Chapter Three

They were back at Stewart’s rental, and the two were putting the groceries away. Stewart took a deep breath, trying to focus on the task at hand. The smell of cardboard and plastic packaging lingered in the air, mixing with the faint mustiness that seemed to cling to the old kitchen. He placed the cereal boxes in the pantry, shoving them to one side to make room for the canned goods. His fingers grazed over a few empty shelves, and he made a mental note that they might need more storage if they planned on staying here for a while.

Killian, meanwhile, had somehow made friends with the refrigerator. He stood there, effortlessly loading in the milk, eggs, and cheese, his muscular frame blocking most of the view. Stewart glanced over and caught Killian humming under his breath, something soft and melodic.

It was almost unfair how well Killian seemed to fit into this domestic scene, as if he’d done this countless times before.

It was also unfair how gorgeous he was. That flared ass kept pulling Stewart’s attention, arousing him to the point his cock stirred. He could just imagine all those sinewy muscles wrapped around him as Killian pounded into his ass.

Get your mind off of his cock.

“You look like you’re settling in,” Stewart said, his voice coming out lighter than he’d intended. “Is that a special talent of yours? Making yourself at home in a stranger’s kitchen?”

Killian glanced over, his eyes crinkling with humor. “You got me,” he said. “I moonlight as a refrigerator whisperer. It’s a niche talent.”

Stewart snorted, shaking his head. “Well, if you’re done befriending the condiments, I’ll go see what the rest of the place looks like.”

Killian gave a mock salute. “Roger that. I’ll get Ethan a snack. You go play house inspector.”

The gesture to feed Ethan warmed Stewart’s insides. It really was nice having someone to help him with the three-year-old. He loved his nephew beyond words, but constantly running behind a toddler was exhausting.

Leaving Killian to his humming and the half-empty fridge, Stewart turned and made his way out of the kitchen. He climbed the creaky stairs, the old wood groaning under each step. It felt strange, being in this house that was meant to be his new home yet feeling like an intruder. Everything about the place felt temporary, like a stopgap until he could figure out his next move. What was his next move? That was a really good question he had no answer for.

The upstairs was dim, the hallway wide with a single bulb overhead casting a dim light. He pushed open the first door on the right. Inside was a bare room, save for a bed frame with a mattress that appeared almost brand new, and a dusty window overlooking the leaf-strewn yard. The air was cool, untouched, and it carried that distinct smell of something left closed up for too long, like it was waiting for someone to fill it with warmth.

When the owner had told him it was a furnished home, Stewart should have asked for pictures, but he’d been so desperate to get away from Clive, he hadn’t thought of it.

All he’d seen was a picture of the outside, and he’d taken it. Too bad he couldn’t go back and collect the furniture he’d left behind. Except the bed that he’d shared with his ex-boyfriend. He should have burned it before he’d left.

Fuck. That went dark pretty fast.

Stewart moved to the next room, finding it in much the same state. Beds without sheets, windows without curtains, walls that seemed to echo in their emptiness. He rubbed his hands over his arms, trying to shake off the chill that had nothing to do with the cold. This was supposed to be their fresh start, but it felt more like stepping into a ghost of a home.

And then there was Killian. The man had been nothing but helpful, kind, stepping in to offer assistance without question. But Stewart wasn’t ready for that kind of help, that kind of attention, the kind that made him think about things he shouldn’t be thinking about. His heart twisted in his chest, and he frowned, shaking his head.

What was it about Killian that made him want to—just for a moment—let his guard down? Maybe it was the easy smile or the way he had taken to Ethan, like it was the most natural thing in the world. But trusting someone was a dangerous gamble.

One he’d played before and lost.

“Stewart?” Killian’s voice floated up the stairs, low and gentle, and startled him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah?” he called back, clearing his throat.

A moment later, Killian appeared at the top of the stairs, Ethan tucked securely in his strong arms. The toddler was fast asleep, his small face nestled against the giant’s shoulder, his lips slightly parted as he dreamed. Killian moved as though the boy weighed nothing, his steps careful, deliberate.

“Which one’s his room?” he asked, his voice a low murmur so as not to wake Ethan.

Stewart gestured to the room across the hall. “That one. But there’s no bedding, no sheets or blankets yet,” he said, feeling a pang of guilt. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. They’d have to make do tonight.

With what? The emergency blanket and the blue one that… What was his name again? The kind man who’d given it to him for Ethan?

Stewart gave up on trying to remember.

Killian just nodded, adjusting Ethan slightly in his arms. “No problem.” He held out the toddler, nodding for Stewart to take him. He moved to do so, and Ethan, as small as he was, suddenly felt like a sack of cement in his arms. Ethan’s limp weight pulled at Stewart’s shoulders and back, and he couldn’t help a quiet grunt.

