Chapter 32 #2
He gives me a look that says he knows I’m lying. It makes me feel seen, exposed, and maybe a little cornered. Then his hand shifts, fingers drumming against my leg, not-so-subtle warning that testing him in front of an audience isn’t wise.
The match on TV surges, the crowd in the room groaning when the other team scores. Noise erupts again, and I take advantage of it to whisper, “You enjoy putting me on display like this?”
He doesn’t answer right away. He tips his beer bottle back, throat working as he swallows, then sets it on the armrest. His lips brush the curve of my ear when he finally speaks.
“I enjoy reminding them you’re mine.”
My stomach flips. Not because I hate the words—though I probably should—but because part of me thrills at the way he says them. Low. Certain. Possessive in a way that leaves no room for doubt.
I glance around, searching the faces of the men in the room. None of them say anything outright, but I see it—the weight of their stares, the knowing glances exchanged when they think I’m not looking. They see more than I want them to. More than I’m ready for them to.
The next few hours aren’t the worst, but as the sun sinks lower, the crowd gets wilder. I make the mistake of looking over to the corner where Jericho retreated, only to find him with a blonde in his lap, her dress pulled up to her waist, rocking back and forth on him.
Glancing around, I look to see if anyone else is catching it. Big mistake. Several of the men have their hands down their pants, stroking themselves beneath denim.
Wonderful.
“You good?” he asks me.
I nod and turn my attention back to the television. Not that I understand much about what is going on. I start to ask him a question when the room suddenly gets quiet. I turn to see what is going on. Colter tenses beneath me as my gaze lands on the last person I want to see.
Melanie.
There is fire in her eyes, but they are also filled with tears as she stares at us from the entryway. She is wringing her hands, but her chin is held high. Colter moves me off his lap and stands up.
Is he serious right now. He doesn’t say anything to me as he makes his way through the room until he is in front of her. I watch as he takes her hand, whispering to her, before leading her out the room.
Nope.
Hell no.
“You look like you need this.” I look up to see Sienna, the girl from this morning, holding out a glass tumbler with a pink tinge.
Normally I would decline. An alcoholic, drug obsessed mother will do that to you, but now, after everything tonight, I break my own rule.
I take it from her, careful not to look at the people surrounding me who no doubt knows exactly who she was to Colter before I came along.
Who do I need to bribe to get a ride out of here?
“Come on.” She motions for me to follow her and, not having anything better to do, I do just that.
She weaves us through the press of bodies, moving with the confidence of someone who’s done this a thousand times before.
I trail after her, clutching the glass like a lifeline, careful not to meet anyone’s eyes.
The farther we move from the living room, the more the noise dulls, still there, still pounding, but muffled by walls and distance. Sienna pushes open a door off the hallway and gestures me inside.
It’s quieter here, almost eerily so compared to the chaos outside. The room smells faintly of cedar and leather, with a pair of worn armchairs angled toward a fireplace that hasn’t been lit in a long while. Books line the shelves in uneven stacks in clutter that is lived in rather than staged.
“Sit,” she says, perching on the arm of one chair while I sink into the other. She tips her chin at my drink. “It’s cranberry and vodka. Not strong, but it’ll take the edge off.”
I take a sip. It burns enough to remind me I’m still tethered to reality.
My brain is still stuck on the sight of Colter taking Melanie’s hand. On the fact that he didn’t even look at me before he walked her out like I wasn’t even there.
Sienna studies me over the rim of her own glass. “You know about her and Colter.”
It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “I know she used to suck his dick.”
She laughs softly, a humorless sound. “That’s about right, but to a lot of people she is more than that. She’s… history. But history doesn’t vanish because someone new walks in the door.”
I grip the tumbler tighter, forcing my voice not to crack. “And what does that make me?”
Her eyes soften, and that’s somehow worse. Pity sits heavier than scorn. “That makes you the one sitting in his lap. Which, trust me, says a hell of a lot more than you realize.”
