Page 112 of Saddle Storm

I settle Max into bed and watch him for a long moment. Trying to see my old friend in his features. Trying to get my own answers like they’d come just by looking at him. Silently asking him how—why it had to be Jasper.

It’s quiet in the living room. Dark too, save for the single table lamp. The kitchen lights are on low, with Storm pacing in front of the island, pausing mid-step when we lock eyes.

Mine are hard. And there isn’t a damn thing I can do to help it.

I stalk toward her and lift her, sitting her over the island and pressing my palms on the cool stone on either side of her.

She swallows again.

“Say something,” I urge, my voice down to a whisper to keep from growling.

Her head drops to her entwined fingers before meeting my eyes. “It was the night of his party.”

I blink, having figured as much.

“Same party you went looking for me?”

She nods, a tear falling loose down her cheek.

I step back, swiping my thumb across my bottom lip, twisting away from her. The words, Last I checked, Jasper looked nothing like me on the tip of my tongue but I bite it down. Even in my head it makes me sick being that petty with her.

“Silas,” she breathes. “He told me you left.”

I nod, shifting away because I need space. “With some girl, yeah, I know.”

“He lied to me.” She jumps off the counter, and I hear the plea behind it. It pulls me back from spiraling, my fingers itching to hold her.

“It was my last chance to see you. To tell you how I felt,” she continues and the ache I hear behind it just won’t do.

I lift her face, looking into her tear-filled eyes. “You did nothing wrong that night.” I bend to kiss her lips softly and it’s almost instantly healing.

Swallowing, I brush my hand down the side of her face and step back, my stomach knotting because I hate to leave her like this. “Lock the door behind me? I need to run out.”

Hurt flashes in her eyes but she catches herself quickly and nods. It’s another punch to my gut because she’s been so strong and fucking incredible tonight with the way she handled him. All without warning.

If only I could be that for her right now. But I need a minute. “I shouldn’t be long.”

I take the keys to the cottage and the car and walk out before I can say something I’m going to regret.

It takes me the few short steps from the cottage door to her Range Rover to know where I’m heading.

Ten minutes later, I’m at his door, my heart pounding, my head swimming with confusion and anger.

Dallas pulls open the door in a T-shirt and flannel pants. His eyes still squinting from the kitchen light he’d flicked on a moment ago.

“How ’bout that drink?” I rasp.

He takes one look at my face and growls. “Hang on, let me get a hoodie.”

A few minutes later, we’re at The Shack. It’s midnight and the place is long locked down for the night. It takes him a minute to find the lights then he motions me toward the bar.

“You know it doesn’t have to be beer. Got a good whiskey here if that’s the mood you’re in,” he offers, stepping behind the bar.

I shake my head. “Just your best on tap.”

He pours two pints. Each filled with our usual. Then comes to sit beside me. Giving me time before asking questions.

“Thanks,” I mutter.