“Hayes.”
“Sidney.”
We stared each other down across the rug, heat prickling through the silence.
Water dripped from her hair onto the floor.
I sighed. “Fine. We can arm-wrestle for it if it’ll make you feel better.”
The corners of her mouth twitched before she killed the possibility of a smile. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“Maybe. But I’m still sleeping on the couch.” Damn, she was stubborn. Like nothing could bend her. Like nothing had tried—except I knew better. I’d seen the world take pieces out of people for less than what she was carrying on her shoulders.
She hesitated, then kicked off her wet boots and crossed to the bed. The movement was slow, like each step cost her something. She perched on the edge, her shoulders slumping.
“Don’t get used to me doing what you tell me to,” she murmured.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
While she disappeared into the bathroom, I pulled a spare pillow and blanket from the closet and stretched out on the couch. The cushions were too short for my legs, but I’d deal with it.
Through the bathroom door, I heard the quiet hiss of the faucet. Then nothing. A minute later, she came out, barefoot, hair damp but no longer dripping. She’d stolen one of my flannel shirts from my open duffel. The hem brushed across her thighs. My cock twitched at the sight of my lucky flannel wrapped around her soft curves. The military had taught me alot of things, but at that moment I was mostly grateful for having mastered restraint.
“I hope it’s okay I borrowed a shirt,” she said. “I didn’t have anything dry to put on.”
“It looks a hell of a lot better on you.” The words were honest and raw, the closest I’d get to admitting the thoughts that had been running through my head all day.
Her eyes flicked to mine, startled.
I looked away first. I’d forgotten how fast she could rattle me. One look and the ground shifted. She switched off the bathroom light and padded to the bed. The fire popped softly and made shadows slide up the log walls.
“Do you always have to be the one in control?” I asked. The question came out of nowhere, but I was curious.
She froze mid-step, then said without looking back, “Yes.”
Then she climbed under the covers. Within minutes her breathing slowed, tension bleeding out of her like air from a blow-up mattress.
I lay on my back staring at the ceiling, listening to the fire crackle and the faint sound of her breaths, even and steady now. We had a lot more in common than I remembered. Both of us had known loss—the kind that rips out your heart and turns you into a different person than you were before. And both of us thought we could hold pain at bay by keeping a tight grip on control.
For me, it was losing my parents and growing up in the foster care system. I’d been a lost soul until Mama Mae took me in and made me believe family could include more than the one I was born into. For Sidney, it was losing her mom and trying to keep a handle on making sure her family didn’t lose the Iron Spur.
We were two of a kind. And she was too close. Too dangerous. And it was too damn easy to remember the way she’d looked that night on the porch three years ago, snow caught inher lashes like she was made of light and winter and everything I wasn’t allowed to want.
The embers in the hearth pulsed softly, fading to red. Her shape was barely visible under the blankets—shoulder rising, falling, a shadow against the pale sheets.
I should have let the manager find her a different room. Should’ve walked away the second I saw her dripping in the lobby.
But I hadn’t.
And I knew damn well I wasn’t going to now.
I closed my eyes and told myself to sleep.
It didn’t work.
CHAPTER 4
SIDNEY