I want to argue. I want to tell her it doesn’t feel that way, not when he can get up and leave me like I don’t exist. But the words stick in my throat.
Instead, I finish the drink in two burning gulps and set the empty glass on the table between us. “Does he do this often? Bring someone home, parade her around, then ditch her the second another woman shows up?”
Sienna tilts her head, her expression unreadable. “No. That’s not Colter.”
“Then what the hell was that?” The bitterness in my tone surprises even me.
She shrugs, swirling the last of her drink. “That was Melanie. She’s a sore spot. Always has been. But don’t make the mistake of thinking she still has a claim. If Colter wanted her…” Her gaze flicks toward the door, pointed. “She’d be in his room right now. Not you.”
Her words hit harder than the vodka, cutting sharp and deep. Because she’s right. Whatever happened out there, whatever whispered words passed between them—it doesn’t change the fact that it’s my clothes in his drawers. My scent on his pillow. My body still aching from his touch.
And yet, my stomach twists, sour and unsettled. Because none of that explains why he left me sitting there while he went after her.
The silence stretches until the roar of laughter and the drone of the soccer announcer seep back into my awareness, a reminder that the house hasn’t slowed down because my world tilted.
Sienna finally sets her glass down, leaning forward, elbows on her knees.
“You’ve got two choices, Peyton. You can sit here and stew about it, let her win without even trying.
Or you can walk back out there, sit on his lap again, and make damn sure everyone in this house knows exactly where he stands. ”
Her eyes catch mine, sharp and challenging. “Your call.”
I don’t rush to follow Sienna’s advice. My pride won’t let me. Instead, I let her tug me through another doorway that opens into a den already occupied by three women sprawled across couches with their drinks in hand.
The air in here is lighter than in the main room. No blaring television or testosterone thick enough to choke on. Only quiet chatter, soft laughter, and the occasional clink of ice in glasses.
“Look who I dragged in,” Sienna announces, motioning toward me. “New blood.”
All three sets of eyes turn to me at once.
The first is a petite brunette with a blunt bob and sharp cheekbones that make her look like she stepped out of a glossy magazine. She’s curled in the corner of the couch with a glass of red wine, legs tucked beneath her. “About time Colt brought someone around,” she says, voice silky and amused.
“Don’t scare her, Tessa,” another warns. This one’s taller, curvy, with skin the shade of rich caramel and braids pulled into a loose bun at the crown of her head. She pats the cushion beside her in invitation. “I’m Rayna. Sit. Drink. Breathe. The guys get rowdy, but this room’s a safe zone.”
Grateful, I take the seat, clutching my empty tumbler like a shield.
The third woman looks up from her phone, smiling warmly. She’s got auburn hair pulled into a messy knot and freckles scattered across her nose, like sunshine clings to her. “Maddie,” she introduces herself, setting the phone down. “Don’t let them fool you. They’re harmless. Mostly.”
That gets a round of laughter, even from me.
It takes only a few minutes before I realize they’re easy to like.
Easy to talk to. Not fake-nice, not judging me with thinly veiled curiosity like half the faces downstairs.
They ask me simple questions—where I’m from, how long I’ve been around Broken Ridge, what I do when I’m not apparently glued to Colter’s side.
I keep my answers vague, careful. But the longer I sit with them, the more the edge of my nerves dulls.
Rayna hands me another drink—lighter this time, almost fruity—and nudges me with her shoulder. “You’ll get used to the circus. They take their games seriously.”
“Clearly,” I mutter, earning another ripple of laughter.
For a little while, I let myself breathe. They trade stories, most of them harmless—ridiculous bets the guys make on matches, the way Jericho once broke a coffee table trying to celebrate a goal, some unspoken competition over who can eat the most wings in one sitting.
It’s easy, even fun, but underneath, I can’t stop the question clawing at me. Not about soccer, not about drunken bets. About him.
I try to be casual when I finally ask, “So… what exactly does Colter do?”
Three heads turn toward me.
