Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
BEAU
“ Y our leg okay?” I ask once Ethan’s left.
Triston grimaces before he can offer any kind of verbal answer, and my stomach clenches.
He looks rough, even more than a calving emergency typically wears on a person.
That fragility he had yesterday while working on fencing is even more apparent, and his hands are still shaking.
Something about his scent set Ethan off, had them communicating silently over whatever it was.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask, but I keep the words behind my lips.
“Nothing’s broken,” Triston finally says.
He tips his head back and closes his eyes.
The move exposes his Adam’s apple, and fuck if that doesn’t have a breadth of heat spilling into my stomach.
I adjust my ball cap and then pick up the last couple items spread around the middle of the barn.
Memories of that summer echo across my skin, the stolen moments of pleasure in this very space.
My body is oddly convinced this is another one, and it’s nearly impossible to push the heat away before my dick gets fully involved.
I lean against the fencing across from him, trying to keep as much space between us while still within reach of the cow.
After a minute, Triston chuckles.
“What’s funny?”
Is he remembering those days, too?
“Lance was convinced this would be a break for me.” He shrugs and runs his hands down his face. “Not sure dealing with a calf emergency really qualifies as one.”
Even knowing it’s asinine to feel anything even close to jealousy, the bitter flame of it burns under my sternum, so bright and hot I’m incapable of quelling it completely.
“Lance?” It’s there in my voice, too, close enough to the surface I’m sure he can hear it.
He grunts and pulls his uninjured leg up, resting his arm on his knee. He doesn’t open his eyes as he says, “My agent.”
“Ah.”
And then, against my better judgement, I cross the walkway and lower myself onto the concrete beside him.
Triston clears his throat a couple times before breaking the silence.
“You can leave, you know. I’m sure you have plans with…” He stumbles over the words and then swallows heavily. His clove scent explodes from him, and I’m sure there’s something laced in it detailing exactly what’s going on in his mind. “I can handle this solo.”
I shrug and adjust my hat again, using it as an excuse to dispel some of the lingering heat and jealousy. One of the other calves comes up to the fencing across from us, staring at the new duo in curiosity. Then it runs back out of the barn, looping around its own mother before nursing.
“Emily’s at the Misty Mountain opening. I sent her a text letting her know there was an emergency. I’m not in any hurry.”
He frowns. “Then who has Penny?”
“She was still asleep. Lynn’s at the house with her.”
It takes another ten minutes before he says something more. The question is quiet, hesitant, and it twists a rope so damn tight around my chest.
“Her birthday’s Friday?”
“Yeah, the eighth.” I keep my voice and body relaxed, trying to give him some measure of comfort so he’ll ask what he wants. He nods but doesn’t say anything else, so I give a bit more information. “She came a couple days before her due date, but we were just happy she made it that far at all.”
Triston frowns, his eyes still closed. “What happened?”
“Emily went into preterm labor at 34 weeks. The doctors weren’t sure they’d be able to stop it.” I shiver as I remember.
His scent pulses again. “Are…” He licks his lips. “What about a birthday party?”
“Next Saturday at our place. Late afternoon. Scott and Dad are going to grill steaks and hot dogs.” Before he can even attempt to ask, I say, “You’re more than welcome to be part of however much of it you want. Come early, stay late. Come over on Friday, too, if you want.”
He doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, then messes with his ball cap.
“Does she have any favorites?” he asks. “Or is she too young still?”
“She has a favorite stuffed animal. This horribly ugly pug monstrosity Melissa gave her at Christmas. It came with a book, but she only cares about the dog.”
His lips flip at the corner in a flash of amusement.
“And she loves any soft, cozy thing, especially blankets. Though she doesn’t really have a specific favorite, more a preference for the way they all need to feel. Brielle is the best at finding ones she likes. Emily never manages to pick out just the right balance between soft and warm.”
He chuckles. “Oh, I’m sure that just drives her up the wall.”
“It does.”
He finally looks at me, and the sadness in his gaze makes me want to break something and then hug him until he knows we don’t hold any of what he’s missed against him.
“You want to see photos?” I ask, pulling my phone from my back pocket.
Without waiting for an answer, I swipe open the app and select the folder and then hold it out to him.
