~ Bodean ~
I knew the sound of my brother’s truck before it even reached the town: the fucked-up, out-of-tune diesel whine, the shriek from the cracked power steering, and the way Knox always blipped the throttle twice before killing the ignition, just to let the valley know he’d arrived.
I sat up on the couch in the first floor office, my body already bracing for impact, and watched the morning’s weak sunlight crawl across the hardwood like it was trying to get away, too.
Jo was gone. He’d slipped out before dawn to work in the shop, left me burrowed in the sheets and stinking of sweat and sex and whatever strange magic he’d used to make my body forget about pain for a few hours.
I’d followed him downstairs hours later, finding a spot for myself on the couch in the reception area where the sun showed through the windows and kept me warm.
Now, with him not in the room, the aches came back in a rolling tide—ribs like cracked glass, throat raw, wrists tender from where he’d held me down. Every joint had a story to tell, and none of them were happy endings.
I heard boots hammering across the gravel. The air in the room changed—went sharp, electric, all the oxygen pulling to the center of the room. I wanted to crawl under the couch, but my pride wouldn’t let me.
Knox didn’t knock. He just threw the front door open and filled the frame, eyes scanning the room like a cop’s flashlight. He was bigger than I remembered—shoulders stretched the seams of his flannel, red in his beard gone more to rust. He had a box of donuts under one arm and an expression that could have cracked concrete.
“Bo,” he said, voice flat as a shovel blade.
“Knox,” I managed, keeping my own voice steady. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
He kicked the door shut, barely missing my foot. “Didn’t answer your phone. Figured you were dead in a ditch, but turns out you’re just shacked up in a goddamn love nest.”
“Nice to see you, too. Want some coffee?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
He set the donut box on the counter and crossed his arms. “You’re coming home with me. Now.”
The sentence hit like a brick. “Not happening.”
“Not a suggestion, Bodean.” He let the full weight of my name drag the air down a few degrees. “Mom’s worried sick, Dad’s threatening to call in favors, and Harlow keeps asking when you’re gonna show up for Sunday dinner.”
I shot to my feet, pain rippling through my side, but I stood tall anyway. “I’m not a fucking child. I decide where I stay.”
He looked me up and down, taking in the bruise on my cheek and the way I flinched when my bad leg took weight. “You’re hurt,” he said, tone softening just a little. “Come home. Let us take care of you.”
“I have someone who’s already doing that.” I jerked my chin toward the garage, where I could hear the faint clang of Jo working.
Knox rolled his eyes so hard I thought they’d get stuck. “That’s temporary. You want to piss away your life chasing tail, go for it, but you do it under a McKenzie roof where we can keep you from getting killed.”
My hands curled into fists, nails biting my palms. “What if I want to get killed? What if I want to do something for myself, for once?”
He closed the gap, so close I could smell the cedar chips from his workshop on his skin, the tang of sweat and sawdust. “That’s not funny,” he growled.
I laughed, bitter and sharp. “Wasn’t meant to be.”
For a second, neither of us moved. The air crackled with old fights, old wounds. If we’d been in the barn, we’d have gone at it with fists by now, but here, in the sanctum of Jo’s shop, there were different rules.
Knox took a deep breath, flexed his jaw, then tried another angle. “You gonna tell me you’re in love with him?” he said, voice low.
The word detonated in my chest. I wanted to lie, to tell him it was a fling, a fuck, a waystation on the road to nowhere. But my mouth wouldn’t move.
He smirked, ugly and triumphant. “That’s what I thought. He’s ten years older than you, Bo. You don’t know what you’re getting into.”
“You don’t know shit about me,” I snapped, louder than I meant to.
In the other room, the clatter of tools stopped. I felt Jo’s attention like a heat lamp through the floorboards.
Knox pressed in, one hand landing heavy on my shoulder. It wasn’t a gentle touch. “Come on. I’ll help you pack.”
I twisted away, wincing as his grip tightened. “Let go.”
