Page 25 of Man of Honor

Wyatt stood up when I did, wary and alert as he watched me dress.I noticed with bitter regret that his arousal had begun to fade.Not that Wyatt seemed to notice; his focus was all on me.“What’s wrong?”

I busted out a harsh laugh. Not the good kind.The kind that leaves a bitter taste in your mouth long after it’s gone.“Nothing’s wrong. It felt good.You’ve got a hot mouth, Deputy.Never would’ve guessed.”

His eyes narrowed, and his expression shifted, slipping back into that hard, professional mask I used to hate when I was younger.But he didn’t walk away. He didn’t turn his back or grab his clothes like I’d half-hoped he would.No, he just stood there, confident in his nakedness, waiting for whatever I threw at him next.

It made me want to hit him with the worst I had.Anything to drive him away before he could figure out I hadn’t changed at all.Not like he thought. I was still the same messed-up kid he’dpushed aside all those years ago: older and tougher, but still twisted up on the inside.

Still broken in ways I didn’t know how to fix.

“Well?” I taunted, yanking my shirt over my head with so much force the seams popped.“We were both curious, right?Guess it just goes to show some things are better left as fantasy.Reality never matches the hype.”

Wyatt’s face tightened. Hardened.His hand twitched at his side like he wanted to grab me and shake me—maybe even clock me.Hell, I’d welcome it. It'd be a good distraction from whatever this terrible feeling was.

“Is that what this was?” His question was too calm.“Curiosity?”

I shrugged, shoving my hands in my pockets to disguise the shaking and hoping he didn't notice.“What else would it be?” I scoffed, rolling my eyes.“C’mon, Wyatt. I’m not the same lovesick kid you shot down years ago.It was just two guys scratching an itch, right?”

Something flashed in his eyes—hurt, maybe.Then his face went stony. But it was too late; I’d already seen it and felt a nasty, mean-spirited twist of satisfaction.For once, I wasn’t the one getting left in the dust.I was the one in control, the one throwing punches, the one who wouldn’t be left hurting this time.

“You’re lying,” Wyatt said. He kept his voice low, but there was a rumble of danger in it that warned me I was treading on thin ice.“You forget that I know you, Gage.I know how you felt about me.I know it was part of the reason you left.”

“Maybe you’re not as unforgettable as you think, Deputy," I sneered, latching onto my anger like a lifeline.

A muscle in his jaw ticked, and I braced myself, eager to see him finally lose it.But he didn’t take the bait. He wasn’t the type to handle problems the way I did.He just stood there, steady as stone, watching me as if he knew exactly what I was doing—and why.Then he turned and dressed without a word, stuffing his socks in his pocket and shoving his feet into his boots to get them on just a little faster.He watched me with an unreadable expression as he tucked his concealed carry holster into his belt.“I’ll keep Vanderhoff off your back as long as I can, but he’s not dropping this thing.He wants to find those guys you tangled with even more than you do—and when he does, he’ll come for you.”

“He knows where to find me,” I said coldly.

“Yeah.” Wyatt’s mouth was a flat, unsmiling line.“And you know where to find me.When you’re ready.”

I clamped my mouth shut. Nothing good would come out if I opened it again.Just something nasty that I couldn’t take back.

I watched him walkaway, shivering in my damp clothes, until the sound of his engine faded down the driveway.It was gone so quickly. I lashed out, kicking over a pool chair and sending it clattering across the cement.The sound that came out of me was a weird, hiccupy mess: half-growl, half-sob, and I jammed my fists against my eyes, breathing through the worst of thepain.

I’d hurt him. I’d meant to hurt him, but it didn’t make me feel anybetter.I felt like I was the one who’d lost.Because no matter how many times I told myself it was me pushing him away this time, I knew the truth.

I was still the one left standing alone.

Chapter Twelve

GAGE

One crack,and my head snapped to the side.The thud of knuckles slamming into my jaw echoed through the Dead End, louder than the Hendrix whining from an old jukebox in the corner, but it didn't hurt much.The sloppy cross glanced off my jaw, slipped, and connected with my mouth.A salty, metallic taste flooded my tongue.I let out a low, unimpressed hum and rolled my jaw, staring down the idiot who'd thrown the first punch.

“That all you got?” I asked, licking blood from my split lip.

The guy was young, barely out of his teens, and drunk off his ass.He blinked and shook out his hand, looking like he couldn’t believe what he’d just done.Whiskey fumes rolled off him, mixed with the stench of sweat and cheap deodorant.Acne scars marked his skin beneath a patchy excuse for a beard.His eyes were so glassy, he'd been dipping into somebody's stash of illegal, that was for damn sure.

I’d been hunting for Paulie Tibbs and his friends all week, and this was the first lead I'd gotten.This guy hadn't been there that night, but he knew something.I could smell it on him, a cold,sour sweat that had broken out the moment I started asking questions.He wasn’t about to snitch, and I wasn’t going to back down.That left us only one choice.

I'd been tangling with guys like him all week.There was a never-ending supply in a bar like The Dead End.It wasn't much more than a roadhouse on the edge of town, barely earning enough to keep the doors open.The dark, wood-paneled walls were lined with biker paraphernalia, and the floor was permanently sticky from a cocktail of spilled booze and body fluids.Despite the no smoking sign, the air reeked of cheap cigarettes, mingled with the faintest trace of rancid oil from a kitchen that hadn’t served fried food in years.

Whatever charm this place had was lost after Pops retired.Now, with Silas McKenna behind the bar, it was pure chaos.Old country tunes were still plugged into the jukebox, but nobody played them anymore.It was all classic rock now, or at least it would've been, if the music wasn't drowned out by shouts, drunken laughter, and the occasional crash of broken furniture.Customers snorted lines at their tables, bartenders passed pills under the bar, and every other night there was a brawl that spilled out into the gravel parking lot.

I ought to know; I was the one brawling.

Silas never stopped it, and he never called the cops.He just observed with those sharp, jaded eyes of his, like a guy who'd seen it all before.

Crime had taken root here in plain sight, and the sheriff’s department didn’t seem to care.That was for the best, at least for me.The last thing I wanted was to run into an on-duty Wyatt.Not after everything I'd said by the pool.I tried to tellmyself it was a relief he'd kept his distance ever since that night, but it was tough to ignore the shame gnawing at my insides.