His hands tremble as he slowly swipes through them.
Tears line his lashes and then slowly fall.
He absently wipes them away, never looking away from the phone.
I focus on the calf as it finally stands and attempts to nurse.
When the cow doesn’t block access, I let go a sigh of relief.
They’re going to be fine. Probably.
Triston breathes deeply, a silent sob hitching in his throat for a moment. I can’t resist palming his thigh in response, wanting to soothe him. His leg tenses under me, and I mutter an apology, ripping my gaze from the cows as I pull my hand away.
“Shit, that’s the leg she kicked. Sorry.”
He shakes his head. “No, it’s fine.”
I cautiously rest my hand just above his knee, letting my thumb trace circles on his jeans, ignoring the blood and muck that’s covering them.
He tenses again, his leg nearly vibrating.
After a minute, he relaxes a bit. The desire to kiss him, to taste him again after so long, hits me like a freight train.
His eyes flick from the phone to me, dropping to my lips before his cheeks flush.
Should I move my hand? Abso-fucking-lutely. And yet I don’t.
“You’re sure?” My voice is lower than it should be, rougher and darker.
His flush continues down his neck and disappears under the collar of his t-shirt. “Y-yeah.”
Slowly, he returns to looking through the photos on my phone. He’s up to Christmas. I don’t say anything else, terrified of pushing him too hard and him bolting and yet also equally scared I’m gong to end up hanging us both out over a cliff to fall if Emily doesn’t want to build into a trio.
“Th-thank you,” he whispers when he gets to the ones from last weekend. “It… it feels like I haven’t quite missed so much, getting to see the snippets.”
TRISTON
My skin is tight on my bones, a thousand times worse than the fiasco last month.
I can’t help but scratch at my chest, desperate to alleviate the horrid sensation.
My clove scent fills the room, entirely soured by the condition that’s rooted so deep I’m not sure it’ll ever truly leave at this point.
Having Beau touch my thigh just about wrecked me this morning.
Beau, who’s a Beta. Who didn’t do more than lightly trace shapes on my leg while I looked at the photos he has of my daughter.
Who doesn’t have a scent. Who couldn’t tell I was a half-minute away from breaking down in desperation and begging for him to fuck me like he did that summer.
I finally admit to myself exactly what it is: touch-starvation.
Just like the Haven doctors warned, it’s crept up and overtaken in the matter of a week since I’ve fully come off the suppressors.
The need to be knotted, to have an Alpha’s scent wrap around me and seep into my skin, is so strong it’s fogging my logical mind.
Similar to a heat but… but not quite. At least not yet.
Much longer, and I’ll be just as desperate and mindless as a heat.
I strip out of my clothing still soiled from the calf and the rest of the ranch chores with little fanfare as the bathroom slowly fills with steam from the shower. Then I reach for the bottle of synthetic pheromone stashed under the sink.
I shouldn’t use it. I should figure out how to wean myself off of it the same way I’ve dropped the suppressors. Especially now, being back here, knowing she’s with Beau and they have Penny.
I’ve not even seen her since my entire world shook on its axis Thursday night.
Two full days. It would be less impressive if we weren’t literally on the same ranch, one service road away from each other.
It’s clear she’s avoiding me, and I can’t even blame her.
She went through an entire pregnancy without me here.
She tried to reach out, had attempted multiple times, and I hadn’t responded.
It doesn’t matter if it was unintentional.
The hurt and abandonment are still there.
Of course she’d not want to be anywhere near me now, a year and a half later.
So I need to be able to survive without the synthetic replacement of her scent. I pull up the appointment request for the Haven in Jackson and submit the form. Much longer, and I’ll be in serious trouble.
My stomach cramps, and I shudder out a groan.
Then I carefully lay three drops of the liquid on my wrist and run it along both sides of my neck.
Vanilla fills my nostrils and pours down my lungs.
The pain slowly ebbs, my skin feeling less like it’s been shrink-wrapped onto my bones.
I lean over the sink, resting my head on my arm, and take long, gulping breaths.
When I’m moderately positive I’m not going to end up a mess on the floor, I step under the too-hot spray of the shower, angling my body so the vanilla doesn’t wash away from my neck.