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I reach for the stretched and wrinkled garment. It comes off too easily with the single tug. It falls to the floor at our feet,and neither of us move. We make no effort to replace it with the top bunched in Lachlan’s fist.

Those earlier glimpses of Everly painted in the shadows of the truck is nothing to her lying in the light, skin soft and bare and beautifully displayed as if in welcome. This Everly is a buffet of everything I want to dive face first into. I want to push her thighs wide and clean the mess she let us leave in her. I want to add to it. I want her to wake up in the morning so full she leaks for a week. Things that are highly inappropriate given that she’s unconscious.

“We should...”

I nod at Lachlan’s random gesturing.

“I’ll sit her up and you pull the top down,” I say, already reaching for her.

The other man makes no argument, but shakes out the shirt. He bunches it in preparation as I slide my hands under the supple curves of her breasts and down across her ribs. I tuck down and across her back.

Somehow, we manage to make it work. We get her dressed. Lachlan scoops her up so I can pull the sheets down and step back, letting him lay her down.

Then we leave.

Quickly. Without looking back.

Lachlan shuts the door on the heap of trouble we’ve gotten ourselves into and we lock eyes. Neither of us say a word,but the silence speaks volumes. This whole night has been a test and I can’t fully be sure if we passed or not.

Lachlan starts downstairs and I follow. I know he’s heading into the kitchen before he makes the turn down the corridor. The fridge is thrown open and two beers are pulled out.

“Maybe we should start drinking at home,” he mutters, shoving a frosted bottle into my palm.

I snort a laugh as I round the island. We each pull out a wooden stool on opposite ends and drop into it.

“So...” he starts.

I twist the cap off my drink, throw down half and swallow before mumbling, “So.”

He raps his nails on the glass. “That was not on my bingo card this year.”

My laugh is harder this time, laced with resignation and defeat even as the two guilty fingers pang with reminder.

“Me neither, man.”

Lachlan pops open his drink at last and takes a swig. “So, what you said...?”

I don’t ask for clarification. Don’t have to. The fact that neither of us can meet the other’s eye is answer enough.

“Yeah.”

“Did you mean it?”

I clear my throat. “Yup. You?”

He takes a longer, deeper pull. “Yeah.”

I nod and scratch my chin. The growing fuzz scuffs under my nails.

“What now?”

Lachlan shrugs. “Nothing. We can’t. It has to end tonight. She’s Bron’s girlfriend.”

“Ex,” I mumble a little too quickly.

“What difference does that make?” His brown eyes pierce through me, hard with a simmering annoyance he’s fighting to restrain. “In this town, the only person who will get hurt is Everly. They will crucify her. No one is going to accept her with two men, never mind the fathers of her boyfriend and best friend. She’ll lose everything. And after what Lauren and Bron did, I don’t know if she’ll be strong enough to take the hit. Besides,” he pauses to take a deep pull of his beer, “she shouldn’t have to be.”

That part slaps the hardest because he’s not wrong. Everly shouldn’t have to be strong enough to survive another storm just because we couldn’t keep our hands to ourselves. She shouldn’t be the one paying the price for the chaos we dragged her into and she sure as hell shouldn’t be the one left holding the pieces after it all falls apart.