Chapter 26 Colt
Colt
The morning sun slants through my truck windshield as I navigate the winding road back to town, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on Lucy's bare thigh.
She's changed into fresh clothes after a quick detour to Gabriel's house. A simple sundress that makes her look young and beautiful and, hell, ours.
The thought should probably bother me more than it does.
Instead, it settles into my chest like something that was always meant to be there.
In the back seat, Tyson pants contentedly, his massive head occasionally appearing between us to check on his favorite human. The big dog's been glued to Lucy's side ever since she got hurt, like he knows she needs protecting. Smart animal. Smarter than most people I know.
I let my thumb trace lazy circles on Lucy's smooth skin, and she doesn't pull away.
Instead, she turns her hand palm-up on the seat between us, a silent invitation I'm quick as hell to accept.
Our fingers lace together naturally, and something that's been wound tight in my chest for years finally loosens.
Two days ago, if someone had told me I'd be holding hands with a woman while driving her back from my best friend's ranch after the three of us had spent the night tangled together in ways that would make a porn star blush, I'd have laughed in their face.
Or punched them. Knowing me, probably punched them.
But here we are. And damned if it doesn't feel more right than anything has in my entire fucked-up life.
Not just the sex, though Christ knows that was incredible enough to ruin me for anyone else.
But this. The quiet intimacy of shared silence, the way she fits against my side like she was custom-made for that space, the fact that for the first time in two years I don't feel like I'm missing something fundamental.
Like maybe I'm not as broken as I thought.
I glance at Lucy from the corner of my eye, taking in her profile as she watches the Montana landscape roll past my window.
There's something peaceful about her expression, a contentment I haven't seen before.
Like maybe she's not calculating escape routes for once, not planning her next move in whatever chess game she's been playing with life.
"Penny for your thoughts, Shortie," I say, because the silence is starting to make me think too much about things I'm not ready to examine. Things like how fast I'm falling and how far I'd fall if this goes to shit.
She turns to look at me, a small smile playing at her lips that makes my chest tight. "Just thinking about how different everything feels now. Three days ago, I was sleeping in my van and working for you was supposed to be temporary. Now..."
"Now you're sleeping in our beds and working us over in hay barns?" I supply with a grin, earning myself a playful smack on the arm that stings just enough to make me want more.
"I'm being serious, Colt."
"So am I. Best career change you ever made, if you ask me."
She laughs, the sound rich and warm in the cab of my truck, and I want to bottle it and save it for the darker days. Because good things don't last in my life. They never have.
"You're impossible."
"Part of my charm." I squeeze her hand, then force myself to ask the question that's been eating at me since we left Beau's ranch like acid in my gut.
"But really, Shortie. How are you feeling about all this? Any regrets?"
The vulnerability in my voice surprises even me. Since when do I ask for reassurance like some lovesick teenager?
But the truth is, yesterday changed everything, shifted the entire foundation of my world, and I need to know where her head is before I let myself fall any deeper into this impossible situation.
Lucy is quiet for a long moment, considering her words with the care of someone who knows how much damage the wrong ones can do. When she speaks, her voice is careful but honest.
"Confused? Yes. Overwhelmed? Definitely. But regrets?" She shakes her head firmly. "No regrets. I know what we're doing doesn't make sense to most people. I know they'd probably think I'm crazy for even considering..."
She trails off, and there's something in her tone that makes me look at her more closely. A shadow that passes over her features like a cloud blocking the sun, like she's remembering something that still has the power to hurt her.
"Crazy's just a word people use when they don't understand something," I tell her, meaning every syllable. "Doesn't make it wrong."
"I've been called worse things by people who were supposed to know better," she says quietly, then seems to catch herself.
"But that's not the point. The point is, this feels right. I can't explain it logically, but it does. All of it. You, Beau, Gabriel, the way we fit together. My only real concern is that someone's going to get hurt."
The admission hangs between us, honest and raw and cutting straight to the heart of my own fears. Because I've been terrified of the same damn thing since the day Beau stopped speaking to me. Hurt is what I do best, even when I don't mean to.
"Lucy." I pull over at a scenic overlook, putting the truck in park so I can turn to face her properly.
Through the windshield, the Montana landscape spreads out like a promise, endless sky and rolling hills that make you believe anything's possible. "Look at me."
When she meets my eyes, I see all the vulnerability she's trying to hide. The fear that this is too good to be true, that something this perfect has to have a catch. It's a look I know intimately because I see it in my own mirror every morning.
"We're all going into this with our eyes wide open," I tell her, my voice rough with emotion I'm not used to showing anyone. "I can't speak for the other guys, but I can speak for myself. I'm all in, Shortie. Whatever this is, wherever it goes, I'm not running. Not from you, not from any of it."
"What if it doesn't work? What if we mess up what you and Beau are trying to rebuild?"
The question hits closer to home than I want to admit. Because the truth is, I've been wondering the same thing, turning it over in my mind like a worry stone.
Yesterday was the first time in two years that Beau and I worked together instead of against each other, and it felt so natural I almost forgot why we'd been fighting in the first place.
Almost.
