Chapter 2
Two
Awhole bottle of melatonin couldn’t have put me to sleep last night, and I look it this morning—under eyes bruised with fatigue and reddened salt tracks down my sallow cheeks.
Logan hasn’t said much since our fight yesterday. I haven’t pushed.
I adjust the heavy backpack on my shoulder and tighten my grip on my duffel bag before shuffling out of the house. Logan keeps at least three strides ahead of me, not bothering to look back even when I loudly struggle to hold all my belongings as I lock the front door.
The hum of a diesel engine reverberates through the morning air, a little too reminiscent of Logan’s phone buzzing repeatedly on his nightstand while he slept peacefully.
I didn’t look at it. Now I wish I had, because maybe finding clear evidence of him cheating would be enough for me to walk away. Maybe…
Walking away sounds a hell of a lot better than walking toward the devil leaning against the black pickup idling in our driveway, scrolling through his phone.
He may be Logan’s twin, but that’s in birthday only.
Where Logan’s svelte, with sinewy muscles and long limbs, Holden’s sturdy, with broad shoulders and thighs that strain against his jeans.
And while Logan’s friendly—arguably too friendly, when women are involved—and outgoing, Holden carries himself with an aura that screams do not approach.
At the sound of Logan’s heavy bag landing on the ground next to the truck, Holden looks up, and his gaze lands directly on me. His eyebrows jump before falling back into his trademark scowl, and he assesses me, nostrils flaring. “You’re kidding.”
“Sunday’s coming with us,” Logan mutters, roughly snatching the duffel from my hands.
“Didn’t know we were turning this into some kind of couples getaway.”
My eyes cut to Logan, then to his brother. “I’m not here for a getaway.”
He snorts. “Good. Nothin’ romantic about the three of us sharing a hundred square feet. And I’m sure as hell not giving up the queen bed to you two the entire time. We alternate like normal.”
Thanks to my hasty decision-making last night, I didn’t take a minute to consider the sleeping arrangements.
For the next two months, we’ll be sharing the small live-in quarters at the front of the guys’ horse trailer.
One bathroom. One bed—plus one sofa bed.
One damn good chance I’ll murder at least one man this summer.
“Yeah, whatever.” Logan tosses our bags onto the floor of the trailer with an annoyed grunt. “Sunday and I can always pitch a tent.”
Tent? I steal a quick glance back at the house. On second thought, maybe I don’t care all that much about catching him cheating. Maybe I should stay here and use the summer to find a new place to rent so I can break up with him.
Still huffy—maybe even more than before, since nobody is acknowledging his attitude—Logan plunks himself down in the passenger seat and slams the door, leaving me alone with his towering, pestilent, hot brother.
I mean… hot if you’re into assholes who have the width and weight to pin every inch of you to the mattress.
Not hot to me. Obviously.
Holden’s taunting gaze blazes through me. “Damn, a tent in a field filled with livestock and rowdy cowboys? The couples getaway’s getting more romantic by the second.”
“Sleeping under the stars sounds a lot better than sleeping next to you.”
He shrugs, clearly amused. “I’ve been told women see a lot of stars when they sleep with me.”
I grimace, choosing to ignore the heat building in my cheeks. “Didn’t know hell had a good view of the sky.”
“Guess that makes me the devil?” Holden’s cocky grin turns downright wolfish, and his slow lean in is interrupted by the sound of Logan yelling at us to hurry up from the passenger seat. “Better get going before your boyfriend throws a tantrum.”
I sigh, taking a final longing glance back at the house before I clamber into the back of the truck.
The leather bench seat’s cracked and worn, and the air has a sharp citrus and woodsy scent from a cluster of air fresheners hung on the rearview mirror.
Logan’s slumped down in his seat, ball cap pulled low on his forehead, drowning himself in angry country music.
Holden’s ass is barely in the driver’s seat before he’s turned the radio off entirely. Eyebrow raised, he gives his sullen brother a once over. “Who pissed in your cereal this morning?”
“Don’t start,” Logan snaps.
Easing the truck into first gear, Holden turns to give me a pointed look. “Welcome to hell, Angel.”
Two hours later, the truck crawls off the highway and into a bustling truck stop.
While Logan’s mood shifted rather quickly once we hit the road—now he’s humming along to a country song, drumming out the beat with his fingertips on the dashboard—I have to admit our fight is still affecting mine.
I read that goddamn message so many times yesterday, I have it memorized.
Even started adding in haunting subtext that wasn’t there before.
