Page 17

The confession hangs between us, heavy as a thundercloud. I should run. Should push him away and head back to the house where it's safe.

Instead, I grab his belt buckle and jerk him closer.

"Prove it," I challenge, my fingers working the leather free. "Make me believe you."

Something primal flashes in his eyes, and then he's lifting me, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me three steps to the side of the equipment trailer. He sets me on the edge, the metal cool against my thighs as he yanks my jeans down past my knees. The night air is a shock against my heated skin, but it's nothing compared to the burn of Rhett's hands gripping my thighs, spreading me open under the harsh floodlight.

"Right here?" I taunt, my voice breathy and thin. "Where anyone could see?"

His eyes meet mine, dark and dangerous. "I want you to remember this every time you sit in this trailer tomorrow. Nine hours to Broken Arrow with this memory burning between your thighs."

The sound of his zipper is obscenely loud in the quiet night. I should care about getting caught—Knox would actually murder him this time—but all I can focus on is the way Rhett's looking at me like I'm water in the desert.

"You gonna talk all night, Calloway, or are you gonna—"

My words cut off in a gasp as he enters me in one smooth thrust, filling me so completely that for a moment I can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but feel. The trailer creaks beneath us, metal groaning as Rhett's hands grip my hips hard enough to leave marks.

"Fuck," he growls, his forehead dropping to mine. "Nothing—nothing feels like you."

I wrap my legs tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper. "Show me how much you missed this," I demand, my nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt.

The floodlight casts harsh shadows across his face as he pulls back, then drives into me again. Each thrust rocks the trailer, the metal vibrating beneath me. It's reckless and desperate and exactly what I need.

"Look at me," he commands, one hand coming up to grip my jaw.

I meet his eyes, drowning in the intensity I find there. In the harsh floodlight, he looks feral – all sharp edges and hunger. His hips snap forward, setting a brutal pace that has me biting my lip to keep from crying out loud enough to bring the entire ranch running.

"I missed this," he growls, his voice a ragged whisper against my neck. "Missed you taking all of me like you were made for it."

The trailer rocks beneath us, metal creaking in protest. My head falls back as he hits that perfect spot inside me, the one that makes fireworks explode behind my eyelids.

"Eyes open," he demands, his hand tightening on my jaw. "Want to see you when you come apart."

I force my eyes open, locking onto his. The naked emotion I find there nearly undoes me – desire, yes, but something more.

Every thrust drives me higher, the rough denim of his jeans scraping against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. The trailer creaks beneath us, metal protesting as Rhett drives into me with a force that should hurt but instead feels like coming home.

"Harder," I demand, digging my heels into the small of his back.

He obliges, lifting me slightly to change the angle, and stars explode behind my eyelids. "Fuck, Rhett!"

His hand clamps over my mouth, stifling my cry. "Shhh," he hisses, his eyes glittering with wicked amusement. "Unless you want the whole ranch to hear you."

The pressure of his palm against my lips sends a forbidden thrill through me. I bite down on the calloused skin, tasting salt and leather, and his eyes darken to midnight.

"Still a biter," he growls, never breaking rhythm. "Some things never change."

My response is muffled against his hand, but my body speaks for me, clenching around him as he drives deeper. Every thrust rocks the trailer, metal singing beneath us like we're creating our own twisted symphony.

"I remember everything," he whispers, his voice rough against my ear. "The sounds you make. The way you feel. How you taste."

His free hand slides between us, finding that sweet spot that makes my vision blur. "I remember how you come," he says, his thumb circling with devastating precision. "Like a lightning strike."

I bite down harder on his palm as pressure builds inside me, a storm gathering force. His thrusts become more erratic, his breathing ragged against my neck. The trailer rocks beneath us, metal creaking in protest.

"Come on, sweetheart," Rhett growls, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chases his own release. "Show me."

The orgasm hits me, white-hot and all-consuming. My scream is muffled against his palm as my body convulses around him.

The orgasm rips through me, my body clamping down around him as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through my system. His hand over my mouth is the only thing keeping me from crying out loud enough to wake the entire county. Rhett's rhythm falters, becomes desperate, and then he's burying his face against my neck, a string of curses mixed with my name pouring from his lips.

"Christ, Willow," he groans, the sound torn from somewhere deep and primal. "Nothing—fuck—nothing in this world like watching you fall apart."

"I'm close," he pants against my lips. "Need to pull out—"

"Don't you dare," I whisper fiercely, locking my ankles behind his back. “I got the shot. Come in me, Rhett.”

His eyes lock with mine, pupils blown wide, something almost vulnerable in his expression. For a split second, I see the boy he was before the fame, before the Savage 8—the one who kissed me behind the barn at sixteen and promised me forever.

