Page 146 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

For one frozen second, our eyes lock through the windshield.

His expression is unreadable.

Stone.

Cold.

“Clara—” Geoffrey starts again, reaching for me like he still has any right.

And then the truck door slams.

The sound cracks through the night like a gunshot.

Greyson doesn’t walk.

He stalks.

Long, furious strides up the gravel drive, jaw set, shoulders tight. I’ve never seen him look like this.

Geoffrey barely has time to register him.

“What the hell is this?” Geoffrey snaps, squaring up like he’s about to deliver some smug speech.

He never gets the chance.

Greyson’s fist connects with his face in one clean, brutal motion.

The crack of knuckles against bone echoes off the porch.

Geoffrey goes down hard, stumbling backward off the bottom step and landing on his ass in the dirt.

“Oh my God!” I gasp.

Greyson doesn’t even look winded.

He looms over Geoffrey, fists clenched, chest heaving.

“You touch her again,” he growls, voice low and lethal, “and I will bury you on my mountain, you fuckshit.”

Geoffrey scrambles back, blood already dripping from his nose.

“You’re insane!” he spits.

“You’re trespassing,” Greyson fires back. “Get in your car. Now.”

Geoffrey looks at me, stunned and furious. “Clara, tell him?—”

“Get out of here, Geoffrey,” I say coldly. “Now.”

He staggers to his feet, glaring at Greyson like he wants to fight back—but he doesn’t.

Because Geoffrey has never been brave.

He gets in his rental and peels out of the driveway, tires spitting gravel.

Silence falls.

Heavy.