“Jeez, kid. You’re making me feel like a wimp,” Stewart muttered, trying to reposition Ethan without dropping him.

Shrugging off his leather jacket, Killian chuckled softly, taking Ethan back with a practiced ease that only made Stewart feel more inadequate. He watched as Killian wrapped the leather around Ethan, the garment enormous on the little boy but somehow providing a sense of comfort.

Good lord. All those delectable muscles. In the diner, Killian hadn’t taken off his jacket for some reason. For the first time, Stewart was gifted with a drool-worthy view. He wasn’t even aware that muscles could be that big.

“There,” Killian said softly, as he laid Ethan down on the bed, the jacket serving as a makeshift blanket. He straightened, glancing over at Stewart with a small smile. “See? Improvised bedding. It’s like survival skills but for toddlers.”

Stewart swallowed, his throat suddenly tight. Ethan shouldn’t have to survive anything. The boy had been handed a raw deal in life, but he was still taking this better than Stewart.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Killian’s eyes met his, and for a moment, they just stood there, the silence stretching between them. There was something in Killian’s gaze, something warm and understanding, and it made Stewart’s chest ache.

“I don’t mind helping you,” Killian replied. And for some reason, Stewart believed him.

“Are you seriously going to leave your expensive-looking leather here?” Stewart moved toward the bedroom door, needing some space between them.

Killian’s presence made it hard to think.

“I don’t think it could be in better hands.” He turned to face Stewart.

“In a three-year-old’s hands?” He gave Killian a look. “You sure you don’t want to reconsider that decision? That jacket had to have cost a mint.”

For one, it looked like it was a size 3X and had hand stitching and… Well, Stewart didn’t know. It just looked damned expensive, and it smelled like real leather.

“He needs it more than me.” The man shrugged. “I can’t think of a more worthy cause.”

There had to be something wrong with Killian. Something. No one was this freaking perfect, and Stewart refused to allow himself to fall for someone he’d just met.

Especially while running from an ex-boyfriend who’d only been an ex for roughly twenty-four hours.

Stewart stepped into the narrow hallway, cursing himself for not asking for interior pictures. Who rented a home a couple of states away without seeing what the inside looked like?

A desperate person.

Oh yeah…

Stewart headed for the top of the stairs but paused. What if his little tater tot woke up? Ethan would be in a strange room he’d never seen before. Plus, there wasn’t a safety gate at the top of the steps to prevent the little guy from tumbling down them.

Before Ethan, Stewart had worked in the emergency department once a week. He’d treated children who had had accidents because safety measures hadn’t been in place.

Stewart was due to start at the hospital in two weeks, but he didn’t want an early tour of the ER because of an accident.

Pivoting, he nearly ran into Killian’s massive body.

“Whoa.” Killian gripped Stewart’s upper arms to steady him. “Throw up a signal the next time you’re making a U-turn.”

All Stewart could concentrate on were Killian’s large, warm hands on his body. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying his hardest to slow his racing heart.

Which was impossible since Killian hadn’t let him go. He simply stood there looking down at Stewart like he wanted to kiss him.

Suppressing a squeak, Stewart pulled his arms away and sidestepped Killian, heading for… Where? There were only two bedrooms and a bathroom. He damn sure wasn’t leading Killian into the bedroom, and what was he going to do, sit on the closed toilet seat?

What Stewart needed was for him to leave, but a large part of him wanted the man to stay. This was an unfamiliar house, and Stewart just didn’t want to be alone, especially with his thoughts. The quietness would only cause him to dwell on the abuse he’d endured with Clive, the guilt of Ethan witnessing the violence, and his overwhelming attraction to Killian.

An attraction that was becoming harder and harder to fight.

“Safety rails.” Stewart flapped a hand toward the top of the stairs, refusing to meet Killian’s smoldering gray eyes. “I wanted to go downstairs, but if Ethan wakes up, he might fall down the steps.”

Placing his hands on his hips, Killian looked deep in thought. Then he pulled out his phone and made a call while Stewart tried his damnedest not to openly eye-fuck the guy.

And was failing miserably at the attempt. No matter how hard he tried to keep his gaze on something else, his eyes kept sweeping over Killian’s mouth-watering body.

“Hey, Kalen, it’s Killian. You wouldn’t happen to have an extra baby gate, would you?” He waited then a smile spread across his face. “Do you mind if my ma— if Stewart borrows it? He’s afraid the cub is gonna fall down the stairs.” He paused again before giving Kalen Stewart’s address. “That would be fantastic,” he replied to whatever Kalen had said. “I’ll see you in a few.”

“I can’t keep taking his grandson’s things,” Stewart protested. He could just imagine what the guy thought of him. The blanket had been a sweet gesture, but kindness only went so far before annoyance set in.

“Three grandkids in the house.” Killian tucked his phone away as Stewart remembered Kalen using the plural form for his grandkids . “And trust me, grandpa overbuys for those pups. Their parents keep telling him to stop, but their pleas fall on deaf ears.”

