Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
WESLEY
Fuck, I should’ve asked her to dance.
I came to the bar to get away—to breathe, to clear my head after seeing Emmett’s hand on her waist.
It shouldn’t have bothered me.
But it did.
A flicker of envy twisted deep in my chest—ugly and unwelcome.
And it’s only gotten worse.
From here, I have a perfect view of her on the dance floor—laughing, spinning, the lights catching in her soft blonde waves. She makes it hard to look anywhere else.
But she’s not alone.
She’s with him.
Lane.
His hands are on her hips, holding her close as they sway to a slow country song.
Fuck my life. Why did I hesitate?
It should be me out there—her fingers hooked behind my neck, my hand at the small of her back, spinning her around to some old love song while she looks up at me with her big green eyes.
Instead, like a masochist, I watched.
Watched as she took his hand and he pulled her in.
Watched until my chest burned like someone had lit a match behind my ribs.
Now I can’t stop thinking about it—about them. About how easily she fits against him. How she looks genuinely happy.
And I’m still standing at the bar, drink untouched, feeling completely ridiculous and wishing I could go back in time and do something—anything—different.
Because it should’ve fucking been me.
I push away from the bar, dropping a beer in front of Landon as I slide back into my abandoned seat at our table. He takes it, rolling the bottle slowly between his fingers, saying something low into the ear of the brunette beside him that makes her giggle.
Then finally he turns to me, eyes wide with something between surprise and disbelief.
“You’re not gonna believe what I just saw,” he says, a wide, lopsided grin plastered across his face.
I grunt and take a long pull from my beer, only half-listening. My eyes sweep the dance floor, searching for a petite blonde wearing fucking lingerie and dancing with someone who isn’t fucking me.
But I don’t see her.
The place is packed. Too many bodies moving in rhythm, faces blurring together under the haze of neon light. My jaw aches from clenching. Every second I find a face that isn’t hers, the heat builds—like tossing fuel on an already out-of-control fire.
“Yeah?” I mutter.
“Lane and Sadie left together.”
The words hit harder than they should. Like a gut punch.
All the noise in the bar fades out—music, laughter, the clink of bottles. It’s like someone pulled the plug, and all I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears.
“She left with him?” I ask, my voice rough, barely able to get the words out.
He nods, peeling the label off his beer before looking back at me. His expression softens. Too late. He’s stepped on the landmine. “Yeah,” he says, quieter now. “They’re out in his truck.”
Something twists in my gut. I picture it before I can stop myself—her in the dark cab, breath fogging the windows, his hands tracing up her bare skin, her head tipping back as he leans in closer, claiming her. The vivid thought burns like acid crawling up my throat.
Landon exhales slowly through his nose, his arm draped across the back of the girl’s chair, scooting her closer.
“Lane’s a good guy,” he says, tone careful now. “Just…intense. It’s the quiet ones you have to worry about.”
Yup. That’s my silver bullet. Right through the heart.
And suddenly, I can’t breathe. Because I know exactly what he means.
Fucking Lane Hartford.
I told my dad not to hire him. Something felt off—like he was hiding something. But dad claimed his references were solid, and he was just looking for a fresh start. There’s nothing Heath Morrow loves more than a project, and once he makes up his mind about something, there’s no changing it.
We’re all like that. The Morrow men are nothing if not stubborn.
So now Lane’s here—a permanent fixture on the ranch and a constant thorn in my side.
Before tonight, I didn’t really care about him. I just needed him to show up, keep his head down, and work. Emmett and Landon didn’t seem to mind him, but I’m not buying it. I’m not the type of person who lets their guard down easily. That’s never been me.
Trust and respect are earned, not given.
We didn’t stay at the bar much longer after that. Lydia gets a little rowdy when she drinks tequila, and she’d gotten into it with some frat douche who grabbed her ass. She was mid-swing when Emmett caught her around the middle and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
She can land a punch when she wants to.
But Brantley doesn’t tolerate brawls in his bar—and honestly, Emmett probably saved that guy’s life.
Back at the ranch, Landon invites everyone to the bunkhouse to unwind. I follow, mostly because I don’t want to go to bed yet. Sleep feels impossible.
The bunkhouse isn’t what most people picture. It’s not some row of metal bunk beds like a summer camp. My dad built it to feel more like a home—open living space, real bedrooms, even en suites. He said he wanted the crew to feel like they belonged. Like it was theirs, not just somewhere temporary.
