
“Wow,” she breathes out, almost to herself. “That’s, uh, not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?” I ask.
She lets out a quiet, humorless laugh.
“I don’t know,” she admits. “Definitely not that.”
I nod slowly.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Well.”
Silence settles between us again.
But it’s different this time.
Not sharp.
Not angry.
Something else.
Something that feels kinda promising.
Fragile.
Real.
Behind us, Alex shifts, probably pretending not to listen, but I don’t care.
Because right now?
It’s just me and her.
And the road.
And everything we haven’t figured out yet.
I adjust my grip on the wheel, eyes scanning the horizon.
South Dakota.
Ace.
The delivery.
The threat circling her.
All of it’s coming.
All of it’s waiting.
But for the first time since she showed up?
I don’t feel like I’m chasing something I can’t catch.
I feel like I’ve got a handle on it.
A direction.
A plan.
I glance at her again.
She’s looking out the window now, sunlight catching in her hair, wind brushing through the cracked glass.
Beautiful.
Strong.
Mine.
I cut that thought off hard.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
But damn if I don’t want it.
Bad.
And this trip?
This road?
This time together?
It’s going to give me answers.
One way or another.
And when I get them?
I’ll decide what to do with her.
With us.
For now?
I press my foot a little harder on the gas.
Because I’ve got miles to cover.
And a woman beside me I’m not letting out of my sight. Maybe never again.