Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Ace
I don't want to open my eyes.
My head is pounding like something's trapped inside my skull and trying to kick its way out.
My mouth tastes like I licked the floor of Rosie's Roadhouse, which, I might've actually done.
Every heartbeat sends a fresh wave of nausea rolling through me, and the sunlight bleeding through the curtains feels like a personal attack.
I groan, roll onto my front, and shove my face into the pillow.
The door flies open.
"Uncle Ace!! Wakey wakey!"
Wyatt's voice hits my hangover the same way I imagine a sledgehammer would. He's six years old and has the lung capacity of a stadium announcer, and right now he's using every decibel God gave him to pierce straight through my skull.
My stomach rolls as he launches himself onto the bed and starts bouncing. The mattress heaves. The headboard rattles. Somewhere in the depths of my ruined brain, I make a mental note to kill Hunter for allowing this.
I turn my head to the side with a groan, peeling one eye open.
And come face to face with a fucking goat.
"Gary," I croak.
Gary blinks at me with those flat, horizontal pupils. Chewing something. Could be hay. Could be the curtains. Could be my will to live.
I blink back. Take stock. I ain't in my house. This isn't my bed. That isn't my goat.
I'm in Hunter's spare room, wearing nothing but boxers and what I'm pretty sure is a bruise the size of Texas on my ribs from last night's brawl. The sheets smell like lavender, and there's a glass of water on the nightstand that I know I didn't pour for myself.
Drunk Ace doesn’t give a shit about hungover Ace.
Wyatt giggles and jumps directly onto my back.
"Hey!" I shout.
He grabs fistfuls of my hair and wrenches my face around to look at him. His dark eyes are three inches from mine and absolutely delighted.
"Uncle Ace, open your eyes."
He squeals as I roll over, grab him under the arms, and launch him into the air.
He shrieks with laughter as I catch him and toss him down onto the mattress.
He erupts into the kind of giggles that make your chest hurt in a good way.
The kind that reminds you there are still perfect things in this world, even when the rest of it is a mess.
I sit up, rub my eyes, and try to function as a human being.
I drank way too much last night. Beer, whiskey, bourbon, something Jett handed me that tasted like gasoline, which gave me instant heartburn.
I don't remember getting back here. The last thing I recall clearly is Hunter's hand on Brady's throat and the look in those Ranch 42 boys' eyes as they stumbled out the door.
"Daddy said you might have a headache," Wyatt announces, poking me square on the forehead with one sticky finger.
I arch an eyebrow. "Oh, did he?"
He nods, grinning. "Yep."
"Did he also tell you to jump on me and bring your crazy goat into my room?"
He chews his lip. "Uh. Daddy doesn't know I brought Gary in."
I chuckle. Wyatt and that goat.
Hunter, the most feared man in New Falls, the man who runs a mafia empire, has been losing a daily war with a thirty-pound pygmy goat ever since he gave him to Wyatt.
I quite like the little shit. He's funny.
Gary hops up onto the bed, circles twice, and settles beside Wyatt like he belongs there. I flop back down onto the pillow and extend my arm. Wyatt curls into my side, and for a second, the hangover recedes, and the world is just this.
"Don't go back to sleep. Daddy will tell you off."
I grunt. "Your daddy won't tell me off."
"Uh, yes, he will. He always tells you off. Says you're more like my big brother than his baby brother."
I laugh, and it hurts my ribs, but I don't care. Hunter's been more father than brother to me since Dad died. Eight years older, built from the same stone, carrying the weight of everything our old man left behind.
I know as long as my older brother is living and breathing, I'm going to be okay.
"You had a birthday party and didn't invite me," Wyatt says, and there's genuine offense in his voice. The kid takes exclusion personally.
I cuddle him tighter. "It was an adult party. How about you and I go get some cake today?"
After losing his mom and his Uncle Beau kidnapping him and Lola, Wyatt can have everything he damn well wants in life. I’ll stop at nothing to make sure this little boy is happy. That he’s safe.
Even if it meant draining the life from my own older brother so he could never hurt him again.
"Chocolate cake?" he asks.
"Chocolate cake," I confirm.
Being Wyatt's uncle is my favorite job. More than the bulls.
More than the ranch. More than the other shit I do that I can't talk about in polite company.
This kid is the highlight of my damn day, every day.
I often wonder if my future holds something like this.
A kid of my own. A family. A little person who looks up at me the way Wyatt looks up at Hunter, like he's the center of the whole universe.
