Chapter 25
Kayla
The Castlebrook Kayter Text Chain
Jake
Did you make sure there’s only one bed?
Mandy
Of course. I’m not some rookie.
The sun hasn’t even cleared the hills when I’m dragged out of bed by a very awake, very excited Ben.
“We’re gonna be late!” he insists, bouncing at the edge of my mattress with the kind of energy only an eight-year-old can summon before 6 a.m.
“We don’t have to be in Billings until eleven,” I mumble, pulling the comforter over my head. “The sun isn’t even up yet.”
“It’s a road trip,” he counters, tugging the blanket off of me completely. “We need snacks. And music. And matching shirts.”
“I draw the line at matching shirts.”
He huffs dramatically, like I’ve just ruined the entire concept of childhood, and then darts out of the room, already yelling for Colt.
By the time I stumble into the kitchen, hair a mess, hoodie half-zipped, and barely functioning, Colt’s pouring coffee into my travel mug. He holds it out wordlessly.
“Is this love?” I whisper, taking it reverently. He’s even added my Starbucks creamer, which he claims is disgusting. He doesn’t know, but I’ve seen him adding it to his coffee.
“Close enough,” he mutters, his lips twitching. “Ben’s already packed the cooler. He says if we don’t leave in fifteen minutes, he’s walking to Billings.”
“Honestly, I’d believe it.”
We pile into Colt’s truck shortly after that, Ben climbing into the backseat with his backpack, headphones, and a gallon-sized Ziploc full of beef jerky. He looks like he’s going on a week-long expedition rather than a three-hour road trip.
I slide into the passenger seat and catch Colt watching me, eyes soft. “What?”
He shrugs, turning the key in the ignition. “You look cute.”
“I look like I only slept three hours.” Because I did.
“It works for you.”
The first hour of the drive is quiet. Ben has his headphones in, watching something on the iPad.
Colt drives with one hand on the wheel, the other draped lazily over the console, close enough that our arms brush every so often.
I steal glances at him between sips of coffee—at the way the light hits the edge of his jaw, the curve of his mouth when he hums along to an old George Strait song playing low on the radio.
I don’t say it out loud, but I think this is one of the happiest mornings of my life.
Halfway there, Ben pops his headphones off. “Can we play a game?”
Colt glances at me. “That depends. What kind of game are we talking about?”
“License plate game?”
“Classic,” I nod, twisting to face him. “Alright. Every state you spot gets you one point. But Montana doesn’t count.”
“What about Canada?” Ben asks.
“Two points.”
“What about Alaska?”
“Three points,” Colt and I say at the same time.
We end up shouting over each other for the next twenty minutes, arguing whether Idaho is too easy to count and if a truck and trailer count as two license plates. Ben wins, of course. Mostly because Colt lets him, and partially because I get distracted watching Colt drive—again.
We roll into Billings just before ten, the city slowly coming to life as the morning brightens. Colt knows where he’s going, and soon we’re pulling into the optometrist’s office.
“Are we waiting for Sylvie and Mandy?” I ask, slipping my feet back into my flip-flops.
“No, they’re gonna meet us at the education place,” Colt says, unbuckling his seat belt. Ben hops out of the car, and for a boy who only two days ago claimed to hate the optometrist, he sure seems excited to be here.
“Sounds good,” I toss my purse over my shoulder, and meet Ben where he’s standing on the sidewalk.
The appointment is quick and painless, much to Ben’s relief. Nothing’s changed, he still has perfect eyesight, so we’re in and out in a matter of minutes.
Back in the truck, Ben’s practically bouncing in his seat. “Can we still get donuts before the appointment?” He asks, hopeful.
Colt gives him a look in the rearview mirror, but there’s no way he’s gonna deny Ben what he wants. Truth be told, I think Colt’s more nervous about today than Ben is. I glance at the clock. “We’ve got time for one stop.”
Ben cheers like we’ve announced a detour to Disneyland.
The bakery is a quick in-and-out, and by the time we pull into the small medical plaza on the edge of Billings, Ben has powdered sugar down the front of his shirt and a jelly stain on his shorts. I try to wipe him down with a napkin, but he ducks away, clutching his donut box like it’s sacred.
“This is it,” Colt says, parking in front of the Montana Learning & Development Center.
Ben’s energy falters a little as he climbs out, hanging closer to Colt now, quieter, his fingers picking at the donut box.
