Page 63 of Theirs to Hunt (Girls Like Us #1)

Chapter sixty-three

T he night air smells of smoke and rosemary.

Brooks is manning the smoker a few feet away, bourbon in one hand, the other adjusting the foil-wrapped tray resting inside.

The pulled pork has been cooking low and slow all day, and the rich, savory scent hangs in the air, mingling with rosemary and wood smoke.

It makes me regret my next question. But some things can’t be put off, especially when their answers could decide the future of our relationship.

“Can dinner wait?”

He checks the thermometer, nods to himself, then transfers the foil-wrapped tray into a stainless warmer set on the side counter.

“Meat’s done. It’ll hold for an hour.”

The casualness is for my benefit. Like he’s not wound tight with the same tension I am. But I catch the flick of his eyes as he passes. He knows exactly where this is going.

I keep my hand on the card and look up at Grayson .

“Before we go further… why me? If I’m going to leave reason to the side and take this leap, I need to know how deep the water is.”

He doesn’t speak right away. Doesn’t deflect either.

Brooks joins us, settles next to Grayson, and angles his chair so I’m facing both of them. He takes my free hand and meets my eyes, his voice quiet. Unapologetic.

“I saw you in an elevator,” he says. “You were with someone else. Talking, laughing. Warm. Totally in the moment. And yeah, you were gorgeous. But it was more than that. Something about you called to me. So I followed it. I started digging, watching, pulling your file. Every piece made me fall harder. Made us both fall harder.”

I glance at Grayson. He’s still silent. Still and sharp.

Brooks goes on, slower now.

“My dad needs loyalty. It’s not just something he values. It’s scarred him. Well, the lack of it.”

He glances at his father.

Grayson’s gaze drops. His hands curl into fists.

“When he was a teenager, his stepmom tried to seduce him.”

My breath catches.

Grayson doesn’t look up.

“He told his dad. Tried to do the right thing. And his father blamed him for it. They never spoke again. It was the last time he saw his father alive. They had been close before then.”

Without thinking, I reach over and lay my hand on Grayson’s. He turns it over and laces our fingers together. Needing the support. Letting me give it.

Brooks keeps going.

“After that, he moved in with my mom and her folks. Enlisted early. They got married fast because they thought she was pregnant. Turned out she wasn’t. But they stayed married.”

His voice drops .

“He deployed. I was a leave baby. And he didn’t come home until the call came in that she was gone. Brain aneurysm. Out of nowhere.”

My throat tightens.

“It’s been just the two of us ever since.”

He looks at me now. Straight on.

“I don’t want to sound like a therapy session.

But over the years, we’ve seen what happens.

Guys, friends of his, hell, even mine. They fall for someone, and suddenly the family is gone.

They’re absorbed into her life. Her friends.

Her family. And the people they came from?

Left behind. Maybe a birthday text. Maybe a minor holiday visit. ”

Grayson speaks now. Low. Final.

“We don’t want that.”

Brooks nods.

“We want someone who ties us together. Not someone who pulls us apart.”

“Someone loyal,” Grayson says.

“Warm. Loving,” Brooks adds.

“Someone who holds her own.”

Grayson meets my eyes.

“Someone who can stand toe to toe with both of us, if needed.”

Brooks finishes it.

“We want a partner. Not a doormat.”

I let that settle in me, filling little cracks and crevices I didn’t even know were damaged. It doesn’t scare me. If anything, it’s the first thing all day that makes sense.

I nod once.

But I’m not done.

My eyes go to Grayson.

“What happened to your dad?”

He doesn’t flinch. Just shifts slightly, eyes tracking out across the dark yard. He’s replaying a memory he doesn’t easily share. He’s willing to for me, and I feel the earlier warmth that settled in me spread further .

“Heart attack,” he says. “Trying to save the company while it bled out. Most of the money was going to keep my stepmother happy in the lifestyle she decided she deserved.”

His jaw ticks. No dramatics. Just hard truth.

“Part of him had to know she lied. That she came after me. He never said it. But he left the company to me.”

He holds my gaze.

“Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was punishment. Either way, by the time I got it, it was barely standing. I had to scramble. I diversified. Backed military innovation. Built new brands. Got a defense contract. And I did it with a four-year-old to raise.”

His voice stays even, but there’s steel behind every word.

“I rebuilt it. All of it. No help. No excuses.”

Then, quiet but certain:

“I swore no woman would ever come between me and my son. And no man would ever shame him for doing the right thing.”

I go to him. How can I not?

He is rigid in his control, carved from expectation and consequence, and I am honored he bent enough to explain what he would probably still view as failure. Men like him don’t do that easily.

I slide into his space without hesitation and press a kiss to his temple, my fingers curling lightly at the back of his neck.

His eyes close for half a second. That’s all. But it’s enough. I feel the shudder go through his lean frame.

For now, this is enough.

At least on the distant past. They’ve answered everything I’ve asked so far. And I believe them. I believe they’ve been honest.

Glancing at both of them, I feel the pull, but I know I can’t settle for comfort just because it’s easy. I need to keep pushing forward, even if it means letting go of everything this moment might have been.