I slow down my scrubbing as understanding dawns on me. The contrast in my reaction to this unknown Alpha versus my reaction to Stefan and Ashton are like night and day. Rejection versus acceptance.
Kade scoots a little closer despite the awkward position, his legs now on either side of Dustin's, effectively caging both of us in. Water continues dripping from his hair, running down his face and neck in rivulets.
"But I like their scents," I say softly, the admission feeling huge.
Kade laughs again, his hand coming up to cup my face. Water drips from his hair, running down his face and neck. His thumb strokes across my cheekbone, the touch achingly gentle. "Oh, we know, sunshine. We know."
Chapter forty-one
Stefan
I take a light shower, scrubbing away the sweat and slick and evidence of what just happened with Ashton. The water runs hot over my sore muscles, my injured leg throbbing despite the relief of finally claiming him. My phone buzzes on the bathroom counter and I grab it, reading the text through the steam-fogged screen.
Horses fifteen minutes out.
I dry off quickly and pull my clothes back on. Everything feels too tight after the intimacy of the past hour, like the fabric is a barrier I don't want anymore. But business is business, and Morrison's people don't need to see me looking freshly fucked.
I strap the gun back into my belt, checking the safety and the chamber one more time. The weight is reassuring against my spine, a reminder that despite the domestic peace inside this house, danger is always close.
When I step back into the guest room, Ashton is sprawled out on the bed looking absolutely blissed out. His hair is a mess, his lips swollen from kissing, his skin still flushed with the afterglow. He looks beautiful and satisfied in ways I've never seen before, all the tension and fear that usually lives in his body completely absent.
"Are we staying here?" Ashton asks suddenly, his voice soft but carrying an edge of vulnerability.
I look back at him, my hand pausing on the doorframe. The question is weighted with everything we haven't talked about yet, all the implications we've been avoiding. "I don't know. We haven't really talked about anything."
It's the truth, even if it's not the answer either of us wants. Everything has happened so fast; there's been no time to actually discuss what any of this means or what comes next.
Ashton sits up slowly, wincing slightly as his body reminds him of his injuries. But he looks better than he has in days, the color back in his cheeks and the glazed look of pain gone from his eyes. His body is still flushed with arousal, not as desperately as before, but enough that I can see the heat lingering in his system.
"What about your relationship with Dustin?" Ashton asks, pulling his knees up to his chest. "You two are brothers. That has to count for something, right? Won't that help keep us together?"
I sigh and drag a hand over my head, feeling the short stubble rasp against my palm. "I really don't know, Ashton. Me and Dustin have been close but not pack close. We grew up together, we're family, but that doesn't automatically mean pack. None of this was expected."
Ashton is quiet for a moment, processing that. Then he asks, "What was your childhood like with Dustin?"
The question catches me off guard. We don't talk about our childhood much, Dustin and I. It feels like another lifetime, before Charles and the violence and the constant danger. Before I became someone who kills for money and Dustin became someone who runs illegal operations through a legitimate ranch.
But something about the moment, about Ashton looking at me with those vulnerable eyes, makes me want to open up. To share pieces of myself I usually keep locked away.
"We were close," I start, the memories coming slowly at first. "My mom and stepdad died when I was sixteen and Dustin was thirteen in a freak car accident. One day we had a family and the next day it was just us."
I move to sit on the edge of the bed, my leg grateful for the rest. "I dropped out of school to work, to keep us fed and housed. Did construction, waited tables, anything that paid cash. Dustin stayed in school because I was determined he'd have a better life than me."
Ashton listens without interrupting, his attention completely focused on me.
"We were all we had," I continue, the words coming easier now. "Every meal we shared, every bill we managed to pay, every problem we solved… it was us against the world. I'd come home exhausted and Dustin would have dinner ready, whatever he could make with the groceries I'd bought. We'd eat together and he'd tell me about school, about his day, and for those moments it felt like maybe we'd be okay."
I can see it so clearly, those nights around our shitty kitchen table in our shitty apartment. Dustin's gap-toothed smile when he was proud of himself for making something edible, the way he'd save the best portions for me even though he was a growing kid who needed the nutrition more.
"He was always the optimistic one," I say, smiling despite myself. "Always seeing the best in people, finding reasons to be happy even when we were broke and struggling. I was the one who worried, who planned, who tried to keep us safe. He was the one who reminded me that life was worth living."
Ashton shifts closer, his knee touching mine. "He sounds like he was a good brother."
"Is," I correct. "He is a good stepbrother. The best." I pause, organizing my thoughts. "When I was nineteen and he was sixteen, I got arrested. Stupid shit, bar fight where I broke some rich asshole's nose. He was harassing a waitress and I stepped in. But his daddy was connected and suddenly I was looking at assault charges."
The memory still makes me angry, the injustice of it. Protecting someone and getting punished for it while the real aggressor walked free.
"Charles bailed me out," I continue. "Paid off the right people, made the charges disappear. But nothing is free with him. He owned me after that, called in the favor by making me part of his organization. I took the job because refusing meant going to prison and leaving Dustin alone."