"Beau and I have been circling each other like wounded animals for two years," I say finally, the words tasting like truth and regret.
"Snarling and snapping but never quite going for the throat.
If being with you is what it takes to remind us we used to be brothers, then maybe that's exactly what we need.
Maybe you're not going to break us apart.
Maybe you're going to put us back together. "
The words surprise me as soon as I say them, but I realize they're true. For the first time since Sophia left, I can look at Beau without feeling like someone carved out a piece of my chest with a rusty knife. And if Lucy's the reason for that, then I owe her more than she knows.
"You really mean that?" she asks, her brown eyes searching my face like she's looking for lies.
"I really mean that." I bring our joined hands to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "Besides, I've got a good feeling about this. All of it."
She's quiet for a moment, then leans across the console to kiss me. It's soft and sweet and tastes like promises I'm not sure any of us know how to keep, and when she pulls back, there are tears in her eyes.
"Thank you," she whispers. "For being so sure when I'm not sure of anything."
"I'm sure enough for both of us right now."
I pull back onto the road, and we drive in comfortable silence for a while. Lucy's head rests against my shoulder, and I can feel the tension leaving her body with each mile we cover.
Whatever demons she's running from, they feel further away when she's with us.
When the clinic comes into view, I'm almost disappointed. The drive gave us time to just be together without the complications of other people or responsibilities or the real world trying to intrude.
"Actually," Lucy says as I park in front of the clinic, "would it be okay if we make a quick stop at the diner first? Gabriel worked all night, and I thought maybe I could bring him some breakfast. He's probably running on nothing but coffee and stubbornness by now."
The request should trigger every jealous instinct I have. Should make me want to mark my territory, remind her who she spent the night with, whose name she was screaming in the hay. Instead, I find myself smiling at her thoughtfulness.
Damn. When did I get so reasonable about sharing?
"Look at you, already taking care of all of us," I tease, but there's genuine affection in my voice. "Gabriel's lucky to have someone thinking about him."
"About all of you," she corrects, and the simple words hit me harder than they should.
When was the last time someone worried about whether I'd eaten breakfast? When was the last time anyone gave a damn about my wellbeing beyond what I could do for them? I can't remember, and that realization is both depressing as hell and oddly hopeful.
"The diner it is, then." I shift the truck back into drive. "But I'm buying. Man's gotta establish some kind of territory in this relationship, even if it's just picking up the check."
Lucy laughs, bright and genuine, and the sound goes straight to my chest like a shot of good whiskey. "Is that how you're planning to handle this? Whoever pays for the most meals gets to be alpha?"
"Hey, don't knock it. I've got a good income and low overhead. I could dominate this competition."
"What about Beau? He owns a ranch."
"Beau's got more money than God, but he's also got more pride than sense.
He'll insist on splitting everything equally until we all go broke from the math.
" I grin at her, feeling lighter than I have in years.
"Gabriel's the real threat. Steady government salary and he actually knows how to budget.
Plus he's got those responsible, provider instincts going for him. "
"So you've thought about this."
"Shortie, I've been thinking about every aspect of this situation since about five minutes after I met you. Including the logistics of sharing a woman with two other men who are just as stubborn and territorial as I am."
The admission slips out before I can stop it, and I tense, waiting for her to freak out. Because the truth is, I have been thinking about it. Obsessing over it, really. How the hell do you share someone without destroying them or yourself in the process?
Instead, she just looks at me with those incredibly expressive brown eyes and says, "And what did you conclude?"
"That it's either going to be the best thing that ever happened to all of us, or it's going to be such a spectacular disaster that they'll write sad songs about it." I pull into the diner parking lot and cut the engine. "Either way, I'm not missing it."
She's quiet for a moment, processing my words. Then she reaches over and cups my cheek, her thumb tracing the stubble along my jaw with a touch so gentle it makes my chest ache.
"For what it's worth," she says softly, "I vote for the first option."
"Good thing, since you're the deciding factor in which way this goes."
I lean into her touch, and for a moment we just look at each other. This woman who showed up in my life like a tornado and turned everything upside down. This woman who somehow makes me want to be better than I am while accepting me exactly as I am, damage and all.
"Come on," I say finally, before I do something stupid like tell her I'm already half in love with her. "Let's go get the sheriff some breakfast before he arrests me for monopolizing his girlfriend's time."
"Girlfriend?" Lucy raises an eyebrow as we climb out of the truck.
"What would you prefer? Shared romantic interest? Mutual object of desire?"
She considers this seriously, like it's an important question that deserves careful thought. "I think I like girlfriend. It's simple."
"Simple's good." I come around to her side of the truck and pull her into my arms, not caring who might see us through the diner windows. "Though I should probably warn you, there's nothing simple about sharing a girlfriend with two other men, one of them never having done this before."
"I've never been shared before either. We'll figure it out as we go." Lucy says, rising up on her toes to brush her lips against mine.
"Now that," I murmur against her mouth, tasting sunshine and possibilities, "sounds like the kind of adventure I've been waiting for my whole damn life."
As we walk into the diner together, her hand warm in mine, I can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, we're all crazy enough to make this work.