Chapter 28
twenty-eight
Trouble
I keep my hand locked around Harrison’s arm, tight enough to make sure he knows who’s in control here.
He glances back over his shoulder, eyes darting like a damn weasel, searching for Sawyer.
She’s out of sight now, tucked safely behind that arena gate.
Which is good because she doesn’t need to see what happens next.
But her brother does.
I hear Knox’s boots crunch behind us, watching. I don’t blame him. I’d watch too if someone was hauling my sister’s ex out like last week’s trash.
“You know,” I say low, just loud enough for Harrison to hear, “in a town like this, grabbing a woman like that doesn’t go unnoticed. You’re lucky if I let you walk away with your hands still attached.”
Truth is, I’m not holdin’ back for his sake, I’m holdin’ back for Sawyer.
He scoffs, but there’s no weight behind it. “It was a misunderstanding.”
I spin him around, push him back against the fence. Not hard enough to draw a crowd—but enough to make a point. “A misunderstanding is ordering her the wrong drink. What you did? That’s askin’ for a broken nose.”
He tries to straighten his collar, like that’ll save him from the mess he’s made. “You don’t understand. She’s emotional. Dramatic.”
My jaw ticks. “You put your hands on her. That’s all the understandin’ I need.”
Knox shifts beside me now, arms folded, brows furrowed like he’s putting the pieces together. He’s smart. He’ll figure it out soon enough. But for now, I keep the spotlight on Harrison.
“You’re gonna get in that fancy car of yours, drive back to whatever glass tower you came from, and leave her the hell alone. You hear me?”
Harrison straightens, puffing out his chest like he’s got something left to prove.
“And if I don’t?”
I lean in. Close enough for him to feel the heat of my breath. “Then I stop being polite.”
There’s a long pause. He shifts like he's weighing his options. But he knows. I’ve already decided for him. He blinks, adjusts his watch—the Rolex, of course—and nods once.
“Fine,” he says under his breath. “I’ve been dying to get out of this stupid town. My father sent me to drag her back to the office… but I’ll just tell him to take over her clients. We don’t need her.”
I shift back just enough to open a path for him.
“One more thing,” I say, just as he starts to turn. “Give me the watch.”
He blinks. “What?”
“The Rolex.” I nod at his wrist. “Hand it over.”
He looks between me and Knox, who’s still standing just behind us, arms folded. No backup here, pal.
Harrison hesitates. “You can’t be serious.”
“Do I look like I'm joking?” I ask, holding out my hand.
His mouth tightens, but he unclasps the strap. He glares but doesn’t argue, just slaps it into my hand like a toddler throwing a tantrum.
“Careful,” Harrison hisses. “That watch’s worth more than your life.”
I grin. “Then I’ll make sure it finds better company.”
I let him go—couldn’t risk staring at him a second longer or I’d lose whatever control I’ve got left. He climbs into his fancy car and peels out, all show and no backbone.
Knox whistles low. “Hell of a goodbye gift. What’s with the watch?”
I slide it into my back pocket without looking at him. “Call it a souvenir.”
Knox studies me, like he knows there's more—but thankfully, he lets it go.
For now.
“Guess that was one way to meet my sister’s boyfriend,” Knox says.
“I think they’re probably done,” I say, lookin’ back one final time to make sure he disappeared.
He tips his head at that. “Good point. Hopefully you scared him away for good. No one messes with us and survives unscathed.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” I say with a grin. Then I glance over at him. “You’ve been scarce lately. Got somethin’ goin’ on?”
He chews on that, thumb brushing a new cut on his hand. “Sawyer’s in town.”
That’s part of it—but not the whole story. Knox might be simple, but he ain’t stupid. The silence stretches until he shrugs and mutters, “And I’ve been seein’ someone.”
I lift both brows, whistle. “You? Figured you’d sworn off women after the last one keyed your truck.”
“I usually like 'em spicy,” he says, a little too fast. “But, this one’s different.”
“They all are, till they’re not.”
“Well, you can see for yourself. She’s coming out for drinks tonight. Figured it’s probably time to introduce her to my best friend.”
“She got a name?”
He grins. “Hazel. Met her at the feed store. She was buying chicken grit and didn’t know what the hell it was. You should’ve seen her trying to carry a fifty-pound sack. Had to help her out.”
“Glad chivalry’s not dead,” I say, pattin’ him on the back.
“You in, or you got a hot date with Winnie tonight?”
I consider lying, but there’s no point. “Nah, no date” I say, which is true enough. “I’ll be there.”
We get back and start packin’ up. I’m winding up rope. Dust still hangs over the arena. The crowd’s slowly makin’ their way out.
Charming yanks open the side of the horse trailer and slings his gear in. “You gonna tell him?”
I don’t even look up. “Tell who what?”
He flicks his hat back and grins that toothy, shit-eating grin. “You know what.” Points his chin at Knox, who’s over by the fence.
I cinch a knot, loop it tight. “Not a clue.”
Charming shrugs, hauls himself up to sit on the trailer lip. “You gonna man up and tell him you’re fuckin’ around with his sister, or should I break the news?”
“That’s what you think’s goin’ on?” I ask. Maybe too sharp.
He doesn’t flinch. “That’s what everyone thinks is going on. Hell, whole town knows ya’ll didn’t go for ice cream last night.”
