CHAPTER 4
SAM
Opening the door of Harley’s to get outside is like getting slapped with a wet towel. The rain is coming down hard, and in classic PNW style, it’s not exactly 'falling' as much as flying sideways through the air, so it hits you square in the face if you happen to be walking into the wind.
“Ugh,” Tyler and I both grunt, each of us grabbing for the hoods on our jackets—one winter accessory you don’t want to be without here in Seattle. We tend to scorn anyone who carries an umbrella in these parts, but a proper hood that can keep the rain out of your face is standard operating equipment.
We scurry across the parking lot to where my pickup is parked, jumping inside and slamming the doors shut behind us. Once we’re inside, we exchange a glance, both laughing. It’s such a classic Seattle moment—cold, wet, dark, and, to me anyway, it feels like home. This kind of weather is part of my genetic makeup. It’s one of those things everyone who’s not from around here hates, but I kind of love the wildness of the weather here.
“Whoever ends up doing that new project on the coast better get used to this stuff,” I laugh. “I haven’t spent the winter out there, but I’ve heard the big storms at this time of year can get crazy.” I start the truck and blast the heat onto the windshield to clear the fogged-up windows,
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Tyler says noncommittally. He’s chewing on his bottom lip like it’s done something to offend him, and I have the strangest urge to reach over and pull it out from between his teeth.
“Everything okay?” I ask, and he turns to me with a sunny smile that seems to be hiding something, but I can’t tell what.
“Yup, all good. Just ready for bed, is all.”
I bite my tongue to stop myself from suggesting yet again that he stay at Mason’s guesthouse. He’s clearly tired, and I genuinely don’t think he should drive all the way back home in this crap weather so late at night, but he’s a grown-ass man. Nothing I can do to stop him if that’s what he wants to do.
“Hey, Tyler, I hope you know Mason’s serious about wanting you to use their place. He’s not just saying it,” I say. “I mean, obviously, we know you’re capable of getting yourself home, but it is a long drive after a long week in shitty weather. It doesn’t mean we think you can’t take care of yourself or anything.”
“I know, I appreciate it. Really, I do,” he says, giving me a shy smile. “But I’m totally fine, I promise.”
I take in his blue eyes and notice the light smattering of freckles spread across his nose. I try to ignore how my heart skips a beat and warmth floods my body. But I look away quickly as memories of him shutting me down many times flood my brain.
“I won’t pressure you anymore, but just so you know, Mason isn’t treating you any differently than he would anyone else. He’s just kind of a nurturing guy. And he’d be genuinely thrilled if someone would ever take him up on his offer to stay at their guesthouse. I swear, the man’s always trying to get someone to stay there.” I grin at him.
I’ve been intrigued with Tyler Ritchie since he started with HDH a couple of years ago. His first job with us was the job where Mason met his now husband, Jackson. Mason told me one of the first times he realized he was falling for Jackson was when he found him sitting with Tyler one afternoon as Tyler was tearing out one of the bathrooms. Jax had just sauntered in and was shooting the shit with the young veteran who was newly hearing-impaired and was obviously still adjusting both to being out of the military and to life with his hearing challenge. Tyler relaxed immediately around Jax and even started joking around with him. Jax does have a way of making people relax and trust him. I still think it’s sweet that Mason thinks of that moment as the one where he really fell for Jax.
As we sit, waiting for the windows to defog, my phone pings with a traffic alert, so I grab it to check the details.
“Um, Tyler, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I think you’re gonna be staying at the guesthouse tonight after all,” I say, reading from the screen.
“What?” he asks, looking surprised.
“Looks like I-5 is closed south of the airport because of a big pileup.”
“Ah, shit,” Tyler mutters, grabbing his own phone. “Ugh, you’re right. They’re telling people to stay off the roads if they can. I guess there are a lot of trees down on the side roads, so everything’s a mess. Crap,” he mutters.
“Did you want me to drop you at your car or take you straight over to Mason’s place?” I ask. He’s probably pissed that he won’t be able to get home tonight, but I’m not above feeling relieved that he won’t need to drive all that way in this storm.
He sighs, letting his head fall back into the seat behind him. “Whatever’s easier for you,” he says, looking slightly defeated. Rather than arguing, I decide I’ll take him to Mason’s place and make sure he can get into the guesthouse and get settled in. There’s something about Tyler that makes me want to protect him, which is weird since I’ve never had those instincts before.
It’s only about a ten-minute drive to Mason and Jackson’s gorgeous home on Lake Washington. I park the pickup outside the separate building housing a garage and workshop with a guest flat over it, which they built last year. Instead of slowing down, the storm seems to have picked up in intensity since we walked out of the pub, and the wind is fucking fierce. Mason and Jackson’s place is nestled into a group of tall fir trees, and they’re groaning loudly as they get pummeled and pushed around by the wind. This storm seems unusually strong, and the loud creaking and occasional cracking noises coming from the forest are making me a little nervous.
CHAPTER 5
TYLER
For a second, I thought Sam was messing with me when he told me the highway was closed, but I realized pretty damn quickly that it was no joke.
I helped Mason and Jax build their separate workshop/garage/guest apartment last summer, so I know it’s a great place to crash for the night. Their entire home is incredible. If I was a rich movie star like Jackson Cullen, I’d totally buy a house exactly like this. It’s not enormous, more like the size of a big suburban family home, as opposed to one of the giant mansions that line Lake Washington. I mean, Bill Gates lives not far from here, so they have some pretty interesting neighbors.
They have a pool and a hot tub and a small sports court, as well as plenty of room for their dogs to play in the yard, but it doesn’t feel pretentious. It’s set back from the road, nestled in a grove of towering Douglas fir trees, and somehow this house feels like it belongs here. Like it was meant to be in this space all along.
I open the door of the pickup, and the wind catches it, ripping it out of my hand and blowing it wide open. The sound of the rain and the trees rubbing and brushing together in the heavy wind is loud enough that even I can hear them.
“Jesus,” I yell over at Sam, who’s sitting on the other side of the console, looking at me wide-eyed after the damn truck door nearly got ripped off.
