Page 29 of 11 Cowboys

I don’t live up to mine.

Levi means to join or to connect, and apart from my brothers and cousins, I’ve never been able to connect with anyone. Even Rory, my flesh and blood, my son, feels separate in a way I know isn’t right. I hold Grace, knowing that at this moment, we’re connected more than physically, but that any minute it will slip through my fingers like grain because I always let go first, before they notice I’m not worth holding on to.

We lay tangled on the hay, breathing hard, the air thick with sweat and approaching rain, and quiet thunder still on the horizon. Grace has one arm thrown over her eyes, the other still curved around my ribs. Her chest rises and falls in a slow rhythm, and for a second, I think she might have fallen asleep. But then she shifts, exhales, and turns her facetoward me.

She doesn’t speak.

Neither do I.

Because what the hell would I say?You’re welcome? I needed that? You made me feel something other than hollow for thirty whole minutes?

No.

That isn’t how this works.

Instead, I sit up, heart racing as I tuck my dick away, pull my jeans back on, and grab my shirt off the bale behind me. I hold it in my hands like maybe if I don’t rush, she won’t think I’m retreating.

But I am.

From the quiet that comes after. From the part where someone might ask for more than what I know how to give. From the whispered intimacy that makes me feel like a fraud.

She props herself on one elbow, watching me with a curiosity that prickles my skin.

And that’s worse.

“That was—” she starts.

“Yeah,” I blurt.

She smirks, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “You always shut down this fast, or am I lucky?”

I grin like I always do, flashing the charm as a deflection. “What can I say? I’m a gentleman. Can’t have a lady thinking I’ll ruin herandoverstay my welcome.”

She stiffens but then rolls her eyes and tosses a piece of hay at me. “You’re a jackass.”

“Yeah,” I say again, grinning. “But tonight, this jackass rocked your world, right darlin’?”

It lands flat, even though I deliver it smoothly.

Grace doesn’t answer right away, and I don’t press because I’m already buttoning up the pieces of myself I let her touch.

And I know I’ll regret this later, except for the part where I showed her that she isn’t broken, even as I broke myself.

But I keep going because it’s all I know how to do.

Leaning back against the wall, I run a hand over my face, trying to shake the weight settling behind my ribs.

Rory flashes in my mind then. His tiny body curled up in his crib, the way he smiles like the world hasn’t done anything wrong yet, even though it has. I think about the way he looks up at me, wide-eyed and trusting, like I’m someone solid and worthy of his innocent love.

I’m not.

Hell, I don’t even know for sure if he’s mine. I don’t remember his mother’s name. I don’t remember the night he was conceived. His birth certificate was tucked into the box we found him in and lists his name as Rory Levi. It was the only clue. That and his big blue eyes are a reflection of mine. I knew, or maybe hoped. Maybe it felt easier to claim him than admit how empty I’d felt long before he got dropped on our doorstep.

And the worst part?

I don’t know if I’m what he needs. I don’t know how to be a real father like Corbin or Dylan—men who carry their children’s weight without flinching, no matter how heavy it is. Men who know how to be present.

But at least Rory has them: ten other men who’ll show him what a good man looks like.