It’s not hostile. Not even cold. But the shift in the air is instant.
Tessa sips her wine, gaze skating away. Rayna fusses with her glass, ice clinking loudly. Maddie’s smile doesn’t falter, but it doesn’t reach her eyes anymore either.
“He runs the ranch,” Rayna says finally. Safe. Distant.
“Yeah,” Tessa adds, too quickly. “Keeps busy with that. You know how it is.”
Do I? Not really. But I nod anyway, though the weight of their silence speaks louder than their words.
They don’t want to tell me. Or maybe they can’t.
So I let it drop, filing the hollow space it leaves somewhere deep in my chest.
Instead, I let Maddie pull me into a story about her disastrous attempt to learn to ride one of the more temperamental horses. I laugh when she mimes nearly toppling off, and for a little while, it feels almost normal. Like I could belong here, with them.
The door creaks open behind me, and I don’t even have to turn to know who it is. His presence is that loud, that magnetic.
Colter fills the doorway, broad shoulders blocking half the light from the hall. His gaze sweeps the room, sharp as a blade, and lands on me. Relief flickers there for a second before it’s swallowed up by something harder.
“Peyton,” he says, low and certain, like my name alone is enough to pull me up.
It works. My body reacts before my brain does, heart flipping traitorously in my chest.
The women share a knowing look that borders on amusement, but none of them say a word as I set my glass down and stand.
Colter doesn’t move from the doorway. Doesn’t speak again. He watches me with that unreadable expression that makes my stomach knot.
I cross the last few steps to him, his hand sliding lower against my back. It should be a subtle touch, but with him it feels like a claim.
“Come on,” he murmurs, voice pitched low enough that it doesn’t carry far. “Upstairs.”
It’s not really a request.
I glance back over my shoulder at the women. Tessa quirks a brow, Maddie hides a smirk behind her glass, and Rayna winces like she knows better than to get caught in the middle.
For the first time since I sat down, I don’t want to leave.
“No,” I say, quiet but steady. “I’m good here.”
That gets me three pairs of widened eyes and a stunned silence. I may as well have slapped him, judging by their reactions.
Colter’s thumb pauses where it rests on my hip, the weight of his gaze dragging me back to him. Slowly, his mouth curves into something sharp that is edged with amusement and warning.
“You’re good here?” he repeats, like he’s testing the words on his tongue.
I lift my chin a fraction. “Yeah. I’m having a good time.”
The air in the room changes. The women are statues now, frozen between sympathy and disbelief, like they’re waiting to see if I’ve committed suicide.
Rayna’s eyes dart to Colter and then quickly back to her drink, as though she’s washing her hands of the whole thing. Tessa mouths something that looks suspiciously like girl, no. Maddie’s the only one who grins, but it’s tight, nervous.
Colter doesn’t argue. Doesn’t raise his voice. That’s not his way.
Instead, he dips his head closer to mine, his breath brushing my temple as he murmurs, “We’ll see about that.”
Before I can process what that means, his arm hooks behind my knees, and he sweeps me up like I weigh nothing.
“Colter!” I yelp, gripping his shoulders instinctively as the room spins.
A low chuckle rumbles from his chest, satisfied and unhurried, like this was always the inevitable outcome.
“Guess you’re leaving after all,” Tessa mutters, recovering first.
Rayna shakes her head, muttering something under her breath about stubborn men. Maddie laughs, covering her mouth as if that’ll soften it.
“Put me down,” I hiss, trying to squirm without wriggling out of his hold and risking eating carpet in front of everyone. “I wasn’t done talking—”
“You’re done,” he says simply, carrying me into the hallway as though I didn’t tell him no. His steps are steady, confident, like he owns every inch of this place and everyone in it.
Behind us, the women’s laughter follows, a mix of shock and amusement, fading as he starts up the stairs with me locked in his arms.
And as much as my pride wants to keep resisting, a small, traitorous part of me thrills at how easily he dismisses every obstacle between us.
Like I was never going to have a choice.