After a while, his breathing slowed, each inhale less frantic than the last. He let his arms drop, and for a second, he looked embarrassed, like he’d been caught jerking off in the principal’s office. His eyes flicked to my face, then away.
“Didn’t mean to—” he started, then stopped, jaw clenched.
“It’s fine,” I said. “It happens.” I’d meant to sound comforting, but it came out a little too casual, like I was forgiving him for burping at the dinner table.
He wiped his forehead with the heel of his hand, then glanced at my muddy feet and the shirt clinging to my ribs. “You’re the baby brother,” he said, voice steadier but still gruff.
“Yeah,” I said. “Carter. You’re Macon.”
He nodded, then stared at the barn wall, as if the wood grain was suddenly fascinating. “Didn’t think anyone was still here,” he said.
“My family left. I just—” I shrugged. “The goats. Didn’t want them to freak out in the storm.” I realized I sounded like an idiot, or at least like a kid with a goat obsession, but I didn’t care.
Macon made a sound—a rough, surprised laugh. “You like them?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “They’re honest. Not like people.”
He snorted, then coughed, the tension in his shoulders easing. “You’re not what I expected.”
“Most people say that,” I said, and it was true.
Sometimes, I wore it like armor.
The storm outside was receding, thunder a distant echo. I shivered, not just from the cold but from the weird intimacy of sitting in the dark with a man who could probably break me in half but was currently more fragile than any of us.
Macon finally looked me in the eye. He had that alpha gaze—steady, intimidating, but right now, it was uncertain. “You should go inside,” he said. “You’ll freeze.”
“I’m okay,” I said, but I could hear my teeth chattering.
He reached for the toolbox, pulled out a horse blanket, and tossed it to me. “Here,” he grunted. “You’ll get pneumonia.”
I wrapped it around my shoulders and felt instantly warmer. “Thanks.”
He hesitated, then sat up straighter, legs outstretched and hands open on his thighs. “Sorry about… before.”
I shrugged. “Everyone loses it sometimes.”
“Not like that,” he said. His voice was softer, and I realized he was embarrassed—not just for himself, but for me having to witness it.
“I’ve seen worse,” I lied, and he almost smiled.
We sat in companionable silence, listening to the goats and the drip of rain from the eaves. After a few minutes, I felt him watching me, eyes narrowed in thought.
“Your brother ever tell you about the shit we got into?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “Rawley doesn’t talk much.”
“Smart,” Macon said. He picked at the hay, voice almost a whisper. “Some things are better left buried.”
I nodded. “But sometimes, things come back anyway.”
He gave me a look—a real one this time, with a flicker of respect in it. “Yeah,” he said. “They do.”
We stayed like that, two strangers on opposite sides of a secret, until the barn felt almost safe. When the thunder finally stopped, he let out a sigh and ran his hand over his face.
“You want coffee?” he asked, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