So it’s no wonder that every time I saw his fingers swiping over his phone, I wondered if he was texting a woman. Every time I caught the reflection of his smile in the window, I wondered if he was thinking about her.
By the time I throw my door open and step onto the cracked asphalt of the parking lot, my eyes and chest and stomach are aching. A hit of fresh air—perfumed by diesel and burnt coffee—has never felt so refreshing.
Rolling out the tension that’s taken root in my shoulders, I can’t bring myself to look at Logan. It’s dramatic and immature of me, considering I’m here to learn to trust him again and I have no proof he’s done anything wrong today. But the wounds are too fresh.
Instead I focus on Holden’s casual stroll around the front of the truck, arms stretched overhead. I can’t exactly explain why there’s a small jump in my gut when his shirt pulls in all the wrong directions, exposing well-defined biceps and a sliver of stomach.
The lack of sleep is seriously affecting my mental state.
“I need a coffee,” I announce.
Holden juts his bottom lip out to mock me. “Tired from all that sitting in the truck?”
More so tired from anxiously staring at the ceiling all night wondering why I’m still giving your brother second, third, hundredth chances in this relationship. But I can’t say that. Can’t give Holden another reason to criticize and deride me.
“God forbid a girl has a caffeine addiction.” I flip a middle finger at him.
Logan ensnares my wrist, tugging my loose, weary body into his for a sloppy half-hug. “Regretting your decision to tag along yet?”
Yes.
“Nope.” My put-on smile wavers as a possessive hand finds its way to my ass. I’m tempted to swat him away, but the way Holden’s gaze lingers on the touch sends an exhilarating tingle up the back of my neck.
After a few beats longer than appropriate, Holden glances up, locking eyes with me. “If you want coffee, you better hurry up. We need to get back on the road.” And with that, he turns to leave.
For a moment, I hesitate. Maybe I could convince Logan to jump back in the truck and ditch his brother here. Better yet, I’ll drive away alone. Pulling a horse trailer can’t be that hard.
Logan presses his lips to my temple and mumbles, “Get me a water while you’re in there.”
I’m not afraid to admit when my plans need more time to marinate, and figuring out how to steal a manual transmission truck attached to a long-as-shit horse trailer is definitely a plan that needs time and coffee.
So a moment later, I find myself inside the musty gas station, where the burnt coffee aroma is even more pungent than it was outside and is paired with the smell of grilled hot dogs.
In case Holden had a similar thought about abandoning me, I don’t waste any time browsing the snacks and split my focus between grabbing the necessities and ensuring the truck is still where we left it.
I can’t help but sigh impatiently when the only cashier is held up by an older woman cashing in a stack of Keno winnings.
“So… what’s the deal?” says the same sardonic voice I hear in my nightmares sometimes. Holden’s right behind me in line, so close his breath tickles the back of my neck.
“Christ, Holden.” I clutch my free hand to my chest and shift on my feet to create some distance.
“First, the devil, and now I’m Christ.” He smirks. “I know I’m charming, but I didn’t expect you to come around to me so fast.”
I let out an exasperated sigh.
“I mean what’s the deal with you and Logan. Why are you tagging along?”
Watching intently as Keno lady rummages through her purse for more tickets, I take a slow sip of my coffee. Unsurprisingly, it’s burnt. “I’m on summer break, and Logan’s my boyfriend…”
Sort of. For now.
“Hrm,” he hums. “Feels like there’s more to it.”
“Well, there’s not,” I clip.
“Right.” The word slips out in a breath of disbelief.
“Why do you care?”
He snorts. “I don’t. Just making conversation.”
“Since when do you talk to me?” I ask under my breath. More rhetorical than anything, since I know exactly when he last really talked to me—it was before I started dating Logan.
“Since you showed up in my truck without an explanation.”
“I just gave you an explanation.” I look over my shoulder at him, training my stare on his blue-green irises. They’re so vivid, it’s disconcerting. No human has eyes that color—bet he’s an alien, or vampire, or alien-vampire. That would explain a lot, actually.
“And it was a bullshit one.”
I lick my lips, conscious of the way his eyes suddenly seem to be lingering on them. “Drop it, Holden.”
“Shit. Didn’t realize it was that touchy of a subject.”
I nearly whirl on him, but in a brief moment of mercy from the Keno gods, the woman in front of me shuffles off, and I step forward so fast, I practically throw Logan’s bottled water at the unsuspecting cashier.
“Sorry,” I mumble, feeling the heat of Holden’s stare on my back.
With an oblivious smile, the cashier hands me my change. “Have a great day.”
Holden snickers. “She won’t.”
He’s not wrong.