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He gave me a long-suffering smile. “This place has all types, Ma’am. You get used to it after a while, and it just becomes a minor inconvenience.”

I laughed in disbelief, running a hand through my hair. Deacon grinned at me, not a single scratch on his annoyingly pretty face. “Don’t worry, Barden. As long as we’re around, you don’t have to worry about any assholes messing with you.”

A few months ago, I would’ve had a quick-witted wisecrack locked and loaded. Now, though, I had nothing to say at all.

14

Ava

Back at the cabin, the living room was a chaotic battlefield between structural skeletal bones and makeshift comfort. Stripped-back wall studs exposed raw insulation and old cedar framing, yet the guys had clearly gone out of their way to make the central hearth something of an oasis.

They’d helped me set up a newly purchased plush, oversized leather sofa and position it in front of the stone fireplace, its cracked cushions draped in heavy wool moving blankets that smelled of wood shavings and fabric softener. Underfoot, the subfloor was still rough, but Ethan had meticulously swept away every grain of sawdust, laying down a thick, clean tarp to block the rising draft from the crawlspace.

And I’d had a warm fire every night since I moved in here, even though this was the first time the three men were staying over this late. One of them had always made sure to set up a fire for me. I was grateful, but only now did it sink in just how thoughtful that consistency was. This was not just professional courtesy. This was genuine consideration and care.

As we piled onto the sofa, still buzzed from the alcohol and adrenaline of the bar fight, I couldn’t help but laugh in retrospect at what had actually happened. “So, wait, this is normal for you guys? The bartender didn’t so much as flinch.”

Ethan shrugged his shoulders but couldn’t keep the boyish smile off his face. “No, not for us. We don’t go around collecting fights. We just know how to end them.”

“Ooh, tough as shit, huh?” I teased, playfully punching his arm. He caught my hand gently, looking down at my fist.

“Hardly,” he said, sounding pensive. “But we take care of our own. That guy shouldn’t have touched you. Or Deacon.”

My heart skipped a beat. We take care of our own. I had enjoyed spending time with them over the last few weeks and especially tonight, but I’d always sort of felt like an outsider. I didn’t share their mutual history, but hearing Ethan refer to me as one of them did things to my heart that I didn’t want to admit.

“Maybe next time, I can throw a punch too,” I chuckled, trying to lighten my own thoughts that were at risk of veering too close to sentiment for my liking.

Deacon snorted, getting up from the couch. “Not with that technique. You probably throw a punch as well as you hit a hammer.”

“Hey, no need to be a jerk, asshole,” I said, using my free hand to lob a cushion at his head. He gracefully dodged it, laughing to himself as he disappeared into my kitchen.

“I hate to admit it, but he’s not wrong.” Ethan chuckled, adjusting the shape of the fist I was still holding. “Here. Keep your thumb on the outside, like this. Otherwise, you’re gonna end up hurting yourself more than the other guy.”

My hand heated up as his fingers slipped deftly over my skin, and though I was pretty sure he didn’t know the effect he had on me, I couldn’t help but think he was being a lot bolder now that his inhibitions were lowered. And so were mine.

Nate was standing at the fireplace, poking at the logs without looking back at us. I frowned, wanting to draw him into the warmth of our conversation. But it seemed he’d hit his current ceiling for vulnerability tonight. His back was rigid again.

Deacon came walking back in with two steaming cups in his hands. “Hope you don’t mind, Barden, but I thought we could both use some coffee,” he said, handing one over to me.

Ethan looked between us, then craned his head to look back at the kitchen. “And Nate and I? Don’t we matter?”

“I only have two hands, sorry about that,” Deacon said, raising a single shoulder lazily as he took a deep sip.

I laughed and got to my feet. “I’ll make you guys some.”

“Relax a little and finish yours first,” Deacon said, taking a seat on the floor with his back leaned against the sofa. “It’ll get cold.”

I shot him a pseudo-suspicious look. “Why do I feel like I’m being poisoned?”

Ethan gasped in terror. “Fair warning, Ava, but that might just be true. Even though it probably wouldn’t be on purpose, Deacon just makes really crappy coffee.”

“Shut up,” Deacon growled.

“You can get me to the nearest ER if I start convulsing, right?” I asked Ethan, who picked up the bit flawlessly.

“For sure, and both Nate and I are your witnesses,” he said solemnly.

When we both began spluttering with laughter, Deacon rolled his eyes. “Oh, haha. Aren’t you two supposed to be the sweet, nice ones?”