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I nod. “I was going to drive down to the cabin tomorrow and set everything up.”

“By yourself?” Van pipes in.

My chin tilts up to face him. “I’ve driven to the cabin by myself before.”

The two exchange glances over my head that would have been amusing if they both didn’t seem annoyed by the idea.

“Isn’t it in The Ditch?” Lachlan sounds accusing, like I personally picked the spot.

“I really hate that name,” I gripe. “Just because people don’t want to follow the rules of Jefferson and want to live in peace—”

“No one there lives in peace, sweetheart,” Lachlan cuts me off. “They’re all criminals.”

“Notall,” I protest.

“Have you been there?” Van snaps, looking on the verge of pulling me over his knee.

“No,” I say quickly. “But I don’t think people should be type casted based on their living location. The people who callThe Ditchhome aren’t any different than us. Besides, if you’re going to throw stones, the Carr brothers had a whole murder cabin and everyone used to think they were a sweet church going family.”

“Point proven,” Van mutters. “You’re not going near some goddamn murder cabin on your own.”

I open my mouth to point out that my cabin is hours away from it, but Lachlan chimes in with, “We’ll pick you up in the morning.”

“I am not going to make you drive three hours—”

“You’re not making me do anything, sweetheart. Your car is about a hundred years old. The road up is all dirt and it’s supposed to rain tomorrow, so it’ll be mud. If something happens...” he gives a sharp shake of his head. “You’re not going up there alone. End of story.”

I huff, but secretly, deep down, I grin a little at being protected. At their possessiveness. At their command and authority. I used to wish Bron cared enough about me to worry like that. Even something as small as me missing a text or being a few minutes late. But he never noticed.

“Yes, sir,” I grumble a bit petulantly.

Van squeezes my fingers hard enough to make me squeak. His eyes are dark, but shine with a silent amusement that has me returning it with a lopsided grin.

He snorts and turns his head to his window, but not before I think I hear him mutter, “Little brat.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

LACHLAN

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I used to think I was a good person, a decent man. That delusion vanished the second I face-dived between my son’s girlfriend’s legs and she came all across my tongue.

I can’t even wrap my head around the thought process I had the night before. The entire event is the murky blur of a really fantastic dream I know I shouldn’t have had but can’t let go. It’s made worse with the knowledge that Van had been there, too. He took his turn with her sweet pussy with my cum still warm inside her.

I still don’t know how to feel about that. I’m trying to justify it as a rash decision in the moment. It happens. I think. I’ve never shared a woman with another man before. Never been in this situation, not even with Van and I’ve known the guy my entire life. We’ve never even liked the same woman. Yet Everly seems to be the one we both can’t let go.

I try not to look at her during the drive to the storage. Ifocus on the damn road, but every shift, every bump of her shoulder against mine, has my nerves on edge.

I steal a peek in Van’s direction, curious to see his thoughts, his discomfort. Anything to soothe my guilt, but the asshole sits quietly watching the road pass with one meaty paw closed possessively around Everly’s tiny fingers. His thumb moves lazily across her delicate knuckles like they’ve been doing this their entire lives. There isn’t a shred of uncertainty in the man. If anything, this is the calmest I’ve seen him in months. As if just holding her hand has somehow conquered whatever demon had been plaguing him.

It makes me think of our conversation the previous night. Me asking about the woman he had his eyes on and him saying she had a boyfriend. I’m not a rocket scientist but I can do basic math. Even if I were dense, his confession in the soft veil of night against Everly’s sweet lips was a whole indication that he — like me — is hopelessly in love with her.

But he’s being unrealistic. Shortsighted. This can never go anywhere. Stolen kisses behind closed doors. Sneaking in and out like thieves. Everly deserves better than to be our dirty secret.

When I make a too-sharp turn, sending her knocking into Van’s side, Everly tips her face to his and he meets her gaze with one of his own. Just like that, they’re locked. His fingers skim through her hair, and she’s practically nestled into his chest.

I hate it.