"Say it again," he demands, voice ragged as his hips stutter against mine.

"I want to feel you," I breathe against his ear. "All of you. Let go, cowboy."

He buries himself deep with one final thrust, his whole body going rigid as he pulses inside me. The groan that tears from his throat is animal, primal, and I swallow the sound with my mouth, kissing him through his release. His arms cage me against the trailer, trembling with the force of his orgasm, his forehead dropping to rest against mine.

For several heartbeats, we stay frozen like that—connected, panting, the night air cooling the sweat on our skin. The trailer creaks as Rhett shifts his weight, but he doesn't pull away. His hands cradle my face like I'm something precious, his thumbs tracing my cheekbones with a tenderness that makes my chest ache.

"You're still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he murmurs, his voice rough with something that sounds dangerously like reverence.

I should say something sarcastic. Should pull away and rebuild the walls he just dismantled with frightening ease. Instead, I lean into his touch, allowing myself this one moment of vulnerability.

"Even all sweaty and debauched?" I manage, trying for lightness.

His laugh is soft against my lips. "Especially then."

Rhett gently pulls out, bending down to pull my jeans up for me.

The intimacy of the gesture catches me off guard. For a man who just fucked me senseless against a trailer, there's something almost tender in the way he hooks my bra, straightens my shirt, helps me shimmy my jeans back up my thighs. His fingers linger at my waistband as he buttons and zips me back together, like he's reluctant to complete the task.

"I can dress myself," I mutter, but there's no heat behind it.

"I know. But I like taking care of you."

Something fragile expands in my chest at his words, and I quickly tamp it down. One fuck against a trailer doesn't erase two years of silence. Doesn't erase the way he left.

"We should get inside," I say, smoothing down my shirt. "Early start tomorrow."

Rhett catches my wrist before I can step away, his thumb pressing against my pulse point. "Willow."

I look up, caught in the intensity of his gaze. “I…”

“I know. I have a lot of work to do and this isn’t the way to do it. Let’s get you to bed.”

He takes my hand, pulling me toward the house. My heart is beating out of control as we slowly walk inside, careful not to wake anybody.

Rhett pauses at my door. “Goodnight, Willow.”

He leans down and places a soft kiss on my lips. The kiss is so different from the ones we just shared against the trailer—gentle, almost reverent. It catches me more off guard than his hand between my legs did.

"Goodnight, Rhett," I whisper as he pulls away.

His eyes linger on my face, searching for something. Whatever he finds there makes the corner of his mouth lift in that half-smile I've dreamed about for two years.

"Sweet dreams, cowgirl."

Then he's gone, moving down the hallway to his own room with that easy grace that's all coiled power beneath the surface. I slip inside my bedroom and close the door, leaning against it as my legs threaten to give out.

What the hell am I doing?

I wake to the rumble of engines and slamming doors. The sky outside my window is barely gray—that murky predawn hour when night's still putting up a fight. My body aches in places that make last night's activities impossible to forget, and I press my face into the pillow to hide a smile no one's around to see.

Rhett fucking Calloway. Against a trailer. Some things never change.

Knox bangs on my door without warning. "Let's go, princess! Daylight's burning!"

I groan, flipping off the door even though he can't see me. Every muscle protests as I drag myself out of bed, my body a catalog of delicious soreness. Guess that's what happens when you let Rhett Calloway use you like his personal rodeo.

The thought sends a flush of heat through me that has nothing to do with embarrassment.

"Five minutes or we leave without you!" Knox yells, his boots already thumping down the hallway.

I throw on leggings, a worn Savage 8 t-shirt and my white Lane Cossette boots, gathering my hair into a messy ponytail as I grab my bags. I packed most of them last night, so it’s just my essentials and a few after thoughts.

Nine hours to Broken Arrow in a truck with these idiots. God help me.

The kitchen is chaotic when I emerge—grown men moving like caffeinated tornadoes, grabbing coffee, scarfing down protein bars, and tossing gear into duffle bags. Knox is barking orders like a drill sergeant while Jace tries to stuff an entire breakfast burrito into his mouth at once.

"Jesus, were you all raised in barns?" I mutter, navigating through the testosterone obstacle course to reach the coffee pot.

"Says the woman who just rolled out of bed," Kade smirks, eyeing my disheveled appearance.

I flip him off without looking, pouring coffee into the largest travel mug I can find. "Some of us need our beauty sleep."

"Some of us got plenty of sleep last night," Rhett's voice cuts through the noise, low enough that only I can hear him.

He brushes past me to grab the coffee pot, his body close enough that I can feel his heat. The scent of his cologne—cedar and something darker—wraps around me like a memory. His fingers brush mine as he takes the pot, and the contact sends electricity skittering across my skin.

"Sleep well?" he murmurs, his voice pitched for my ears only.

