Chapter 60 Aspen
Aspen
Ihear the helicopter before I see it.
The sound cuts through the Texas night—loud, relentless, impossible to ignore.
My heart starts pounding immediately.
He’s here.
The Tavern is already moving.
Lights on.
Doors open.
Men stepping outside.
Trigger takes position without a word.
Blaze and Ace are there before the skids even touch the ground.
I don’t remember deciding to move.
One second I’m standing inside.
The next—
I’m running.
He’s here.
Alive.
For a second—
everything else disappears.
The fear.
The weight.
The exhaustion.
All of it.
I move before I can think.
But halfway there—
I stop.
Because Dylan.
I glance back.
And he’s already running.
Straight toward Havoc.
Relief floods my chest so hard it almost knocks me over.
Because this—
this is what matters.
That he came back.
That my son didn’t lose someone else.
Only then do I move.
The wind from the blades whips around me, pulling at my hair, my clothes, my breath.
Dust rises.
Noise fills everything.
Then I see him.
Havoc.
On the stretcher.
Blood on his shirt.
Face pale under the harsh light.
Still.
Too still.
Something inside me cracks.
“No,” I breathe.
Hands already moving.
Checking.
Assessing.
Working.
“Nash, can you hear me?” I say, my voice steady, even though everything inside me is shaking.
His eyes open.
Slow.
Heavy.
But they find mine immediately.
And everything else disappears.“Aspen,” he says.
My name sounds different.
Rough.
Relieved.
Like he held onto it the whole way back.
“I’ve got you,” I tell him.
And I do.
I absolutely do.
Blaze steps back without question.
He knows.
They all know.
This is mine now.
“Help me get him inside,” I order.
My voice is clear.
Focused.
Controlled.
They move instantly.
Because I’m not just the woman from the farmhouse anymore.
I’m the one keeping him alive.
We get him onto the counter inside.
Lights brighter.
Space tighter.
Air heavier.
I cut his shirt open.
Careful.
Precise.
Bruising spreads across his ribs.
Dark.
Ugly.
Dangerous.
“Any trouble breathing?” I ask.
“Only when I move,” he mutters.
“Then don’t move.”
A ghost of a smirk touches his mouth.
Even now.
I clean the wound on his shoulder.
He tenses.
“Stay with me,” I say softly.
“I am,” he replies.
But his eyes don’t leave mine.
Not once.
And that’s when I feel it.
That shift.
That pull.
Stronger now.
Closer.
Real.
“You scared me,” I admit before I can stop myself.
Silence.
Then—
“You don’t get to say that,” he says quietly.
My hands still.
“Why not?” I ask.
“Because you were the one under fire,” he replies.
His voice is rough.
Frustrated.
Controlled just barely.
“And you weren’t there,” I say.
The words slip out.
Soft.
But heavy.
His jaw tightens.
“I know.”
Two words.
But they carry everything.
Guilt.
Frustration.
Something deeper.
I swallow.
Turn back to his shoulder.
Focus.
Because if I don’t…
I’ll feel too much.
“You should’ve stayed down,” I say, trying to keep it clinical.
“You should’ve stayed inside,” he shoots back.
I almost laugh.
Because we’re the same.
And we both know it.
I finish bandaging his shoulder.
Check his ribs again.
Careful.
Gentle.
“Nothing broken,” I say.
“Bad bruising. You’re going to hate the next few days.”
“Already do.”
I step back.
Just slightly.
And that’s when it hits me.
How close I’ve been.
How close I still am.
The space between us feels charged.
Different.
“This can’t happen,” he says suddenly.
The words hit like a slap.
I go still.
“I didn’t say anything,” I reply quietly.
“You didn’t have to.”
His eyes meet mine.
And there it is.
That line.
That wall.
Tank standing between us. He’s been gone seven years now. Sometimes I feel the need to be held. I can’t stop the feelings I have for Havoc, but I will back away.
I nod slowly.
Because I understand.
Because I feel it too.
“Okay,” I say.
But neither of us moves.
Neither of us looks away.
And the truth?
This already happened.
We’re just the last ones to admit it.