Page 44 of Broken Roads (Hard to Handle #1)

Hailey

I wake with Bradley's arm resting heavily across my waist, his steady breathing warm against my neck.

I lie perfectly still, savoring this moment of complete contentment.

Last night replays in my mind—his hands on my body, his whispered promises, the way he looked at me when I told him about my past. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I don't feel the need to run away from this feeling of happiness.

Instead, I want to sink deeper into it, to memorize every detail of waking up beside this man who somehow made me feel again.

Careful not to wake him, I shift slightly so I can study his face.

Sleep softens his features, erasing the constant vigilance he carries during waking hours.

A strand of hair falls across his forehead, and I can't resist brushing it back.

The slight touch is enough to make him stir and his arm tightens around me.

"Mmm," he mumbles, eyes still closed. "Watching me sleep, sunshine?"

"Maybe." I trail my fingers down his cheek, feeling the rough texture of his morning stubble. "You're pretty when you're not scowling."

One eye cracks open, dark and amused. "Pretty?"

"Devastatingly handsome," I amend, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Better?"

"Much." His voice is rough with sleep, deeper than usual, and goodness, every nerve ending in my body lights up.

Pulling me closer, his hand slides up my bare back, tracing each bump with gentle fingertips that leave goosebumps in their wake. The simple touch shouldn't feel so intimate, but after last night every point of contact between us feels heightened.

"Sleep okay?" he asks as his lips find my temple.

I nod, settling more firmly against him. "Better than I have in months."

His hand continues its exploration, sliding over my hip to rest on my thigh. "No regrets?" The question is quiet, vulnerable in a way that makes my heart squeeze painfully inside my chest.

Lifting my head, I look directly into his eyes. "Not a single one."

The smile that breaks across his face is slow and beautiful, crinkling the corners of his eyes. He cups my cheek, thumb tracing my lower lip with a reverence that steals my breath.

"You're so fucking beautiful in the morning," he murmurs.

Then his mouth is on mine, the kiss achingly tender. There's none of last night's desperate urgency, just a slow, thorough exploration that leaves me melting against him.

"I could get used to waking up like this," he whispers against my lips.

"Is that your way of asking me to go camping more often?" I tease, threading my fingers through his hair.

"That's my way of saying I never want to wake up without you again."

The admission catches me off guard and my heart stutters inside my chest. We've known each other for such a short time, yet somehow it feels like we've been moving toward this point since the moment I arrived at Walker Ranch.

Instead of answering with words, I press my body against his. He groans when my nipples brush against his chest and his hands immediately slide down to cup my ass and pull me more firmly against his growing hardness.

"Bradley," I breathe as his mouth finds the sensitive spot below my ear.

"Need you," he murmurs against my skin. "Again. Always."

He doesn't wait. Reaching for the condoms he brought, he quickly sheaths himself before rolling me onto my back. Then he’s on top of me, a delicious weight that grounds me as he positions himself at my entrance.

He moves in long, deep strokes that steals the breath from my lungs. There's no rush, no frantic race to the finish, just a steady build of pleasure that has us both gasping.

Afterward, we lie tangled together, his weight half on me, half on the sleeping bag beneath us. I trace idle patterns on his back while he presses gentle kisses to my shoulder.

"We should probably head back soon," he says, though he makes no move to get up.

"Probably," I agree, equally reluctant to leave our private sanctuary.

With a sigh, he finally rolls away, giving me a view of his naked body that makes me consider delaying our departure even further. The morning light plays across the defined muscles of his chest and abdomen, highlighting old scars and new marks my nails left last night.

"Keep looking at me like that and we're never leaving this tent," he warns, his eyes dark with renewed desire.

With a laugh, I sit up to reach for my clothes. "As tempting as that is, I'm pretty sure Ruthie would send a search party if we don't show up soon."

The mention of Ruthie sobers us both. Last night was our own private world, but reality awaits back at the ranch. A reality where people will see the change between us, where we'll have to navigate this new relationship under watchful eyes.

We dress slowly, stealing glances at each other like teenagers. Bradley finds excuses to touch me—adjusting my collar, brushing hair from my face, hands lingering at the small of my back as we duck out of the tent.

Taking down our campsite takes twice as long as it should, interrupted by stolen kisses and playful touches. When Bradley bends to roll up the sleeping bags, I can't resist swatting his perfect ass, earning me a raised eyebrow and a promise of retaliation that sends heat flooding my cheeks.

"You're trouble," he says, looping an arm around my waist and pulling me against him for another kiss.

"You like trouble," I counter when we break apart.

"I like you," he corrects, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "More than I should probably admit this early."

With the tent packed away and our supplies loaded into our backpacks, we set off down the trail toward the main house. Bradley takes my hand, our fingers intertwining naturally as we navigate the familiar path.

"So," he says after we've been walking for a few minutes. "You planning on keeping your room at the house, or..."

The question trails off, but its implication is clear. I squeeze his hand, a smile tugging at my lips.

"Are you asking me to move into your room, cowboy?"

"Maybe." He glances at me, a hint of vulnerability in his expression. "Too soon?"

I consider the question as we continue down the slope. Yesterday, I might have said yes. Today, after sharing not just my body but my darkest secrets with this man, I'm not so sure.

"Let's take it one day at a time," I finally say. "But I wouldn't be opposed to spending more nights with you."

His smile is enough to steal my breath—open, genuine happiness that transforms his entire face. He pulls me to a stop, cups my cheeks and kisses me with a tenderness that melts my insides.