I meet his eyes over the rim of my mug, the steam fogging between us. "Like the dead."

His mouth quirks into that half-smile that's gotten me into more trouble than I care to admit. "Funny, I could've sworn I heard you tossing and turning all night. Walls are thin in this place."

Heat crawls up my neck. "You've got a selective memory, Calloway."

"I remember everything about you, Hayes." His eyes drop to my mouth, then lower, taking in my body with a slow, deliberate appraisal that makes my skin flush hot despite the early hour. "Including how you look when you're thoroughly satisfied."

I take a long sip of coffee to hide whatever my face might be revealing. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Don't need to." His voice drops even lower. "The trailer does the talking for me."

A flash of last night—metal creaking beneath us, his hand over my mouth, the way he looked at me when he came—hits me with enough force to make my coffee slosh dangerously close to the rim of my mug.

"If you two are done eye-fucking in the kitchen," Knox's voice cuts through the moment like a bucket of ice water, "we've got a schedule to keep."

I jump away from Rhett like I've been burned, sloshing hot coffee over my hand. "Jesus Christ, Knox!"

My brother's eyes narrow, flicking between me and Rhett with a dangerous assessment. "Truck's loaded. Let's move."

"Yes, sir," I mutter, grabbing a protein bar from the counter and following him out.

The early morning air hits me like a slap, cool and crisp with the promise of another scorching Oklahoma day to come. The sky is lightening at the edges, dawn creeping in with hesitant fingers of pink and gold. Three trucks sit idling in the driveway—Knox's black F-350, Jace's black Dodge Ram, and Rhett's black GMC Sierra that I know all too well.

All with the Savage 8 logo emblazoned on the side.

Knox tosses my duffel into the bed of his truck with more force than necessary. "You're with me," he says, eyes flicking to where Rhett stands in the doorway.

I raise an eyebrow. "What are we, twelve? I can't pick my own ride?"

"My truck, my rules." Knox slams the tailgate closed with finality. "Besides, we need to talk about strategy for Broken Arrow."

Right. Strategy. That's what he wants to discuss for nine hours straight.

"Fine," I sigh, climbing into the passenger seat of his truck. Through the windshield, I watch Rhett amble toward his own vehicle, that familiar loose-hipped swagger making my body remember exactly what it felt like pressed against his last night.

As if sensing my thoughts, he turns and catches my eye. The slow smile that spreads across his face should be illegal.

Levi and Weston hop in with Jace, Logan and Kade hop in with Rhett, leaving Colt to ride in the truck with us.

He slides into the backseat with a goofy smile. "Morning, sunshine. Ready for the road trip from hell?"

"As I'll ever be," I mutter, settling my coffee in the cupholder as Knox fires up the engine.

The convoy pulls out of the ranch, three black trucks in a row like a funeral procession. Fitting, since I might actually die being trapped in this truck with my brother for nine hours. The sun peeks over the horizon as we hit the main road, bathing everything in gold.

"So," Knox says after we've gone about ten miles in blessed silence. "You want to tell me why Rhett was looking at you like you're his next meal?"

I take a deliberately long sip of coffee. "No idea what you're talking about."

Colt snorts from the backseat. "Yeah, and I'm the Virgin Mary."

I throw Colt a look that could freeze hell. "Shouldn't you be napping or something? Nine hours is past your bedtime."

Colt just grins, stretching out across the back seat like he owns it. "And miss this family drama? Not a chance."

Knox's knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. "Nothing happened, right? After our talk last night?"

The lie sticks in my throat, but I force it out anyway. "Nothing happened."

Except Rhett Calloway fucking me senseless against the equipment trailer. Except his hands and mouth and the way he looked at me when he said he came back for me. Except everything.

Colt lowly whistles. “So weird. I heard some strange noises last night near the trailers.”

I turn and grip Colt’s thigh, digging my nails into him. "You're about to be the patron saint of mind your own fucking business if you don't shut it."

Knox glances between us in the rearview mirror, his eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. "What noises?"

"Nothing," I say quickly, tightening my grip on Colt's thigh until he winces. "Right, Colt?"

Colt gives me a slow, shit-eating grin that makes me want to throw him out of the moving truck. "Must've been the wind."

"The wind," Knox repeats flatly. "Making noises. Against the equipment trailer."

"Funny," Colt says, his shit-eating grin widening. "I didn't feel any wind when I stepped out for a smoke around midnight."

My stomach drops to somewhere around my ankles. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I force my nails harder into his thigh.

“Well, ya know what they say about Oklahoma wind, huh?”

Colt winces, trying to peel my fingers off his thigh. "Ha! Yeah! Oklahoma wind gets real passionate sometimes."

I'm going to murder him. Slowly. With his own belt buckle.

