Chapter 4
Dean
The rescue arrives faster than I expected. Dylan and Duke pull up in one of the company vans, Diesel right behind them in Dad’s truck. They make quick work of loading the kayaks, tossing us towels, and herding us into the vehicles like this is just another standard pickup.
Except they separate us.
Paisley ends up in the van with Dermot, while Diesel, Duke, Dylan and I climb into the truck. I try to argue, but Diesel just gives me that flat look and shoves me toward the passenger seat.
I’m fuming the entire drive back.
Every mile the tires eat up on the winding gravel road, my jaw clenches tighter.
I should be sitting next to her. I should have my hand on her thigh, reassuring her that this isn’t over.
Instead, I’m stuck listening to Diesel grunt about an incoming thunderstorm while Duke keeps shooting me knowing smirks in the rearview mirror.
They’re all acting like it’s already decided. Like Paisley’s one of us now. Like I’ve already claimed her.
I haven’t.
Two days of kisses and cuddles and sleeping with her curled against my chest, and I still haven’t told her she’s mine. That she’s not getting back in that rental car and driving out of my life. The assumptions are making my skin itch.
By the time we pull into the lot, I’m ready to bite someone’s head off.
Mom and Dad are waiting right there with the rest of the crew.
The second we park, the family swarms. Mom’s fussing over Paisley again, wrapping her in a fresh towel and calling her “sweetheart” in that warm way that makes it sound like she’s already planning our wedding.
Dad’s nodding at her with quiet approval.
The twins are teasing her about becoming an honorary Johnson.
It should feel good. Instead, it pisses me off more because I haven’t earned the right for them to assume any of this yet.
I start toward her, but Diesel and Dermot grab me first.
“Aw, look at him,” Dermot laughs. “All grumpy because we wouldn’t let him sit next to his girl the whole way back.”
Before I can snarl a reply, they hoist me up, two sets of hands with years of practice tormenting me.
“Welcome home, little brother!”
I go airborne.
Cold river water swallows me whole. I surface sputtering, shoving hair out of my eyes, already planning revenge and my stomach plummets like I just hit a Class IV drop.
Paisley’s walking away. Fast. Head down, shoulders tight, slipping through the crowd toward the far end of the lot where her rental car is parked.
No. Fuck no.
Panic explodes in my chest.
I haul myself out of the river, flip flops squelching, clothes plastered to my skin, and break into a dead sprint.
“Paisley!”
Behind me, my brothers’ laughter cuts off as they realize I’m not coming for payback.
“Hey! Where is she going?” Dylan yells.
I don’t slow down, not even when I lose one of my shoes.
“Did you not ask her?” Duke calls out, way too amused.
“Two days and you didn’t ask her out?” Diesel’s voice booms after me.
“I dropped the ball!” I shout over my shoulder, gravel flying under my now bare feet.
“No shit,” Diesel mutters, loud enough to carry.
Their laughter starts up again, loud and obnoxious. I hear Mom grumbling about idiot sons.
Dad’s calm voice cuts through it all as I run, “Thomas? I’m calling in that favor.”
There’s only one Thomas in Crescent Ridge. Sheriff Thomas Larson. I don’t care what strings Dad’s pulling. I only care about the woman trying to drive out of my life before I can fix this.
My wet clothes slap against my skin as I haul ass to my truck. My heart hammers harder than it did fighting the river current. She can’t leave. Not like this.