Page 118 of Rocky Mountain Devil

“Shut up. Because you’reyou, asshole. You screw up at times, but you turn yourself around and make it right.”

“Some things we can’t make right. Some things we can’t take back.”

Jesse froze. His expression as he looked Rafe over was suddenly far less snarky and more wary. “What did you do?”

And this was where it all hit the fan.

“Ben and I fought the day he died. Hell, he could’ve been having a heart attack while I was shouting at him about being a shitty father, telling him how much I hated him, and that he should basically roll over and die.”

“Jesus.” Jesse’s tone was a lot more sympathetic this time. “Okay, that’s fucked up. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.” Rafe stood motionless, the cold winter blowing around them fitting his mood nicely. “Thus, guilt.”

“I’m not going to argue with you about that. But I still say you belong with Laurel, man.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Rafe snapped. “You’ve never been in a relationship with anyone for longer than three nights. Why the hell would I take advice from you?”

“Because I know exactly what amounts to taking things a step too far, and you didn’t cross the line.”

“Oh, now you’re the expert on what’s real guilt and what’s bullshit?”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact.” Jesse glared at him. “I’m the fucking king of guilt.” He slammed a boot on the bottom rail, staring out over Coleman land, his expression icy.

Rafe stilled. All the anger and frustration and fears whirling around him quieted as he watched his cousin battle his own internal demons.

Silence reigned for the longest time until Jesse finally spoke, his voice little more than a whisper. “Everything changed. Joel and me were a team, then suddenly Vicki was there, and I…” Jesse snorted derisively. “I acted like the biggest fucking ass.”

Not a ghost of a word had come out over the past two years about what had torn apart the twins. Rafe almost didn’t want to speak for fear Jesse would stop talking about the one thing everyone wanted to know. “You resented her.”

“Resented, envied.” Jesse made a rude noise. “I hated her guts.”

Shit. “You hated her?”

“Only for a while, and then I hated myself.”

“Because you were jealous.”

Jesse turned back, sorrow on his face. “Because I crawled into bed with her—”

That’s all he got out before he was spinning on the spot, a grunt of pain escaping. Rafe had moved instinctively, stepping forward, his fist swinging hard. The smack of his knuckles into Jesse’s jaw was immensely satisfying, the second blow even more so.

Jesse hit the ground without raising his arms in defense. Just sat there, blood pouring from his nose, his eyes haunted.

Rafe cursed, sick to his stomach for so many reasons. The anger whipping through him tasted like blood and death, and it wasn’t about Jesse, it was all about his own damn feelings. Hisownfucking faults.

He looked down at his hands still clenched into merciless weapons. He could hit his cousin again. It was clear Jesse would accept whatever punishment Rafe passed out, but it didn’t remove Rafe’s guilt.

Because he’d done it again. Struck out with anger, and it had been easy, and sweet, and the first thing he’d wanted to do.

Had Ben’s death been the turning point Rafe couldn’t come back from?

Like he’d feared?

Rafe willed himself to unfurl his hands, taking a deep breath before reaching down to his cousin. Strong fingers curled around his forearm as he hauled Jesse to his feet. He shoved aside his frustrations and focused on the other man and his confession.

They stood quietly for a moment before Jesse spoke. “I didn’t sleep with her.”

The words cut into the silence.