Emmett and I lived there with the rest of the crew when we started working the ranch as teenagers. Dad made it clear from day one—no special treatment just because we were his sons. If anything, he held us to a higher standard. He wanted us to earn it.
And we did.
Those first few weeks were brutal, but I look back on them with a quiet kind of pride. Long days. Hard work. No one cutting us any slack.
At night, we’d sit around the table or out on the porch—talking shit, drinking, playing cards, and pretending we weren’t half-dead on our feet.
That’s where the real bonds formed. Not because we had to be there, but because we chose to show up. Day after day.
We’re not coworkers. We’re family.
I pour myself a bourbon. Just one. Then another. Probably should’ve stopped when it started going down like water.
The room buzzes with laughter and card games. I play half-heartedly, just enough to blend in—just enough to mask how miserable I truly feel.
Two hours pass before Lane finally shows up.
His shirt wrinkled.
Hair messy—like someone had been running their hands through it.
But it’s the shit-eating grin that does it. Like he knows he won. That’s what sends me over the edge.
He doesn’t hang around. Just stops in the kitchen, fills a glass of water, and disappears into his room without saying a word.
Someone at the table cracks a joke. Must’ve been good if he’s not talking about it.
That’s when I refill my glass. And then again.
And again.
Until the noise fades. Until I don’t feel anything except the weight in my chest and the dull ache that comes with knowing I let this happen. I let her slip through my fingers.
The guys usually brag all the time—girls from the bar, buckle bunnies, random hookups they don’t even remember the names of.
But when it means something, you keep your mouth shut.
That’s how I know.
That’s when it hits me.
I lost my chance.
Lost her before I even had her.
Fourteen consecutive days of being a miserable asshole and making it everyone else’s problem.
A new record.
I’ve made it a personal goal to make Lane’s life harder than necessary. It’s childish, I know. I’m not proud of it. But every time I look at him, all I see is her. And him—with her.
And I see red.
She’s not mine.
But it doesn’t matter.
This is the part where I step back. Where I do the right thing and move on.
So I swallow it. All of it.
Even if it’s not what I want.
Nobody seems to be letting go of the whole not-girlfriend thing. Not that Emmett or I are trying very hard to stop it.
If I’m honest, I don’t hate it.
At least, not until I imagine sharing a girl with my brother.
That’s where the fantasy ends.
Instead, I’m stuck in this version of reality. The one where I spent all morning untangling busted wire while trying not to picture his hands on her.
Dad told me to pull Lane to help, but starting my day with him sounds like my own personal hell. Hard fucking pass.
I need to let it go.
Lane breaking Dad’s rule pisses me off more than it should—but if I say something, Sadie will think I’m being a dick. Like I’m trying to get in her way.
I’ve done enough damage on that front.
Land won’t rat him out either, so I guess Lane gets to keep flying under the radar.
For now.
Eventually, someone’s gonna catch them. Secrets like that can only last for so long before the bubble bursts.
But it’s none of my business.
I’m getting over it, remember?
I leave the lodge after lunch, brushing past Lane at the bar without saying a word. We sat next to each other the whole damn time in complete silence.
I make it less than ten steps before nearly plowing straight into her.
“Oh shit,“ she blurts. “I’m sorry.”
I step back, shoving my hands in my pockets. “All good.”
Her cheeks are a little pink from the sun. Wisps of hair have fallen from her braid into her face, and she brushes them back without thinking—oblivious to the effect she has on me.
I look away before I can finish the thought, keeping my expression neutral.
“She’s inside,” I say, tipping my head toward the lodge. “If you’re looking for Lydia.”
“I wasn’t.”
I nod “Alright. Just figured maybe you were meeting with her or…someone.”
A beat of silence.
Her lips curve. “Someone like Lane, you mean.”
“Didn’t say that.”
“But you were thinking it.”
I shrug. “Doesn’t matter to me.”
“Sure,” she says, with a little too much amusement.
I look past her toward the paddock. “Outlaw’s waiting on me. Should probably get back.”
“Right. Wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”
But she doesn’t leave.
There’s a pause—just long enough for the air to thicken. I should walk away. But I don’t.
She’s watching me too closely now.
“You don’t have to act like you don’t care,” she says softly.
I force a laugh. “What makes you think I do?”
She tilts her head. “The way you’ve been avoiding me. The way your jaw tightens every time Lane so much as looks at me.”
“I don’t give a shit about Lane.”
“Sure,” she murmurs, biting back a smile.