I run my thumb over the rope. “Mind your own damn business.”
He grins. “Better tell him before he finds out another way.”
Rogue leans against the trailer. “Heard she left your place early this mornin’.”
“Ya’ll got spies now?”
“Guess you could say half-nephew, half-spy.”
Charming cackles. “You really gotta start using your back door, man.”
“Knew I should’ve put up a privacy fence.”
Rogue leans in, eyes narrow. “You don’t let anyone stay the night. But she did. Why is that, Trouble?”
“Because the last thing I need is y’all giving me more shit than you already do.”
He makes a wounded face, hand to his chest. “We care. That’s all.”
“Yeah, you should care about getting the rest of this shit packed up,” I say, prayin’ like hell Knox heard none of this.
Later that night, we pile into Charming's truck. Charming takes the wheel, me riding shotgun, while Rogue and Knox squeeze into the back, already arguing over the playlist.
Saddle and Oak is already half lit and twice as loud when we pull up, the sign out front glitching so it reads “SAD AND O” to anyone not from around here.
Knox checks his phone, like he’s late to be somewhere, then gives me this look—the one that says he’s about to say somethin’ serious. “Alright,” he says. “Hazel’s different, okay? She’s a nice, sweet girl. I need y’all to, like, find some damn manners.”
“You sure you’re bringing her to the right place?” I ask, kickin’ open the truck door.
He laughs. “Probably not. But I told her she could meet Sawyer, too. Thought they’d get along.”
“How’s she doing? She say anything to you since what happened?” I ask Knox, meaning Sawyer.
He rolls a shoulder, glances at the door as we approach. “Texted her. She’s all good. Glad the idiot’s gone.”
When we get inside, Hazel’s waiting, quiet and nervous, brown hair in a ponytail. She catches Knox’s wave and smiles.
“Hey!” Knox says, sounding softer than I’ve ever heard him. He wraps her in a hug that lifts her clean off her feet.
She laughs and looks right at me. “You must be the infamous best friend?”
I stick out my hand. “Depends what he’s told you.”
She shakes, firm grip. “That you’re trouble. And he’s lucky you put up with him.”
“Nah, it’s the other way around.”
Hazel nods, amused. “Noted.”
Knox tucks an arm around her. “Come on. Let’s say hi to everyone.”
We head back, winding past the regulars and the one sad karaoke man howling at an iPad. At the back booth, Rogue and Charming are already there and are stacking bottle caps into a lopsided tower.
Rogue raises a brow at Hazel, then at Knox, and grins, “So this is the chicken grit girl?”
Hazel blushes, then nods. “Guilty.”
Charming flips his hat backwards. “Welcome to the wolfpack, babydoll.”
Knox groans. “Ignore every word they say.” He gestures to the waitress for another round, then slides into the booth, Hazel tucked under his arm like she ain’t prepared for us.
I take the spot across from him and let the neon wash over me. I watch the way Knox relaxes for the first time in a while.
Rogue elbows me under the table, whispers, “You tell him yet?”
I shake my head, shooting him a glare that screams shut the hell up.
“Better do it soon,” he says, soft for once. “Before Charming does.”
The next hour blurs—pitchers, chicken wings, Hazel holding her own. She and Knox laugh like they’ve got a private joke already, but every so often I see her look around, searching for something or someone.
Then I spot Sawyer, finally, halfway down the bar.
She’s got her hair in a messy knot, scrolling her phone with one finger. She’s not wearin’ much make-up besides a sexy shade of red lipstick. When she spots us, she lifts her glass and smiles, her frostbite-blue eyes flashing under the lights.
Knox notices and calls her over. “Sawyer! Come meet Hazel.”
She’s in boots and a skirt that might be leather or might be something similar, but it hugs her just right. Every guy in her path glances up and then looks away, like she’s too bright to stare at for long. She lands at our table and leans in.
“So this is Hazel,” Sawyer says, looking the girl up and down. “She’s gorgeous. Good job, brother.”
Hazel laughs, a little shy. “Knox warned me about you. Said you’d be sizing me up.”
Sawyer rolls her eyes playfully. “Please. He’s the only one I give a hard time. Everyone else gets my nice side.”
Rogue leans in and whispers, “She gives Trouble a hard time, too.”
I kick his boot under the table. He yelps.
“Alright,” I say, pushing up from my seat, “I’m gonna get some air.”
No one tries to stop me. I nod at Hazel, clap Rogue on the back, and catch Sawyer’s gaze just long enough to see the curiosity flicker there. Then I slip out the back door and step onto the patio.
The string lights above cast a warm glow, flickering softly in the breeze.
I move past a few empty tables and head toward the far corner where the pergolas stand—three of them spaced out across the stone, each framed in rough-hewn beams and draped with fabric panels.
Most of them are tied open tonight, but they can be drawn shut when you need a little privacy.
They tried to get locals excited about this place. Put daybeds inside the pergolas, got cushions piled high, pillows tossed around, no one hardly uses ‘em though.
I pick the one at the edge, shadowed from the bar lights, and sink onto the daybed. The cushions swallow me, and I stretch out, tipping my head back. My shoulders are tight from riding—still wired from everything that went down—and for the first time today, I let myself breathe.
The silence settles around me. Crickets. The soft hum of music from inside.
Then a quiet voice floats through the hush. “Can I come in?”