I'd fuckin' love that. I'd be good at it, too.
But every time I picture it—the house, the kid, the woman beside me—it's always her.
My body goes still.
I texted Harper last night. It comes flooding back in fragments.
The whiskey, the phone, the way the words poured out of me like I had no say in the matter.
Miss you. I sent that. At one in the morning, drunk and beaten up, and still buzzing from the fight.
I sent my ex-girlfriend a text that basically translates to I'm pathetic, and you still own me.
I grab my phone from the nightstand. No new messages.
I toss it face down on the bed. I can't even look at what I sent.
"Good afternoon," Hunter announces, strolling through the door and pulling the blinds open with zero mercy. Sunlight floods the room, and I hiss like a vampire.
"It's nine a.m., bro. Early in my books with a hangover."
Hunter chuckles. He's paler than he was yesterday, with dark circles under his eyes, and he's moving a little slower than usual.
He feels as rough as I do; I can see it.
But Hunter Sterling doesn't take sick days.
The man operates on anger and the unshakeable conviction that the world will fall apart if he sits down for five minutes.
"Yeah, well, a ranch doesn't allow for days off. I need you to go help Jace and Paulie over at Pasture Fifteen. The fence is fucked, and the cattle are loose. We're moving them all into Nine."
I groan, which makes Wyatt laugh.
“Don’t laugh. I’m keeping your future alive,” I whisper to him.
Because all of this is his one day. I don’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse at this point.
Just what I need today. Chasing a herd of damn cows across open country while my brain tries to leak out of my ears.
Hunter turns, and his gaze lands on Gary, who's made himself comfortable on the pillow next to mine, chewing the corner of the comforter with serene indifference.
"Wyatt. Why is the goat in here?" Hunter closes his eyes briefly, the way a man does when he's asking God for patience. "Please. Not today, son. We're heading out with Lola—we can't leave him in the house to eat everything."
"Where are you going? Aren't you comin’ with us?
" I ask, sitting up and swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
I already know the answer. Hunter owns Sterling Ranch, all one hundred and fifty thousand acres of it.
He has the luxury of delegating the grunt work to his little brothers while he handles the bigger picture.
Whereas Colten and I split our time between ranch work and the other side of the family business. The side that doesn't appear on any tax return. Between the two, plus training for my next bull ride, I barely have time to sleep, let alone have a life.
"No. Lola has a doctor's appointment in an hour."
Every muscle in my body tenses. I sit up straighter.
"What's up with Lola-pop?"
Lola is the best thing that has ever happened to my brother. To our whole family, honestly. Before her, Hunter was a closed fist. She cracked him open. Gave him something to fight for that wasn't just duty. Gave Wyatt the mother's love he'd been missing. If anything happened to her—
"She's fine," Hunter says, and there's something in his voice. Something he's trying to hold back. A softness he doesn't let many people see.
"Then why is she going to—" I stop. The pieces click into place. Lola's been tired lately. Turning green at the dinner table. Skipping coffee. And last week, when I made my chili, the recipe that could raise the dead, she barely made it to the bathroom in time.
My mouth drops open.
"I fuckin' told you she wasn't throwing up because of my cooking, you asshole!"
He chuckles, and there it is, that rare, unguarded grin that makes him look like the kid he used to be before the world got heavy.
"Language," Wyatt warns from beside me, perfectly serious.
I snap my mouth shut and look down at him. Then back at Hunter.
"Is she?" I ask.
He nods.
"Are you two talking about Lola having baby Gary?" Wyatt asks, innocent as a sunrise.
I blink. "Gary? Wait. You kept this a secret from me?" I fake gasp.
"For the last time," Hunter says, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "I am not naming our baby Gary."
Gary the goat bleats from the bed, as if personally offended.
I'm out of bed before I've made a conscious decision to move.
I cross the room and wrap my arms around my brother and hold on.
I might feel like death warmed over. I might smell like a distillery.
I might be standing here in nothing but boxers and split knuckles and a hangover that could kill a horse.
But this is the best news I could've heard today.
Another niece or nephew. Another life on this ranch. Another heartbeat in this family.
And one more little person to protect.
"Congrats, bro," I whisper, and my voice cracks, just a little, in a way I'll deny later.
He slaps my back, hard, and pulls away.
"If you ever hug me in no fuckin' clothes again, I will make you go out to work naked."
"I think everyone here has seen my dick already, don't you?"