I headed for the kitchen, moving quiet as a ghost. The baby chicks were awake, peeping in their box, and I scattered some feed for them before fixing coffee. The pot was already loaded, just needed water—Jojo’s doing, always thinking three steps ahead.
I poured a mug and drank it black. The caffeine hit hard, bracing me against the cool gray of dawn. I made toast, fried eggs, and ate standing at the counter, eyes on the window as the light crawled over the pasture.
I set aside a plate for Jojo, covered it with a dish towel, and left a note beside it:Eat. I’ll be outside. The letters were blocky, all-caps, and I realized I hadn’t written anything by hand since the Navy.
I hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, listening. Jojo was still asleep, breaths slow and even. The sound made something in my chest go soft and unfamiliar. My instincts wanted to keep him hidden, safe, out of sight from anyone who might try to take him away.
Stupid, but real.
I pulled on boots and went outside. The air was crisp, sun just a rumor behind the clouds. The night’s rain had left the world scrubbed clean—grass shining, dirt damp, even the barn roof steaming in the early light. The river was higher than usual, black water moving fast past the fence line.
I took a lap around the house, checking for storm damage. A few shingles were loose, but nothing critical. The garden was fine, tomatoes staked up and looking healthier than they had a right to in this climate.
I headed for the barn, the ache in my leg just a dull warning. The horses were awake, ears pricked and eyes bright. They stamped and snorted as I moved down the line, but didn’t shy away when I patted their necks. I liked the horses. They made sense—power and fear, right on the surface. Nothing hidden.
I forked out feed, checked their water, then leaned against a stall and listened to them chew. The routine was calming, something I could do without thinking. But my thoughts kept drifting back to the house, to the omega asleep in my bed.
I didn’t know what the hell I was supposed to do now. I wasn’t trained for this. My whole life had been built around orders—do the job, survive, move on to the next thing. The SEALs had been my family, my purpose. Then the leg, the medical discharge, and a year of drifting before my grandfather’s will dragged me up here.
Now I had a ranch and an omega who looked at me like I hung the goddamn moon.
I felt the old panic scratching at the edges of my mind. What if I fucked this up? What if Jojo realized he’d made a mistake and bailed? What if the sheriff decided he didn’t like the look of me and showed up with a handful of paperwork and a shotgun?
None of it made sense, and all of it felt like life or death.
I let out a breath and watched it cloud in the morning air.
The horses finished eating and started nuzzling each other, impatient for turnout. I opened the gate and let them into the pasture. They bolted, kicking up wet dirt and shrieking with excitement.
I watched them run, a little jealous.
I checked the fences, walked the line to the north end of the property. The riverbank was soft, but the posts were holding. In the distance, a little more down in the valley, I could see the edge of town—just a clump of rooftops and a church steeple, but it felt closer than ever.
I turned back toward the house. The kitchen window glowed gold. If I squinted, I could see Jojo moving inside, setting the table, hands a blur of motion.
He belonged there. It was obvious. The house, the land, the whole goddamn ranch—it all made more sense with him in it.
I walked slow, dragging out the time before I had to face him, had to explain that I wasn’t what he thought I was. I was just a man, lost and angry and trying not to break anything precious.
The last hundred yards felt like a march toward judgment.
I paused on the porch, wiped the mud off my boots, and made myself promise: whatever happened next, I wouldn’t let anyone hurt him. Not even me.
I stepped inside.
The warmth hit me first. Then the smell—coffee, bread, and the sweet, sharp note of Jojo’s skin. He stood at the counter, hunched over the plate I’d left him, hair still a mess, eyes shining in the lamplight.
He looked up when I came in, and he smiled.
And just like that, the fear faded. Not gone, but quieted, like the hush after a gunshot.
I belonged here. With him.
And today, I was going to prove it.
“I need to do a bit of work on the roof,” I told him. “Some of the shingles came loose in the storm last night. Just wanted to let you know in case you heard noise.”
A piece of toast stuck in his mouth, Jojo nodded.
