He nods, grinning. "Yep."
"Did he also tell you to jump on me and bring your crazy goat into my room?"
He chews his lip. "Uh. Daddy doesn't know I brought Gary in."
I chuckle. Wyatt and that goat.
Hunter, the most feared man in New Falls, the man who runs a mafia empire, has been losing a daily war with a thirty-pound pygmy goat ever since he gave him to Wyatt.
I quite like the little shit. He's funny.
Gary hops up onto the bed, circles twice, and settles beside Wyatt like he belongs there. I flop back down onto the pillow and extend my arm. Wyatt curls into my side, and for a second, the hangover recedes, and the world is just this.
"Don't go back to sleep. Daddy will tell you off."
I grunt. "Your daddy won't tell me off."
"Uh, yes, he will. He always tells you off. Says you're more like my big brother than his baby brother."
I laugh, and it hurts my ribs, but I don't care. Hunter's been more father than brother to me since Dad died. Eight years older, built from the same stone, carrying the weight of everything our old man left behind.
I know as long as my older brother is living and breathing, I'm going to be okay.
"You had a birthday party and didn't invite me," Wyatt says, and there's genuine offense in his voice. The kid takes exclusion personally.
I cuddle him tighter. "It was an adult party. How about you and I go get some cake today?"
After losing his mom and his Uncle Beau kidnapping him and Lola, Wyatt can have everything he damn well wants in life. I’ll stop at nothing to make sure this little boy is happy. That he’s safe.
Even if it meant draining the life from my own older brother so he could never hurt him again.
"Chocolate cake?" he asks.
"Chocolate cake," I confirm.
Being Wyatt's uncle is my favorite job. More than the bulls. More than the ranch. More than the other shit I do that I can't talk about in polite company. This kid is the highlight of my damn day, every day. I often wonder if my future holds something like this. A kid of my own. A family. A little person who looks up at me the way Wyatt looks up at Hunter, like he's the center of the whole universe.
I'd fuckin' love that. I'd be good at it, too.
But every time I picture it—the house, the kid, the woman beside me—it's always her.
My body goes still.
I texted Harper last night. It comes flooding back in fragments. The whiskey, the phone, the way the words poured out of me like I had no say in the matter.Miss you.I sent that. At one in the morning, drunk and beaten up, and still buzzing from the fight. I sent my ex-girlfriend a text that basically translates toI'm pathetic, and you still own me.
I grab my phone from the nightstand. No new messages.
I toss it face down on the bed. I can't even look at what I sent.
"Good afternoon," Hunter announces, strolling through the door and pulling the blinds open with zero mercy. Sunlight floods the room, and I hiss like a vampire.
"It's nine a.m., bro. Early in my books with a hangover."
Hunter chuckles. He's paler than he was yesterday, with dark circles under his eyes, and he's moving a little slower than usual.He feels as rough as I do; I can see it. But Hunter Sterling doesn't take sick days. The man operates on anger and the unshakeable conviction that the world will fall apart if he sits down for five minutes.
"Yeah, well, a ranch doesn't allow for days off. I need you to go help Jace and Paulie over at Pasture Fifteen. The fence is fucked, and the cattle are loose. We're moving them all into Nine."
I groan, which makes Wyatt laugh.
