CHAPTER 11

jackson

T wo weeks passed and I was wound up tighter than a fucking coil. I wanted nothing more than to lock my door, get a cold beer, and binge-watch stupid TV until Tess and I were ready for bed. Unfortunately, I had to entertain people—rather go out with them and watch while they entertained themselves.

Once a month, Mickey insisted I take the boys out to Merrillville for a few drinks. Morale and all that shit. To be honest, they weren’t too bad. It was the rest of Merrillville. They loved themselves a local celebrity, and they fucking loved Jackson Myles, the gay bull rider.

I silently cussed out my agent for ever convincing me to take on the persona. Mickey found it fucking funny—the asshole. He liked watching me squirm as I tried to reconcile who they thought I was with the grumpy asshole I actually was.

Either way, I hauled my ass off the fucking ranch in time to meet the guys at Bucking Bronco Tavern . Most of the guys anyway. I fucking threatened all of them if they dared to invite West. I could only handle so much more of the man. I was on his ass for two weeks straight dealing with the changes he wanted to make and trying to wrap my head around just how drunk he was and when. The man was a fucking liability. Even if he was doing a damn good job with the horses—better than I wanted to admit.

But any hope I had of sitting around and not thinking about West flew straight out the fucking window the minute I walked into the bar. Stationed at the bar with a group I recognized as regulars, West tossed back another shot. And then he fucking grinned. A full, honest-to-God smile. And while that smile was probably fueled by too much alcohol, it was one hell of a flashback to the kid I grew up with. My chest constricted uncomfortably but that discomfort was quickly displaced into anger. What the fuck was he doing here?

“Well, now,” Mickey said as he joined me, taking off his hat. “Ain’t that a coincidence. You didn’t want to see him, and yet… there he is.”

“Drunks go to the bar,” I reminded him, “to get fucking drunk.”

“Or maybe he went out and made himself a few friends,” he replied. “You know, he needs those since your sunny demeanor ain’t doin’ it for him.”

I glared because what the fuck was I supposed to say to that. Mickey just laughed— the fucker —and clapped me on the back.

“There’s that sunny demeanor right there.” It was the last thing he said before shuffling across the bar to where my guys had a table. I stared at them, happy and loud and way too friendly with one another. Fuck, I hated this part of the job.

Still, I sucked it up. Ignoring West’s presence, I stomped across the bar and ordered everyone another round of drinks.

Marley Valentino slept with everyone. I knew it and the whole damn town knew that one. Good on her for knowing what she wanted out of small-town life. You weren’t special if Marley picked you out of a crowd, slid up on you, and took you home. So, it was no real surprise she picked West out as her conquest of the night .

What did surprise me was how fucking pissed off it made me. Why the fuck did it bother me so much to see him dancing with her? Three beers certainly didn’t help my mood.

“Again—”

“Mickey, if you say another damn word I swear to fuck I’ll suspend your dumbass,” I snapped over him. It shut him up— thank fuck.

My gaze never left West, tracking every stupid thing he did in the bar. How the hell he was still standing was nothing short of a miracle. The amount of alcohol he consumed should’ve put him on his ass. Or six feet under. But with every advancement Marley made, he downed another shot or another beer. And the way he handled her was… odd. It was as if he didn’t know how to touch her or where to let her touch him. The more he drank, the less he seemed to care but still. It was odd.

My boys moved back and forth between dancing on the floor and drinking at the table. They told jokes, talked, laughed, and had fun. Mission accomplished.

I just wanted to go home. Instead, I just scowled at West and hated myself a little because this sure as fuck felt like jealousy.

“Ah, crap.” Mickey’s words drew me out of my own head. I glanced at him, and he nodded toward the door. “Craig’s here.”

“Fuck,” I muttered. Craig Hartley thought he was dating Marley. The man obsessed over her in a fucking unhealthy way. He was prone to starting fights and going after anyone Marley picked. Just how many times did that fucking kid need to be arrested before it stuck? And the two idiots who followed him around like they were a gang weren’t any better. Small-town folk needed better things to do with their fucking time, and Craig with his crew was no exception.

When Craig made Marley on the dance floor with West, I tensed. This would get ugly fast. One part of me wanted to intervene but that voice was minimal. I knew West would get his ass kicked, but he’d made his mess.

“Nobody moves,” I ordered instantly as several of my guys started to stand as if they were going to help. I tapped the table, making sure I had their attention. “He got himself into this mess, he deals with the consequences. ”

Craig made a beeline for West, who had his back turned. The bartender yelled something, someone else tried to stop Craig, but none of it worked. The kid was fucking determined as he grabbed West’s arm.

West’s reaction was downright volatile.

He whirled so fast that he knocked over Marley in the process and threw a punch that caught Craig in the jaw. It was hard enough to knock the man over—or would’ve been if West hadn’t caught the front of his shirt.

And he just kept hitting.

Until Craig’s face was a bloodied mess.

I tensed, rooted in my seat with shock. Whoever the hell that was, it wasn’t West.

Craig’s guys—fuck if I remembered any of their names—damn near tackled West. They locked arms around him and dragged him across the floor. West didn’t make it easy on them, bucking and fighting back with everything he had.

That look on his face was pure rage.

He managed to break their hold long enough to grab a chair. Oh, fuck. West smashed the chair across someone’s back before lunging at the other guy.

Screaming, shouting, and utter chaos. It consumed the bar as they kept going after West.

“Get your asses up!” Mickey barked. “It ain’t the boss you need to be scared of. Help stop the fight—occupy the idiots. And no one touches West, you hear me?”

They were on their feet and rushing to do as he said. Meanwhile, the stare Mickey leveled on me was cold as hell.

“Get your ass up, boy,” he growled. “Your daddy would be real disappointed in the man you’re turnin’ into over this whole damn thing. Get your ass up and help me help him.”

He wasn’t asking, and I knew better than to fuck with Mickey when he got started.