Page 17 of My Ex’s Billionaire Brothers (Forbidden Hearts #5)

THEO

I press my back against the SUV’s bumper and inhale slowly, trying to manage the frustration simmering in my chest. For years, I have taken meticulous care of this vehicle—regular inspections, routine tune-ups, and an almost fanatical commitment to immaculate cleanliness.

Now, John the mechanic is telling me he can’t fix it today because he needs a part that won’t arrive until tomorrow.

Superb.

The more irritating detail is the supposed coincidence that the gas station attendant, Shelby, just happens to have a vacant cabin rental nearby. It’s a setup. Has to be. We left the vehicle to find snacks in the gas station’s store, only to return and find it not working?

Scam. Obviously. But even if it’s a ploy, we have no better alternative. Arguing with them about it won’t improve our situation, and we can’t sleep in the SUV.

Exhaling, I gather our bags with my brothers, and Anya stands a few feet away from us, arms wrapped around herself.

The breeze tugs at the hem of her retro sundress and lifts her wavy hair.

She looks tense—eyes darting toward the road, as though she expects to see one of Calvin’s cars appear any moment.

“Everyone ready?” Shelby waves to us from inside her pickup truck, gesturing for us to hop in. Apparently, she’s our ride to her rental cabin in the woods.

Gage shrugs and hoists his bag onto his shoulder. Hunter does the same, crossing the gravel path to the old pickup. Anya lingers by me, eyes flicking over the SUV one last time. “I’m sorry about your car,” she murmurs. “I know you take care of it.”

“It’s not your fault,” I say, placing a hand gently on her back. Despite my lingering annoyance, I feel her tension and want to comfort her. “But I can’t deny I am rather frustrated. The timing is suspicious.”

“You think they sabotaged it?”

I resist the urge to scoff out loud. “I suspect they might have helped the problem along. But we can’t prove anything. And at this point, we’re stranded, so lodging is the only sensible option.”

She offers a sympathetic half smile, then follows me to the truck.

We pile into the extended cab—Anya squeezed between me and the window, while Gage takes the passenger seat next to the attendant.

Hunter ends up in the bed of the truck with our luggage, bracing himself as we rattle down a dirt road.

“Hope you folks don’t mind a bit of a drive,” the attendant says cheerily. The late afternoon light slants through thick pines, turning the world into a verdant quilt of green and gold. “Cabin’s about twenty minutes into the woods, near the river. Very peaceful. You’ll love it.”

I stare out the side window, letting the rush of trees blur my thoughts. Car trouble, an inconvenient holiday, and a looming confrontation with Calvin in Castle Beach. The trifecta of irritations sets my teeth on edge. At least work is going well.

The attendant chatters about the amenities—a cozy fireplace, a functional hot tub, and a pine needle path leading to a nearby river. A night of serenity in the forest could help soothe our anxieties.

Positivity is not my strong suit, but I’m trying to keep my chin up.

Eventually, the truck bounces along a final stretch of dirt road and we reach a clearing.

The cabin stands tall and sturdy—logs stacked in neat rows, a wide porch wrapping around the front, and large windows that reflect the warm evening sun.

It’s undeniably charming, a step above the run-down motels we’ve encountered.

The moment the truck stops, Hunter jumps down from the bed, shaking out his arms. “I give this ride one star,” he jokes, giving Anya a wink as he helps her step onto solid ground.

Gage and I unload the rest of our bags, while the attendant shows us inside. Exposed beams across the ceiling, well-worn but polished wooden floors, and a stone fireplace that dominates one wall. The sweet scent of cedar lingers, along with a faint note of dried lavender.

Things could be worse.

After Shelby leaves, Gage and Hunter take to the main area, setting down our luggage. Anya drifts around, poking her head into the small kitchen and then the hallway that leads to two bedrooms and a bath. I stand by the window, arms folded.