Knox's jaw works, the muscle twitching beneath his skin as he stares straight ahead at the highway. The silence in the truck becomes a living thing, heavy and dangerous.

"Willow," he finally says, his voice dangerously calm. "Tell me you didn't fuck Rhett against our equipment trailer."

I release Colt's thigh, leaving crescent-shaped indentations in the denim. The direct question catches me off guard—Knox has never been one to dance around a subject, but Jesus Christ.

Heat floods my face, but I lift my chin. "My sex life isn't up for discussion."

"Awkward," Colt sing-songs from the backseat.

“I swear to god, Walker. I am gonna-”

"It is when you're screwing my teammate against property I paid for!" Knox's palm slams against the steering wheel. "Goddamnit, Willow! We just had this conversation!"

"And I told you I'm a grown woman who can make her own decisions," I snap, my voice rising to match his. "What part of that was unclear?"

The muscle in Knox's jaw ticks dangerously. "I'm responsible for this team."

"I'm not on your team," I hiss. "I'm your sister, not your property."

Colt clears his throat from the backseat. "So, uh, anyone want to play I Spy? I spy with my little eye something that begins with 'T' for tension..."

"Shut up, Colt!" Knox and I yell in unison.

The truck falls into tense silence as we speed down the highway, the flat Oklahoma landscape stretching endlessly on either side. The sun climbs higher, turning the world golden as we eat up the miles. In the side mirror, I can see Rhett's truck trailing behind us, close enough that I can make out his silhouette behind the wheel. My body still aches in all the right places, a physical reminder of last night that no amount of brotherly disapproval can erase.

"Look," I finally say, breaking the tense silence that's filled the cab for the last twenty miles. "What happened between me and Rhett is between me and Rhett."

Knox's knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. "Not when it affects the team."

"How exactly does getting laid affect your precious team?" I demand, crossing my arms over my chest.

Colt whistles low. "Getting laid? So it did happen. I thought maybe I was hallucinating."

"One more word," I warn, turning to glare at him, "and they'll never find your body."

Knox's hands flex on the steering wheel. "He's going to hurt you again."

"Maybe." I stare out the window at the passing fields. "Maybe I'll hurt him. Maybe we'll crash and burn so spectacularly they'll see the flames from space."

"And you're okay with that?" Knox glances at me, genuine confusion in his eyes.

I turn to face him. "What I'm not okay with is you, or any of the boys, controlling any aspect of my life.”

Knox's jaw works as he stares at the road ahead. The morning light catches on his profile, highlighting the stubborn set of his mouth that's so much like our father's. It's the same look he wore when Dad would come home drunk, when I'd cry over skinned knees, when bullies at school targeted me for being a Hayes.

"I'm not trying to control you," he finally says, voice quieter now. "I'm trying to protect you."

"I don't need protection. I need respect." I look down at my coffee, now lukewarm and unappealing. "And trust that I can handle myself."

"Like you handled yourself last time?" The words are out before he can stop them, sharp as a whip crack in the cab of the truck.

Even Colt winces in the backseat.

"Low blow, Knox." My voice is steady, but inside I’m breaking.

The memory rises unbidden—me, curled on the bathroom floor, vodka bottle empty beside me, mascara tracking down my cheeks as Knox held my hair back while I puked. The boys begged me to get out of bed and eat. The hospital bed where I just begged the doctors to let me die.

Knox's face softens with immediate regret. "Shit, Wil. I'm sorry."

"Don't." I stare straight ahead, willing the tightness in my throat to ease. "Just don't."

The truck falls silent again, nothing but the hum of tires on asphalt and Colt's uncomfortable shifting in the backseat. Outside, Oklahoma rolls by in endless waves of grass and sky, the morning sun turning everything golden. I wish I could appreciate the beauty, but all I can see is the past—me falling apart after Rhett left, Knox picking up the pieces.

"I was in a bad place," I finally say, my voice barely audible over the engine. "It wasn't just Rhett. It was everything—Ethan dying in my arms, Dad trying to come back into our lives, the accident with Jeff…”

The silence in the truck is heavy, weighted with memories none of us want to revisit. Knox's hands flex on the steering wheel, and I can almost see him wrestling with whether to push or let it go.

"I know," he finally says, voice rough. "I just don't want to see you go through that again."

"I'm stronger now." I stare out the window, watching the countryside blur past. "I know who I am without him."

"Do you?" Knox glances at me, his eyes searching. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're picking up exactly where you left off."

I think about last night—the desperation, the need, the way Rhett looked at me like I was still the center of his universe. It would be so easy to fall back into old patterns. To let myself believe that this time would be different.

"It's not the same. I know it isn’t.”

Knox looks back at the road. “Whatever you say, kid.”