"One day at a time," he agrees when we break apart. "Starting today."

Hand in hand, we continue down the path.

The ranch house comes into view as we round the final bend in the trail, sunlight gleaming off its roof.

I'm about to comment on how beautiful it looks from this angle when my eyes catch on something out of place.

A sleek black Audi parked in the gravel driveway, its polished surface a stark contrast to the dusty ranch trucks and Ruthie's ancient sedan.

I glance at Bradley, whose easy smile from moments ago has faded into a puzzled frown.

"Someone we know?" I ask, nodding toward the luxury car.

Bradley shakes his head, his eyes narrowing as he studies the vehicle. "Not that I'm aware of." His fingers tighten almost imperceptibly around mine. "Maybe Sawyer's got a new lady friend with expensive taste."

There's something forced about his casual tone that raises my suspicions, but before I can question him further, the sound of laughter drifts through an open window followed by loud, excited voices that suggest whoever owns that car has received a warm welcome.

"Sounds like a party in there," I comment despite the sudden tension that's crackling in the air between us.

"Yeah." The single word comes out clipped, guarded in a way I haven't heard since my first days at the ranch.

As we approach the front porch, Bradley's pace slows, and I feel his reluctance in the way he hesitates before each step. It's such a stark contrast to the man who couldn't keep his hands off me all morning that alarm bells start ringing in my head.

"Bradley? Everything okay?"

He blinks, seemingly shaking himself out of whatever thoughts have gripped him. "Fine. Just wondering who's visiting."

But there's something in his voice—a tightness, an edge—that tells me he has a suspicion he's not sharing. Before I can press further, he opens the front door, and the voices become clearer.

"... and then the patient wakes up right in the middle of the procedure and asks if we're done yet." A male voice I don't recognize finishes what must be a funny story, because Bradford's deep laugh follows, along with Ruthie's delighted chuckle.

Bradley freezes in the entryway, his body suddenly rigid beside me. I look up at his face and my stomach drops at what I see there. His jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumps in his cheek. Eyes narrowed, his entire expression has hardened into something I barely recognize.

"Bradley?" I whisper, but he doesn't respond, doesn't even seem to hear me.

Instead, he moves forward like a man walking to his own execution, each step deliberate and heavy. I follow, my hand still in his, feeling like I'm being pulled into a current I don't understand.

The dining room doorway frames a scene that looks deceptively normal at first glance—Bradford and Ruthie seated at the table, Sawyer leaning against the wall with a coffee mug in hand, Beckett perched on the edge of the table.

But it's the fifth person who draws my attention.

A tall man with his back to us, gesturing animatedly as he continues his story.

Even from behind, there's something familiar about him. He's dressed in clothes that scream city money: tailored slacks, a crisp button-down rolled to the elbows, an expensive watch glinting on his wrist.

Ruthie spots us first and her face lights up.

"There you two are. We were wondering when you'd make it back.

" The warmth in her eyes as they flick between Bradley and me suggests she knows exactly where we've been and what we've been doing, but there's no teasing in her tone.

Instead, she seems almost... eager? Or is that look nerves?

At her words, the stranger turns, and my breath catches in my throat.

It's like looking at Bradley through some strange mirror that alters just enough details to create a different person.

The same dark eyes, but sharper somehow.

The same strong jawline, but clean-shaven.

He's Bradley and not Bradley all at once.

"Brad," the man says. His smile falters slightly at the edges, uncertainty creeping in as he takes in Bradley's thunderous expression. "Surprise?"

The tension in the room skyrockets, thick enough that I feel like I'm choking on it. Bradford clears his throat uncomfortably while Ruthie's eyes dart between the two men with naked concern. Sawyer suddenly finds his coffee mug fascinating, and Beckett shifts from foot to foot.

Bradley's hand has gone slack in mine, but I hold on tighter, offering whatever support I can despite my confusion. I search his face, trying to understand what's happening, but his eyes never leave the stranger.

"Bradley," I whisper, "what's wrong?"

He doesn't answer me. Doesn't even glance my way. His entire focus is locked on the man standing across the room, a man who looks enough like him to be—

Oh. Understanding crashes over me like a bucket of ice water. This must be Sebastian. The brother who left without saying goodbye. The doctor in the city. The walking embodiment of every abandonment issue Bradley carries.

He takes a tentative step forward, hands spread slightly in a placating gesture. "I know I should have called first—"

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Bradley's voice is so low, so dangerous that I barely recognize it. The words vibrate with hurt, anger, and betrayal.

Sebastian's smile disappears completely, his shoulders squaring as if bracing for a physical blow.

"Good to see you too, little brother," Sebastian says, his attempt at lightness falling flat in the heavy atmosphere. "Been a while."

"Not long enough," Bradley growls, his fingers finally tightening around mine again, as if he's just remembered I'm standing beside him. The gesture feels both protective and possessive, like he's using our connection to ground himself in this unexpected storm.

Bradford pushes to his feet, face creased with worry. "Now, son—"

"Don't," Bradley cuts him off, the single word sharp enough to make everyone flinch. His eyes never leave Sebastian's face as he repeats his question, each word precisely enunciated, "What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Doing. Here?"

I stand frozen beside him, caught in the crossfire of a family drama I don't understand but can feel down to my bones. Whatever happened between these brothers goes deeper than just leaving without saying goodbye. The wound is still raw, still bleeding after all these years.

And now, standing in the warm dining room that just yesterday felt like it was becoming my home too, I'm witnessing the moment when that wound gets ripped wide open again.