CHAPTER 13

jackson

C lean this shit up,” I barked to my guys and gestured to the mess. “Everyone gets overtime and another round on me.”

Fuck. Like I needed to be putting money in that direction, but it was the only way to smooth this shit over. I turned, ready to handle the bartender, but Mickey was already on it. Thank fuck. I wasn’t even sure what the hell I’d say. What could I say?

What the fuck had happened?

I stared around the bar, purposefully ignoring the questioning looks shot in my direction. No one here was getting Jackson Myles the gay bull rider right now, and Amy would have a fucking field day if I started yelling at locals. My best bet was to fucking avoid them all.

Instead, I studied the entire bar and tried to make sense of it. Blood, broken chairs, flipped-over tables, and glass shards. Jesus fucking Christ. And that wasn’t including Craig and his guys.

West had done a number on everyone. Craig would have a crooked nose for the rest of his life. There was no good way to fix that shit. His face was a pummeled mess—there had to be more broken bones on that man than just his nose. And the other two? Despite having ganged up on West, they weren’t looking any better.

Jesus fuck. What the hell was wrong with him?

This wasn’t a fucking bar fight over a girl—and I wasn’t getting started on how scared Marley looked. Unscathed but fucking terrified. Not that anyone blamed her. This was fucking chaos.

This was a wild fucking animal let out of its cage. I was having a hard fucking time reconciling this animal with the West I’d grown up with. They were polar opposites. What the hell had happened to turn him into this?

When Mickey walked out of the bar, I stormed after him.

“What the fuck is wrong with him?” I demanded as soon as we were outside. He rounded on me fast and planted a hand on my chest. The expression on his face was unreadable. Guilt? Anger? Worry? I couldn’t make sense of it.

“Get your ass inside, boy, and you let me worry about West,” he snapped.

“Not until you tell me what the hell is going on!”

“Lower your voice!” Mickey exclaimed

“Now, Mick,” I growled. “He could’ve killed one of them.”

“He didn’t.”

“He could’ve.”

“ But he didn’t, ” he reiterated. “Hartley and those idiots ain’t nothin’ more than a town nuisance. He did those boys a favor. Maybe they’ll think twice now before they pull that kind of shit again.”

“Did those boys a favor?” I repeated incredulously. “Are you fucking kidding me, Mickey? Do you hear yourself? They’re going to the hospital! He broke a fucking chair on one of them!”

“And they started the fight—”

“You’re blind to that man,” I said over him. “Blind as fuck. The sun rises and sets with that fucker, don’t it? He could do anything and you’ll still be in his fucking corner.”

“Somebody’s got to,” he replied.

“What the fuck does that even mean?” I snapped. Across the parking lot, I could see West pacing between cars. He beat his hand into the side of his head as he muttered furiously. Every step was staggered from alcohol and blood drops created a trail on the pavement from his hand—which he’d done to himself. “Do you see him? He’s a fucking mess!”

“I know, I know!”

“Get it figured out, Mick,” I snarled. “I can’t be cleaning up after his mess every time he goes off the fucking rails like this! And I sure as hell won’t bail him out when he gets arrested for hurting someone or worse. That man is going to end up killing someone one of these fucking days.”

Something crossed Mickey’s weathered face—something uncertain—as he looked away. I took a stunned step back, running a hand over my face. It was really fucking clear what he wasn’t saying. And why he had yet to get me West’s background check.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I scoffed. “He’s killed someone already, hasn’t he?”

“You don’t have a fuckin’ clue—”

“I don’t need one!” I shouted. “He killed a man! It’s black and fucking white! You don’t fucking do that! Jesus fuck Mickey. There were no delays with the background check, were there?”

“No.”

“Were you ever going to tell me? Or were you just going to let a murderer walk my fucking ranch like it’s a normal fucking thing? He don’t—”

“Now, you listen here, boy,” Mickey cut me off, getting in my face as he did. “I’m gettin’ real fuckin’ tired of your attitude. You ain’t got a clue what it’s like to live hard. You’ve had your shit handed to you on a gold fuckin’ platter your whole life. West ain’t had that. Livin’ hard changes people. He may not be whatever the fuck you wanted him to be, but you’re goin’ to just have to accept that he ain’t that kid you knew no more. What you see is what you get. Now, you and me, we ain’t ever had a problem, but we’re about to if you don’t get your shit together and stop pushin’ that button, you hear me?”

“Are you seriously standing up for him?” I demanded.

“I’m puttin’ myself between you and him so you don’t fuckin’ break what’s already broken, you hear me?” he told me, his voice deadly quiet. “I like you, Jackson. You’re family. But he needs someone. Don’t put me in a fuckin’ way here.”

Fuck. He had me and he knew it. I wanted to fight back—to show him who was the boss here—but I needed Mickey. He was the only reason my ranch stayed above afloat. I’d have to drop bull riding to train a new foreman, and no one would ever be as good as Mickey. Not really. And he knew that.

“Get him back and squared away,” I said angrily as if he’d do anything else. “And he doesn’t come to Merrillville anymore, got it? I don’t need to be cleaning up his fucking messes.”

Who was I fucking kidding? As long as West was on my fucking ranch, I’d be cleaning up after him just to make sure I didn’t drown.