Gage speaks up. “Looks like there’s a pile of firewood outside, but not much of it’s chopped. We can do it ourselves. It’ll be nice to have a fire tonight.”

“I’ll handle the wood,” I offer, stepping away from the window. There’s an edge to my voice that I can’t quite hide. Perhaps physical labor is exactly what I need to clear my head.

Anya appears in the doorway to the kitchen, arching a brow. “Do you know how to chop firewood?”

“It isn’t rocket science,” I say wryly. “But I’m open to instruction if you wish to guide me.”

“Happy to help.” Anya leads me out the back door. A broad-bladed axe rests against the porch rail. The faint hush of a distant river underscores the quiet, so different from the hum of city life or the roar of highway traffic.

She steps up to the stump, picking up a medium-sized log.

“First rule of chopping,” she says in a half-teasing, half-serious tone, “is to pick the right piece. You see how this one’s got fewer knots?

” She shows me the grain, pointing at a faint swirl.

“Makes for easier splitting if you align your swing with the natural lines.”

I nod, folding my arms over my chest, forcing myself to focus on her words rather than the curve of her hips under her sundress. “Minimal knots, go with the grain. Anything else?”

“Keep your feet shoulder-width apart, arms straight, and let the axe head weight do most of the work. No need to brute force it. Like this.”

I watch as she lifts the axe, demonstrating a slow practice swing. Between the sundress and the axe, she looks like a fifties horror movie’s final girl, the one with secret skills that help her survive the film. “You’re quite the lumberjane.”

“Castle Beach winters,” she says with a modest shrug. “You either learn chores like this or pay someone else to do them, and my parents weren’t about to pay when they had a kid who could do it. Ready to try?”

I accept the axe from her, stepping into position. She adjusts my stance—hands slightly farther apart, feet stable. I line up the blade and bring it down in a swift arc. Thwack. The log splits neatly, halves tumbling apart.

She stands there, eyeing my work. “You’ve done this before.”

“I own some remote acreage in upstate New York—wood-burning stove included. I normally chop my own supply for the winter.”

She snorts, lightly smacking my arm. “So you let me treat you like a newbie on purpose?”

I set the axe aside, leaning it against the stump. “I wanted time alone with you.”

Her eyes soften, and she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “Well, if that’s the case, I’m glad to help you pretend.”

We fall into a quiet lull. A gentle breeze stirs the ends of her hair, making her look magical.

Birds call in the distance, and for a moment, I allow myself to simply savor the calm.

Then Anya steps closer, resting a hand on my forearm.

It’s impossible to ignore how my heart kicks up from a simple touch.

“Last night after everything…I thought all three of you might—well— pounce on me. But you ended things sooner than I expected. How come?”

“It was late,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “You’d had a very intense day, physically and emotionally. I didn’t want to push you.”

“I guess I gave the green light and expected you to take it. Didn’t realize you’d still hold back for my sake.”

I sigh softly, the tension in my neck easing. “I’ll never push you beyond what’s comfortable, Anya. Even if you say yes in a moment of adrenaline, I want you to be at your best. Not just half-awake and running on fumes. I want you to fully enjoy whatever we do.”

She blinks, processing my explanation. “I guess I’m not used to people caring about my boundaries after I say yes.”

Calvin never considered her limits.

I bury the anger, letting compassion rise instead. “No matter what happens between us,” I murmur, “I will always look out for you.”

She gazes at me, her eyes reflecting an earnest gratitude.

Then, without further warning, she slips her hand up to cradle my cheek and pulls me down into a kiss.

My heart seizes, and for a second, I’m torn between caution and raw desire.

But her lips move so softly against mine, a tender press of warmth, that I can’t hold back.

I kiss her back, letting my arms circle her waist.

The axe, the freshly chopped wood, the swirling pine needles—everything fades. All I know is her gentle scent, the shape of her body aligning with mine. If this wasn’t all some grand experiment, I could see myself falling deeper?—

This is trouble.

I don’t care.