Page 39 of Jealous Lumberjack

That surprises me more than his silence. “You don’t have family, or you don’t talk to yours?”

“Yes, I do, but no, I don’t.” His voice hardens, final.

“Why?”

His jaw clenches. His gaze slides past me, out into the trees. “Doesn’t matter.”

The wall slams back into place.

I bite my lip, fingers tightening on the strap of my pack. I want to push, but I already know he won’t let me.

The air between us thickens, unsaid things pressing close. Then he turns, his voice rough. “Come on. Let’s get you back.”

And just like that, we’re moving again, me clutching my pack like a lifeline, him stalking through the forest like nothing rattles him.

But I saw it.

That crack in his armor.

And I’m not sure what scares me more—that he has no family either... or that some part of me is glad.

Back at the cabin, I sit cross-legged on the blanket in the clearing, tugging items from the bag as Bear finishes his log chopping.

Clothes. A cracked compact. My battered wallet.

And then my stomach dips.

One of the smaller side pockets yields a chain. Silver, tarnished, with a little pendant in the shape of a flower.

Before I can tuck it away, Bear’s shadow falls over me. He plucks it from my hand, huge fingers closing around the delicate metal.

“Where’d this come from?” His voice is low, already dangerous.

I stiffen. “Found it in my backpack. It was a gift.”

His eyes narrow. “From who?”

I hesitate a moment. “Brandon.”

“Your fucking ex?”

When I nod, Bear’s jaw flexes, the vein in his neck throbbing.

He cocks his arm and hurls the necklace into the trees. It disappears in a flash of silver.

“What the hell?” I spring to my feet. “You can’t just throw my?—”

“He doesn’t fucking deserve you,” he snarls, chest heaving. “Not a piece of him. Not a memory. And I’m fucked to hell if I’ll let you wear something that another man gave you in my presence.”

“I know he doesn’t. But that doesn’t give you the right to throw my things away. And I wasn’t planning on wearing it.”

His jaw clenches so hard I’m stunned it doesn’t break in half. “I’ll buy you a dozen more.”

“That’s not the point! You took away my right to decide what to do with it.”

The woods hold their breath.

He drags a hand over his face, breath rough. “Okay. I get it. I’m sorry.”