Page 12 of Wild Reckoning

Stewart gave him a small smile. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just… thinking.”

Killian studied him for a moment then nodded. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing great.”

Stewart blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in the man’s voice. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

Giving Stewart’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, Killian said, “Anytime, Stewart. Anytime.”

Chapter Three

They were back at Stewart’s rental, and the two were putting the groceries away. Stewart took a deep breath, trying to focus on the task at hand. The smell of cardboard and plastic packaging lingered in the air, mixing with the faint mustiness that seemed to cling to the old kitchen. He placed the cereal boxes in the pantry, shoving them to one side to make room for the canned goods. His fingers grazed over a few empty shelves, and he made a mental note that they might need more storage if they planned on staying here for a while.

Killian, meanwhile, had somehow made friends with the refrigerator. He stood there, effortlessly loading in the milk, eggs, and cheese, his muscular frame blocking most of the view. Stewart glanced over and caught Killian humming under his breath, something soft and melodic.

It was almost unfair how well Killian seemed to fit into this domestic scene, as if he’d done this countless times before.

It was also unfair how gorgeous he was. That flared ass kept pulling Stewart’s attention, arousing him to the point his cock stirred. He could just imagine all those sinewy muscles wrapped around him as Killian pounded into his ass.

Get your mind off of his cock.

“You look like you’re settling in,” Stewart said, his voice coming out lighter than he’d intended. “Is that a special talent of yours? Making yourself at home in a stranger’s kitchen?”

Killian glanced over, his eyes crinkling with humor. “You got me,” he said. “I moonlight as a refrigerator whisperer. It’s a niche talent.”

Stewart snorted, shaking his head. “Well, if you’re done befriending the condiments, I’ll go see what the rest of the place looks like.”

Killian gave a mock salute. “Roger that. I’ll get Ethan a snack. You go play house inspector.”

The gesture to feed Ethan warmed Stewart’s insides. It really was nice having someone to help him with the three-year-old. He loved his nephew beyond words, but constantly running behind a toddler was exhausting.

Leaving Killian to his humming and the half-empty fridge, Stewart turned and made his way out of the kitchen. He climbed the creaky stairs, the old wood groaning under each step. It felt strange, being in this house that was meant to be his new home yet feeling like an intruder. Everything about the place felt temporary, like a stopgap until he could figure out his next move. What was his next move? That was a really good question he had no answer for.

The upstairs was dim, the hallway wide with a single bulb overhead casting a dim light. He pushed open the first door on the right. Inside was a bare room, save for a bed frame with a mattress that appeared almost brand new, and a dusty window overlooking the leaf-strewn yard. The air was cool, untouched, and it carried that distinct smell of something left closed up for too long, like it was waiting for someone to fill it with warmth.

When the owner had told him it was a furnished home, Stewart should have asked for pictures, but he’d been so desperate to get away from Clive, he hadn’t thought of it.

All he’d seen was a picture of the outside, and he’d taken it. Too bad he couldn’t go back and collect the furniture he’d left behind. Except the bed that he’d shared with his ex-boyfriend. He should have burned it before he’d left.

Fuck. That went dark pretty fast.

Stewart moved to the next room, finding it in much the same state. Beds without sheets, windows without curtains, walls that seemed to echo in their emptiness. He rubbed his hands over his arms, trying to shake off the chill that had nothing to do with the cold. This was supposed to be their fresh start, but it felt more like stepping into a ghost of a home.

And then there was Killian. The man had been nothing but helpful, kind, stepping in to offer assistance without question. But Stewart wasn’t ready for that kind of help, that kind of attention, the kind that made him think about things he shouldn’t be thinking about. His heart twisted in his chest, and he frowned, shaking his head.

What was it about Killian that made him want to—just for a moment—let his guard down? Maybe it was the easy smile or the way he had taken to Ethan, like it was the most natural thing in the world. But trusting someone was a dangerous gamble.

One he’d played before and lost.

“Stewart?” Killian’s voice floated up the stairs, low and gentle, and startled him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah?” he called back, clearing his throat.

A moment later, Killian appeared at the top of the stairs, Ethan tucked securely in his strong arms. The toddler was fast asleep, his small face nestled against the giant’s shoulder, his lips slightly parted as he dreamed. Killian moved as though the boy weighed nothing, his steps careful, deliberate.

“Which one’s his room?” he asked, his voice a low murmur so as not to wake Ethan.

Stewart gestured to the room across the hall. “That one. But there’s no bedding, no sheets or blankets yet,” he said, feeling a pang of guilt. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. They’d have to make do tonight.

With what? The emergency blanket and the blue one that… What was his name again? The kind man who’d given it to him for Ethan?

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