Page 46 of The County Line
She hesitates, and I see it—the moment she considers lying to me. A muscle in her jaw tics, her fingers twitch slightly, and my chest tightens with something dark and familiar. For the first time in a long time, real emotion surges through me. That same red-hot, boiling rage I felt the night I tried to save that woman from being hurt. Except this time, I’m too late to stop it. I didn’t stop the person who hurt Molly. And the worst part? I think I already know exactly who it was.
“Who?” I demand, my voice taking on a much more threatening tone.
She hesitates her voice wavering. “I was looking for Maverick.”
I throw my stick down, and push back my chair, stalking towards my truck quickly. My wide stride eats up the space and I’m at the door of the cab, flinging it open before she can reach my side.
“Colt! Please stop! You can’t do anything to get in trouble!” she shouts at me.
“Hell, if I can’t kick his ass the way I should have years ago.” The words tear out of me as a wave of unchecked rage surges throughmy veins. Emotions I’ve spent years burying come roaring to the surface, and none of them are good.
My vision blurs with red as my therapists’ voice echoes in my mind. If she wanted me to feel something, well, those bruises on Molly’s arm did the trick alright. I feel rage. Blinding, unrelenting rage, and a need to put my fists through her father’s face.
“Colt,please!Stop!” Molly’s voice cuts through, desperate, pleading, but my focus is singular—getting across town to settle this for the last time. “Think about Regan!” she cries, moving to block my path. “She’ll never forgive you if you’re sent away over this. Your brothers need you. I need you. And your sentence—God, Colt, it’ll be so much worse this time around. This is unprovoked. You can’t do this.”
Her words hit, striking reason somewhere in the fog of fury. But they’re not enough to completely stop me from taking out my anger. I slam the truck door shut loudly. My fists shaking at my sides as I curse at the sky.
“Fuck!Molly, you shouldn’t ever have gone over there!” The accusation lashes out before I can stop it, and I immediately hate myself for how harsh I’m being.
She’s trembling, tears streaming down her face in fat, silent drops. “I know,” she chokes out, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry. I was looking for Maverick and I thought he might be home. He just… squeezed my arm a little too tightly. That’s all.”
“That’s all?” I snap, the edge in my tone harsh as my fingers curl around her arm gently, inspecting the bruises where he touched what feels like mine. “What if it was worse, Molly? It could have been so much worse.”
“It wasn’t,” she says, her voice trembling but steady. “I’m okay, Colt. I’m fine.”
“Where the hell was Mav? Why didn’t he stop him?”
She shakes her head, a look of defeat etched into her features. “He wasn’t home.”
I drop her arm and take a step back from the truck, dragging both hands over my buzzed head as I try to process it all. The weight of it—the anger, the helplessness, the sadness—crashes over me. Molly’s stopped crying now, but the devastation in her eyes lingers, haunting me.
Her own father treats her like this after a decade of silence. What the hell is wrong with him? What the hell is wrong with every man in her life?
“Come here.” The words leave my mouth softly, and I don’t give her a chance to argue. I take her by the hands and gently pull her into my chest to hold her. She sniffles a few times but eventually melts against me, her breath slowly evening out.
I don’t know how long we stand there in the cool of the night, but I know at some point, the tension eases in my neck and shoulders and her heartbeat syncs with mine. I think she needs this as much as I do and when I finally pull back, her ocean-blue eyes are locked onto mine—wide, vulnerable, raw.
And before I can stop myself, something inside me snaps.
My hand slides to the back of her neck, fingers threading into her raven hair as I pull her closer. Then my mouth is on hers, claiming, taking—less of a kiss, more of a release, a reckoning of everything I’ve held back for too damn long and the emotion that’s behind this moment.
Her soft gasp fuels me, and I seize the invitation, sliding my tongue against hers, tasting her, drinking her in. My fingers tighten in her hair, tugging gently, reveling in the way the strands slip through my grip like silk. Every ounce of anger,frustration, and raw, aching need pours into the connection. She tastes like soda and something warmer, sweeter—like the spring night itself, like the woman I think I’ve always loved.
She moans softly, and I’m done for. My grip tightens on her hip, pulling her flush against me, letting her feel exactly what she’s doing to me. The hard, aching proof in my jeans of how long I’ve wanted this. Wantedher. She rolls her hips just slightly, and fuck—I’m on the edge of losing every ounce of restraint, ready to haul her to my RV and settle this the way we both need with my cock buried inside of her—But then she presses her hands to my chest suddenly, breaking the kiss, her breath ragged, her eyes wild with something that looks way too much like fear.
“I should go home, Colt,” she whispers.
She looks conflicted. A little wounded. Like she’s trying to process what the hell just happened between us and the uncertainty in her gaze compared to my surety guts me.
The shutters slam down on my emotions, leaving me feeling empty and cold.
Did I cross a line I shouldn’t have? Did I just ruin our years of friendship? She’s the one person I seem to have left on my side in town and I fucked up. Let my new feelings for her get ahead of my mind and took advantage of her vulnerability.
“Let me drive you,” I offer instinctively, but then I remember—parole restrictions. No driving unless it’s work-related or approved by the court.
She shakes her head. “I’m fine to drive. I just… I just think I need to head home now.”
Without waiting for me to respond, she turns and walks to her car. Sliding into the driver’s seat, she gives me a thin smileand a half-hearted wave before speeding off down the tree lined driveway.