It would’ve been so nice if Ethan had grandparents to dote on him like that, but it wasn’t meant to be, with Stewart and his sister growing up in foster care and Ethan’s father unknown.

Killian tugged on Stewart’s hand and then sat on the floor, his back to the wall. “We’ll guard the steps until Kalen gets here.”

Wrinkling his nose, Stewart yanked his hand free. He really wished Ryker would stop touching him. He’d been deprived of a soft touch for so long, his resistance was weakening.

“I’m willing to bet that floor hasn’t seen a mop anytime this year, or maybe even last year.”

“Unfortunately, I’m all out of jackets, but you could always sit on my lap.” Killian wiggled his brows with a sexy smirk.

That was exactly why it was getting harder to resist the guy. Killian was too damn charming without even trying. As tempting as the offer was—and it was incredibly tempting—Stewart opted for the floor then leaned his back against the faded and peeling wallpaper. Now that he had a moment to himself, his exhaustion caught up to him.

“Long day, hmm?” Killian brushed an invisible speck of lint off Stewart’s sleeve.

It was such a small gesture, but it sent a strange warmth spreading through Stewart’s stomach.

He nodded, fighting a smile. “You could say that. I didn’t anticipate this much excitement when I arrived in Midnight Falls.” He hadn’t known what to expect when he’d spoken to his supervisor about his situation with Clive and Ethan. Dr. Bellerose had been the one who’d suggested transferring to a different hospital and had even been the one to recommend Midnight Falls General.

After the transfer had gone through, it had felt like life pressed hard on the gas pedal. Stewart frantically packed his and Ethan’s bags while Clive was out shopping—no surprise there. And then they’d hit the road, Stewart fighting anxiety attacks the entire drive, until he’d broken down and met Killian.

Finally, Stewart could take a deep breath. Ethan was safe. The car would be repaired—hopefully the repair bill wouldn’t bankrupt him—and Stewart no longer had to worry about Clive’s explosive tantrums.

Killian’s arm bumped his as the guy shifted his weight, his touch lingering longer than necessary. But the contact comforted Stewart instead of scaring him. He fought against the urge to rest his head on the man’s upper arm.

“Well, if it helps, I’m usually not this exciting. Just your average guy.” Killian’s grin was disarming, and Stewart found himself relaxing even more, the stress of the day slowly dissipating.

“Average?” Stewart raised an eyebrow, eyeing the man’s large frame. “You look like you could wrestle a bear.”

The sound of Killian’s deep and smooth laughter sent ripples through Stewart’s body, causing his cock to twitch. “Maybe a small one.” He lifted his hand, his index finger and thumb inches apart. “Like, really small. The kind that eats berries and runs away from loud noises.”

With a disbelieving shake of his head, Stewart snorted. “ Right . I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“Don’t believe me?” Killian raised his arm and flexed.

There wasn’t any doubt in Stewart’s mind that Killian was preening, and damn, now his brain was stuck as he openly ogled the huge bicep. Unable to resist, Stewart poked a finger against the rock-hard muscle, catching the moan before it had a chance to escape.

Then he glanced up at Killian’s heavy-lidded eyes, which were filled with so much need it was glaringly obvious the guy wanted to kiss him.

Stewart wanted the same thing. He craved those lips desperately.

The doorbell shook Stewart out of his lust-filled daze. He was stunned the damn thing actually worked. He cleared his throat and looked away, forcing his raging body to calm the hell down.

“That’ll be Kalen unless you have a party planned.” Killian pushed off the floor, his gaze lingering briefly on Stewart as if disappointed they’d been interrupted, before he turned and headed downstairs.

Sweet Jesus. Stewart took a deep breath. If Killian kept giving him those “kiss me” looks, Stewart might… Might what? Nothing. That’s what. Pull your shit together. You haven’t even known him twelve hours , for Christ’s sake.

Frustrated at his ping-ponging emotions, Stewart got up and followed. He hesitated at the top of the stairs and prayed Ethan didn’t wake anytime soon then trotted down the steps. Entering the living room, Stewart saw the men talking by the front door, shocked at the amount of stuff Kalen had with him.

He hadn’t just brought a baby gate over, but tucked under one large arm, he had blankets and towels. A big tote bag dangled from the hand that held the gate on the guy’s shoulder.

Killian started unloading the items from Kalen, setting everything aside.

“Thought you might need a few things.” Kalen’s voice was gruff but kind. “Got some toys, bath stuff, and an extra baby monitor I had lying around.”

“Wow. I—thank you, Kalen. Really. This means a lot.” Stewart felt a mix of gratitude and surprise at the man’s generosity.