Inside, the waiting room is bright and open, with calming colors and a corner full of puzzles and fidget toys. Mandy’s already settled in front of a magnetic marble maze. Sylvie looks up from a clipboard and smiles as we enter.
“There’s my donut boy,” she says. “You bring enough for all of us?”
Ben brightens. “Want one?”
“Maybe after the appointment.” She winks at him.
Mandy hops up and hugs Ben like she hasn’t seen him in months. “They have a puppet that gives you stickers,” she tells him, eyes wide. “He’s weird. You’ll like him.”
Ben grins, visibly relaxing in his mother’s arms.
A woman with silver curls and a clipboard steps into the waiting room. “Benjamin Williams?” We all stand.
“I’m Dr. Hall. I’ll be working with you today, Ben. It’ll be fun. I’ve got games and prizes, but we’ll also be doing some learning stuff.”
Ben nods solemnly, still gripping his donut box like a shield. Dr. Hall turns to us. “Who’s coming back with him to go over the intake questions?”
“I am,” Colt says.
I step forward, too. “I can join as well.”
We’d already discussed this, back at home. Mandy and Sylvie think Ben would be more comfortable with me in the room, since I’m the one who’s been working on his math with him. At first, I’d protested, but it hadn’t really gotten me anywhere.
Dr. Hall smiles. “And you two, you’re Dad and Mom?”
I hesitate, too aware of Sylvie watching and Colt standing silently next to me. “I’m just, uh, the teacher.”
Colt doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t look at me either.
“Alright then,” Dr. Hall says with a nod, leading us down the hallway. She doesn’t comment on how unusual it is to have the teacher come along, and I appreciate it.
The intake room is small but friendly, with a cozy kid-sized table and a whiteboard covered in rainbow-colored shapes.
Dr. Hall asks about Ben’s learning history, development milestones, and emotional responses to school.
Colt answers in short, clipped sentences.
I chime in when asked, sticking strictly to classroom observations.
His trouble lining up numbers, the way he avoids math by being funny, and how quickly he shuts down when he thinks he’s wrong.
Colt says nothing when I speak, but his jaw works tight whenever I do.
Dr. Hall eventually ushers us out while she begins her tests with Ben. In the waiting room, Colt doesn’t sit. He stands near the windows, arms crossed, jaw tight.
Sylvie gives me a look as I settle next to Mandy. “Everything okay?” she asks under her breath.
“Yeah,” I lie, pulling at a loose thread on my sleeve. “He’s just worried.”
We pass the time in near silence. Ben’s back two hours later, proud and chatty, a sticker on his shirt. Dr. Hall informs us that she’ll be in contact within a week, and then just like that, we’re done.
We decide to grab dinner nearby. There’s a little family-style diner a few blocks away, and all Ben wants is chicken strips, fries, and a milkshake. Ben and Sylvie chatter nonstop. Mandy sips her iced tea and nudges Colt across the table. “You alright?”
He nods once. “Yeah.”
But the whole meal, he barely looks at me. Barely speaks unless it’s to Ben. When the waitress brings our food, he thanks her quietly and then urges his son to do the same.
I try once, halfway through the meal. “Hey, you okay?”
He just nods again and chews. That’s it.
It’s too similar to his old behavior, and the cold weight in my stomach won’t settle.
After dinner, Sylvie and Mandy take off with Ben, saying they’re gonna take him for a swim at the hotel as promised.
I watch them go, Ben waving from the back window of Sylvie’s SUV, and then we’re alone in Colt’s truck.
It’s dark now, the street’s quiet, and the hum of the engine fills the silence between us like static.
He doesn’t say anything on the drive. Doesn’t play music, doesn’t reach for my hand. Just stares straight ahead, one hand on the wheel, the other braced on the armrest, fingers drumming once, then going still.
When we pull into the hotel parking lot, he kills the engine but doesn’t move. The silence stretches too long.
I finally break it. “Did I do something?”
His jaw tightens. “Let’s just go in.”
Then he climbs out, shuts the door, and waits for me to do the same. His hand comes to rest on my lower back, and he guides me firmly to our room.
One room. One bed.
Colter excuses himself to the bathroom the second we’re alone in the room, leaving me to sit in silence and wonder what happened. I feel like a child who’s being punished, forced to sit and think about what they’ve done wrong, only I genuinely don’t know what I’ve done wrong.
