Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 119597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
She lets out a little gasp but doesn’t complain.
Kody shifts closer, pressing against her back, trapping her in. The sigh she gives him sounds so weightless, so full of contentment, it melts any lingering tension from my muscles.
I’m viscerally aware of which parts of him touch her—his chest against her back, a hand on her hip, an arm folded beneath her head, his nose in her hair, both legs tangled around hers—but I don’t hate it.
Between him and me, she has double the protection. Double the warmth. Double the emotional and physical support to survive the months ahead.
If something happens to me, she won’t be alone.
But the sharing part? That’s what makes me feel unhinged.
You can wish it away, but I’m fighting for it.
I’m trying to process what it means to be in a relationship, let alone a relationship with her and my brother. I’m trying to accept it even as everything inside me rebels against it.
Hell, I watched him come on her face. I let it happen, and the world didn’t end.
But the thought of them sneaking off together, fucking like animals, and falling deeper and deeper in love? Where do I fit into that? What if she loves him more? What if she chooses him?
Choosing. Sharing. Neither option is ideal. But for now, I’m content just to hold her while she sleeps, to hold them both and keep them safe, exactly where they’re supposed to be.
When we were kids, we spent a lot of mornings on this porch, drinking coffee and oat milk and watching the sun crest the eastern edge of the hills.
With the first glow of light after a month of polar nights, we would sit beneath the overhang, huddled in our blankets, exhaling white clouds of poignant relief.
Like now.
The horizon subtly shifts in color, moving from deep, persistent blacks and blues into softer, warmer hues. The landscape emerges from the darkness, donning a gown of snow and ice, shimmering in lavender and gold.
It’s a visual spectacle that carries emotional weight. From dark to light, from despair to hope, it mirrors the dreams of our childhood, only now our hearts crave adult things, and the stakes are so much higher.
I’ve never been this hungry. Hungry for food. Hungry for answers. Hungry for the woman on my lap. Hungry for a future with her beyond these hills.
Hunger has a way of motivating a man.
“The skies are clearing.” I glance at Leo, who is sprawled in the chair beside us. “We might have a reprieve from the storm.”
“Maybe.” He passes Frankie a steaming mug of black coffee and rests a gloved hand on her leg. “I’ll get that water heater converted today. Then, weather permitting, I’ll hike to the snow machine at first light tomorrow.”
He claims he has the parts to fix it, can get it purring in under an hour, and return the same day. Still…
“You’re not going alone.” I sip my coffee, savoring the roasted flavor, the smokiness of a campfire, knowing the taste will be a distant memory when we run out in a few weeks.
“I’m going with him,” Frankie says as if we’ve already put it to a vote.
Leo’s gaze meets mine, a storm of its own brewing in his eyes. Like me, he’s torn. To leave her alone is unthinkable. She either goes with him or remains under my watchful guard.
Sending him out there alone when a blizzard can sweep him away without warning is a fool’s errand. Sending him with someone who can staunch bleeding, set broken bones, and treat hypothermia is the only sensible choice.
But my protective instincts howl at the idea.
She’s too small. Too invaluable. Too intertwined around my heart.
The easy answer is we stick together and all go. Except the snow machine can only carry two people. I would have to walk back, an undertaking I wouldn’t blink at if I had proper nutrition.
“I can hear your brains grinding.” She twists on my lap, her eyes flitting between us. “Put your misogynist, old-fashioned caveman shit away and give me one logical reason why I shouldn’t go.”
Every argument I possess is rooted in a primal urge to shield her from harm.
“You could freeze to death.” Leo drums his fingers on his knee.
“So could you.” She pokes his nose. “What else you got?”
“You have spaghetti arms.” He sucks his lip between his teeth, his eyes flirting.
“Hold this.” She hands me her mug and jumps into the space between his spread legs, leaning over him. “They may be spaghetti-ish, but they can still hold a grudge…or throw a right hook. Care for a demonstration?”
“Sign me up.” A low, horny rumble does weird things to his voice, making my eyes roll.
She seems to like it, though, given the heavy way her lashes flutter. I’d rather watch her send an uppercut across his dumb face, but we don’t always get what we want.