Kalen just waved a hand dismissively, as if it were nothing. “Not a problem. Figured you’d need it more than I would, son.” He reached into the bag he had slung over his shoulder and pulled out a stuffed bear, handing it to Killian with a strange grin.

Killian chuckled, shaking his head as he took it. “You just couldn’t resist, could you?”

“Hey, every kid needs a bear.” Kalen’s blue eyes twinkled. It was clear there was some inside joke there, and Stewart watched the exchange with mild amusement.

With a nod toward the blankets and sheets, Kalen said, “For the beds upstairs. Hopefully, they’ll make things a bit more comfortable.”

Stewart noticed how close Killian stood behind him. So close he could feel the guy’s body heat and hear his slight breathing. Killian had done the same thing at the grocery store checkout and when they’d stood at the register at the diner to pay their separate bills.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Stewart took the bedding, feeling a sense of relief. They were only sheets and blankets, but it was surprising how much it meant to Stewart to sleep on a made bed instead of a bare mattress.

Kalen nodded once more before turning to Killian. “You two got this?”

Killian glanced at Stewart before answering. “We’ve got it. Thanks for bringing all this over.”

“Just call if you need anything else.” Kalen gave a quick wave before heading out, Killian closing and locking the door behind his friend. A moment later, Stewart heard a car starting and pulling away before the sound faded.

There had been something about the way Killian had stayed close while Kalen was present, like a silent guardian, hovering just enough to be there but not crowding him. Now that Kalen was gone, Killian stepped back, giving Stewart his space.

Maybe it was just the exhaustion talking or their almost-kiss, but Stewart found he missed the closeness. There was something oddly calming about having someone so large at his back, like a shield he sometimes needed. He quickly shoved that thought aside, shaking his head.

You need to stop already. Jeez.

“Let’s get these beds made up,” Killian said, breaking the silence. He picked up the pile of blankets and nodded toward the stairs. “You look like you’re barely standing. I’ll head out once everything is squared away.”

Stewart let out a jaw-popping yawn. “Sleep sounds good.”

They headed back upstairs, the house settling into a kind of quiet that felt less empty now, as if it were slowly filling with something new—something that might, one day, feel like home.

* * * *

When Alonso cut through the woods and saw smoke billowing from the chimney of his uncle’s house, he stared disbelieving then let out a string of curses.

Nobody had lived in that house for years. Years. What were the odds Frank would move back in? Zilch. And why? His uncle owned a much nicer, more comfortable home closer to town. It didn’t make any sense.

This definitely complicated things. Frank had no idea Alonso had been using the home as a stash house for damn near a full year. The floorboards in one of the upstairs bedrooms had been meticulously cut and turned into a trapdoor, his work so flawless no one would be able to tell it was even there.

Alonso had stashed enough drugs—triple wrapped to prevent bugs and possibly sniffing law enforcement dogs, thank you very much—under the hatch to get him killed if he didn’t deliver. He could go inside and chat up his uncle, but Frank would want to know how Alonso even knew he was there. The home was on the outskirts of town and set far back from the road, so he couldn’t tell his uncle he’d just happened by.

Alonso needed to think, but panic began to press in on him from all sides, and so had the cold. He shivered when the wind gusted, causing branches to creak and his balls to freeze.

Fuck, he hated late fall but not as much as he hated winter.

With half-frozen fingers, he whipped out his phone and called Tetlow to try and figure this out and come up with a plan.

“Yeah?” Tetlow answered in a calm but distracted tone.

“We have a slight hiccup. Frank’s here.” Alonso leaned his shoulder against a thick tree to shield himself from the biting wind.

If Frank were going to live there—for reasons Alonso couldn’t fathom—he could’ve at least raked the yard of all its leaves. You could toss a body to the ground and lose it in the mess.

“That sounds like a you problem,” Tetlow said in that same calm, irritating tone. “He’s your uncle, so take care of it.”

Alonso’s heart quickened. “I’m a transporter and stash guy. You can’t ask me to kill my own uncle.”

He and Frank had rarely gotten along, but Alonso wasn’t a killer. The importance of getting to the goods was undeniable, but Alonso felt queasy just thinking about offing Frank.

“Who said anything about killing him? Did you hear me say those words?” Tetlow had lost his calm demeanor, now sounding irritated.

Alonso heard a female in the background whispering something to Tetlow, but she’d said it too softly to hear.

That explained why the guy wasn’t interested in helping him. The son of a bitch was getting laid.

“We have two days to deliver,” Alonso reminded him. “I’ll get my uncle out by morning, and you ditch the female and meet me here around five.”

He was glad when Tetlow laughed. That was a good sign his boss wasn’t going to gut and bury him. There was nearly a million dollars’ worth of merchandise in the house, and Alonso needed to get to it.

Queasy or not, he wasn’t going to let Frank stand in his way. Tetlow could be downright nasty when pissed off, but the guy’s boss was what nightmares were made of.