Page 16 of The County Line
Before I can say another word, he pulls me into a hug tight against his chest—friendly enough, sure, but with his bare, rock-solid, sweat covered chest pressed against mine, it feels likea lotmore than casual. My brain short-circuits as I feel his heat through the thin fabric of my top, and suddenly, breathing becomes verydifficult.
“You’re getting me all sweaty,” I mumble into the soft hairs that dot his chest.
He chuckles and pulls back, flashing me another smile. It doesn’t look effortless, feels like he’s forcing it to appear happy, but it’s genuine enough to rank up there with adorable and sexy at the same time. He’s trying to appear okay, and it shows, though he might not feel the happiness behind it yet.
I take a moment to study his features up close: soft, full lips; hazel eyes that seem lighter, happier, than they were when I saw him at the convenience store earlier this week; and that buzzed light-brown hair, slowly growing back in. We used to tease him in high school about looking like a youngTom Hardy, but this version of Colt? He’s the grown-up, hardened version—an edgy, rugged, Tom Hardy inMad Max.All sharp angles and bad-boy vibes.
He’s familiar and different all at the same time and suddenly, I’ve forgotten what the hell I’m doing here.
“You here to see what I’m working on?” Colt asks playfully, turning back to his tools. He gathers them up and strides toward the smooth stone platform he must be building—a base for what looks like will be a fire pit.
“I came to see Regan.” I follow him a few steps behind. “But she was busy, so I figured I’d come visit you.”
“Well, that’s a nice surprise. Haven’t gotten too far yet,” he admits with a shrug, “but I can show you the foundation I’ve started if you’re interested. Just finished chopping some wood for a bonfire tonight.”
He leads me over to the platform and points out where he’s laid the pavers and his plans to finish it.
“This is amazing, Colt,” I say, stepping closer to admire the setup. The stonework is perfectly laid out, each piece fitting seamlessly together. “Where’d you learn to do all this?”
“Took some classes in prison,” he says matter-of-factly, brushing off the weight of that statement like it’s nothing. “And Cash has been helping me out when he can. I’ve always been good at the design part, but the hands-on construction effort? That’s more Cash’s thing. Here, have a seat,” he adds, gesturing to one of the wooden chairs circled around the cylinder pit.
I sink down onto one, running my fingers over the polished surface as he kneels nearby to adjust some of the supplies that are scattered around. There’s something so satisfying about watching him work, so purposeful and skilled, bringing meaning to the chaos. I’ve always had a thing for guys and manual labor but watching Colt is completely distracting.
My eyes move around the pit, counting how many chairs he’s set up.Nine.
“Why are there so many seats?”
“One for each of my siblings, plus Georgia, you and Mav. I doubt I’ll ever get Beckham or Max to come down here since they’re too cool for me now,” he jokes.
My chest tightens as I look at him, and I’m hit by a wave of guilt and sadness. That was Colt—always loyal, always treating me and Mav like family, even when life and circumstance tried to strip everything from him. It’s like the five years he spent locked away didn’t dull his heart or his instincts. How we ever became friends with him in the first place still feels like a mystery sometimes. Colt was always the good guy—steadfast, loyal, kind and from a family that was a staple within our community. And I hate whatthey—what the world—stole from him. At least it feels like that guy’s still underneath his new exterior.
“Speaking of Mav, have you seen him lately? I’ve been trying to catch up with him since I got released, but I think he changed his number.”
I shake my head, sighing. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with him since I moved back, but no luck. His number’s the same, but he never answers it.”
Colt nods slowly, his expression unreadable as he leans against one of the poles that he’s installing around the firepit for string lights. “That sucks. I haven’t seen him in years. Cash said he quit at the distillery shortly after I got locked up. I was hoping to see if he’d be willing to come back and work for me this time.”
“Really?” I arch a brow, surprised.
“Yeah. Why not? I know he was starting to get mixed up in your dad’s business before I got locked up. I tried to warn him, told him to be careful, but you know Mav—always had his own way of doing things. Never liked being told what to do. I think he just needed some direction, some guidance. Maybe if he comes back to work with me, I can give him that.”
I nod, but the knot in my stomach tightens. That was Mav, all right—headstrong to a fault. Reckless in a way that used to terrify me. Still does. But the fact that Colt is willing to give hima shot after everything? That he sees something in my brother worth saving? It tells me the good in him isn’t buried deep. It’s right here, right now.
Colt stretches his arms overhead, the motion accentuating his broad frame, then twists side to side to loosen up. “He never visited me once while I was locked up,” he says, his voice is firm, still devoid of emotion. “Not once. That was my best friend, you know?” He shrugs, “Guess he forgot about me. But I haven’t forgotten about him.”
I bite down on my bottom lip, guilt prickling at the edges of my thoughts. I didn’t visit him either. Sure, I was in Louisiana during that time, running from my own problems, but I should’ve made the effort. And Mav? I’d always assumed he would’ve been there for Colt no matter what. Colt’s ready to pick up exactly where we left off, but the world around us isn’t the same and guilt floods me again for how I discarded our friendship so easily when I moved.
And then there’s Regan—the person I’m supposed to help reconnect with him today. She hadn’t visited either. None of us had. It feels like we all left Colt to fend for himself at a time when he needed us the most.
“I’m sorry my brother wasn’t there for you. That sucks.”
He gives a small shrug, but I can see the hurt that lingers behind his eyes. “Hey, are you sticking around for a bit? I was planning on grilling some hot dogs, but I need to wash up first. Then I have my first therapy session in an hour across town.”
“You got your water hooked up to the RV?”
“Not yet. Plan on using a pump to draw it from the creek into the bathroom of the vehicle but for now I’m just bathing in the creek. Does the job alright.”
Oh…
