Page 49 of Man of Honor

"You don't do anything about him," I snarled right in his face. "Don't look at him. Don't touch him. Got it?"

Dominic didn't flinch. He just smiled, slow and cynical, and asked, "Handle it? How? By smoking his cock every night and letting him wrap you around his finger? You really want to believe you're suddenly irresistible to him right when Vanderhoff's started sniffing around our family again?"

"It's not like that," I said through clenched teeth.

"Maybe not." He peeled my fingers away from the expensive fabric of his shirt, and I allowed it. "But you've always had a blind spot when it comes to him. Bring him. If he's loyal to us, he's an asset. If not..." he shrugged. "He's a threat none of us can afford right now."

My skin crawled as I shoved past him.

Dominic was a paranoid asshole, but somewhere deep down beneath my anger was the creeping fear that he might be right. I wanted to believe in Wyatt. I wanted to believe that he cared about me exactly how I was, mess and all, but I knew love wasn't given freely. It was earned, and I'd only ever made his life more difficult.

If I stepped over the line one day, Wyatt would have those cuffs on me just as quick as he'd slapped them on Ben's wrists.

Dominic's words felt like a wake-up call.

Sooner or later, Wyatt would realize I hadn't changed; I was still the same messed-up kid he'd rejected all those years ago. And when he did, I wasn't sure I'd have the strength to watch him walk away.

Chapter Twenty-Three

WYATT

Laughter hitme the second I stepped out of the car, rolling through the thick, humid evening from the back of the house. The sound stopped me in my tracks. Eden loomed in front of me, massive and timeless, its columns bathed in twilight. It was beautiful, sure, but I never thought of it as a place where people laughed much.

I shoved my hands in my pockets and wandered down the gravel path that wrapped around the house, following the smell of charcoal smoke and fresh-cut grass. Nostalgia crept in—barbecue, laughter, kids running wild—the kind of stuff that reminded me of simpler times.

Tonight was going to be anything but simple. I knew why I was here. Gage’s brothers were ready to put me through the wringer, and I’d agreed because I’d do anything for him. Even sit at a table with Dominic.

Sound and smell carried me through a stand of live oaks and out into a sprawling lawn where chaos reigned. Water balloons exploded like landmines across the grass as teenagers shrieked, soaking each other and ducking for cover. Mason crouchedbehind a lawn chair, barking orders at two boys while Loretta, of all people, lobbed a perfect shot over his head. The balloon nailed Gage in the back with a wet pop, and he burst out laughing.

He took my breath away, tearing across the lawn, soaked and barefoot and laughing in a way I hadn’t heard in years. His shirt clung to him, outlining every hard line of his chest, and his hair dripped water down his face. Worm huddled behind him for cover, giggling as Gage shielded him with his body. The boy tossed a balloon through Gage’s legs, hitting Mason square in the chest.

Gage’s laughter rang out, full-bodied and reckless, and I couldn’t look away.

Eden had always felt like a half-dead relic, haunted by a strange and complicated past. Not anymore. Gage and his brothers had turned it into something better. Maybe Gage had it wrong, and Boone hadn’t adopted them to carry on the Beaufort legacy. Maybe he’d wanted them to rewrite it.

I spotted Gideon leaning against an oak tree, impossibly dry and put together. Ivy sat on the ground at his feet with her knees tucked into an oversized t-shirt that nearly swallowed her petite frame. She was pulled in tight, arms wrapped around her knees, watching the fun with a standoffish expression.

I slid my hands deeper into my pockets and strolled toward them, making sure not to look directly at her. Kids like Ivy—the ones who’d been hurt—usually came in two types: the ones who lashed out and the ones who curled inward. Gage had been the first. Ivy was the second.

Her shoulders rose when she noticed me, but she didn’t look up. I let the silence hang, giving her space to decide what came next. I knew Gideon was doing exactly the same thing, serving as a silent presence and allowing her to face life on her own terms.

“You here to take me away?” she asked finally, glaring up at me.

My heart felt heavy when I looked down at her. “No,” I said softly. “You can stay as long as you want.”

Her knuckles turned white around her knees. “I’m gonna age out soon anyway,” she muttered in a voice barely louder than a whisper. Then I’ll be back on the street.”

I glanced at Gideon, but he didn’t jump in to bail me out. He just watched us with that heavy-lidded gaze that always made people feel seen—and seen through. “I don’t think it works that way here,” I said.

“I never left,” Gideon confirmed simply.

Ivy’s head came up at that. Her eyes darted between us, searching for something solid to hold on to.

“You’re safe here,” I told her. “No one’s taking you anywhere.”

She eased up a fraction, and her face lost some of that drawn, nervous look. “People think they’re safe,” she muttered, ripping at the grass, “but that just means they don’t know what’s coming.”

I crouched beside her to get a better look at her eyes. “What do you mean?”

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