Shit, shit, shit.
I’m in trouble when it comes to this cowboy. So much fucking trouble.
CHAPTER 6
Wyatt
“You’re home early,” Flynn says from my living room couch. His feet are stretched out on the reclining footrest. Thor’s massive body swallows the rest of the couch, his giant head resting across the blanket spread over my brother’s lap. The lug looks up at me, acknowledging my presence, but he doesn’t move. He loves his Uncle Flynn.
It’s such a strange sight to see my brother acting so…normal. During the few times he’s actually in town in any given year, he’s usually out on it. Sitting still is not really his thing.
“Got an early morning.” My gaze flicks to the TV. The classic movieTwisterplays on the screen, making me instantly think of Everleigh. NotThe Cow’s Moowhose interior design was inspired by the movie. Not the giant crush I had on Helen Hunt as a teenager. But Everleigh backing out of her closet looking for some earring—which is bullshit because she doesn’twearearrings—and popping that ass against me as she rolled back up to standing in some unintentional yoga move.
“Too early to watch the rest of the movie with your favorite brother?” Flynn asks, nodding at the TV.
“You’re my only brother.”
“Which is why I’ll always be your favorite,” he says, flashing me a purposely cheesy grin that takes me back to our childhood.
My bones fucking ache with fatigue, but I know sleep will be nearly impossible with that image of Everleigh’s ass playing on repeat. Fuck, I could see the lace edges of her panties through the thin fabric of her leggings. Her cherry blossom scent still lingers on my shirt from her leaning back against me, tilting her head as though she wanted me to kiss her neck. The sooner I get my ass in the shower, the sooner I can find some relief. Even if it’s only temporary. But I need to ask Flynn a favor first, so my throbbing cock will have to suffer a little longer.
“Give me a minute.”
“There’s spaghetti in the fridge if you’re hungry,” Flynn calls after me as I head toward the hall closet to put away my gun belt and Stetson.
“Who taught you how to cook?” I rib him.
“You, you jackass,” Flynn fires right back.
Considering our parents were either working or avoiding each other by the time Flynn turned eleven, I took over most of the chores concerning my siblings. I vaguely remember my little brother begging me to teach him how to cook macaroni and cheese, as though I was hogging all the knowledge.
But like most things, his interest in cooking waned within weeks.
“I already ate,” I say, returning to the living room and dropping into the recliner. “Macy brought pizza over to Everleigh’s.”
Flynn nods, his focus on the movie as he absently strokes Thor’s neck.
We watch the familiar drive-in movie theater scene in silence. I must’ve watched this movie a hundred times over the years, mostly on account of Helen Hunt. Now, it feels more likeresearch. As though the movie itself might hold some clue about the past Everleigh refuses to talk about.
I’ve waited months for her to let her guard down. But ever since that night a year ago when I pulled her over for a burned-out taillight and found her sobbing behind the steering wheel, she clams up any time I come too close to uncovering the truth.
The memory of Everleigh James so brokenstillkeeps me up at night. She was a wreck when I found her and adamantly opposed to waking her grandma up in the middle of the night. “I can’t let her see me like this,” she’d pleaded. So, I invited her to stay with me. I held her while she cried, not asking questions despite the dozens I had. I tucked her into my bed, but before I could make it to the door, she begged me to stay with her. I held her in my arms until she fell asleep.
Fuck, it’s possible I fell in love with her then.
When morning came, the vulnerability from the night before was gone, and in its place was a wall made of solid steel. She begged me not to say anything to Jean or Macy or anyone.
So, I never told a soul.
I made a silent vow to keep an eye on her. To be there whenever she needed anything, and over time, we became friends. Good friends.Bestfriends.
I’ve been assuming some asshole broke her heart. I’ve spent more hours than I care to admit trying to figure out who he is so I can do something about it. What? Hell, I don’t know. Hard to protect Everleigh from behind jail bars. I figure I’ll cross that bridge if or when I get there.
I stare at the TV as the drive-in movie theater is ripped to shreds. Something about it feels important.
Until a few weeks ago, I didn’t have any clues about Everleigh’s past. She never talks about her crew or old boyfriends or anyone who knows her from her old life. When Icarried her into her apartment after a night out with my sister, I spotted the photographs spread across her coffee table.
From what my sister’s told me, Everleigh was part of a storm chasing crew based out of Oklahoma. According to the group’s old Facebook posts, she was their photographer. She not only captured footage—still and video alike—of the storms, but of the aftermath. Many of them are still posted on that page.