I settle on the edge of the bed, and he steps out of the bathroom just a few minutes later, shirt mysteriously gone so that I get a full view of his abs.
Colter Williams has kept in shape.
“Just the teacher?” Colt asks, voice low and eyes dark. He advances like a predator stalking his prey.
“What?”
“That’s what you said. You told Dr. Hall you were just the teacher.”
“Well, I mean, we just haven’t really discussed what we are,” I stumble over my words, backing away from him. My back bumps against the headboard, but all my backing away was futile. His hand wraps around my ankle, and he pulls me back towards him.
“Have I not been clear enough?” His voice drops an octave as he leans over my body.
“Uh.” My brain short-circuits, and I’m left speechless.
“You belong in my home. On my ranch. With me and my son. I don’t let just anyone into my life, Kayla.”
“I know,” I stutter.
“Do you? Cause I don’t think you do.”
He cages me in, fingers splayed on either side of my head.
He’s so close I can smell the brisk, clean note of his aftershave.
I can see the pulse throbbing in his jaw.
“Let me make myself very clear for you, Kayla.” He scrapes my name out in a way that makes it feel like both a promise and a threat. “You are mine.”
My breath hitches. I force myself to look at him, not his mouth, not the skin stretched over his chest, but his face, his eyes, the lines between his brows that say he is dead-serious.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He tips his head, narrowing his eyes like he’s not sure if I understand the terms and conditions. “Say it.”
I swallow, and there is nowhere to go but forward, through the dreadful, blissful buzzing in my chest. “I’m yours.”
His nose nudges mine, his lips so close I can almost feel their weight. “Good.”
His mouth claims mine before I can think another thought, and there’s nothing hesitant or gentle about it.
My hands fist in the sheets, then his hair, clutching and grasping for something to anchor myself because the room is spinning.
He kisses like he’s been dying of thirst, and I’m the water.
Like he’s starved for me. I kiss him back just as desperately, because I am, too.
Starved. For him, for whatever this is that’s swallowing us whole.
He breaks away just enough to trace the edge of my jaw with his mouth. “You still have no idea what you do to me,” he says, voice shredded. I taste his need on my lips, tangling with my own.
There’s a roughness now, and anticipation builds. It charges the room around us.
He finds the hem of my shirt, breath hot against my neck, and when his hands slip beneath the fabric and drag it upward, I let them.
He peels it away and tosses it to the floor, his gaze possessive, unguarded.
My skin prickles in the sudden air. He seems to like that, watching me shiver, as if every involuntary flicker of response is his accomplishment.
Then his mouth is back on me—my throat, my collarbone, lower still. I twist under him, bones gone molten.
His fingers thread through mine, pinning my hands above my head, and his voice is a smile and a snarl at once. “Hold still.” I do. The sheets are twisted around my legs, the mattress uneven from the tumble of our bodies. His weight comes down on me, gentle only in that he doesn’t crush me.
There is no such thing as halfway for Colt. He devours, he consumes, he pours months—maybe years—of careful restraint into the press of his hips, the punishing slide of skin on skin.
His shorts come off, then mine, until we’re in nothing but our underwear, but that’s not good enough for Colt, and suddenly we’re in nothing at all. He devours me, taking everything I have to offer.
My brain empties, purges itself of everything but sensation and the frantic heat of his mouth and the way he makes me feel like I am something precious and breakable and also barely, barely contained.
“Condom?” I gasp, nails scraping down his back as his tongue circles my nipple.
“I’m clean,” he huffs, pulling away to study my face. “It’s up to you.”
My hands tangle in his hair, pulling him back down into a kiss, giving him my answer in the way I rub myself along his rigid dick.
I’m all in.
It’s a frenzy as he takes control, pressing me into the mattress with the force of his thrusts. “So fucking beautiful,” he groans, dropping his head into the crook of his neck.
“Colter,” I cry, arching up into him. “Jesus,” I gasp, feeling myself stretch around him.
“That’s it, Sweets,” he groans. “You’re gonna feel me for days, ache for me like I ache for you. Every. Single. Day.” His words are accentuated by his thrusts, his hips hammering into me, and he takes me over the edge.
We fall apart and back together again, over and over. I think maybe I black out for a second. Maybe I just forget my own name. The room smells like sweat and summer and him. I’m all scraped, raw, and soothed at once. Marked. Claimed. Happy.