Page 91 of Boss and Brat

By the time they reached the truck, his throat had tightened into something unsteady. He climbed in without thinking. The door shut. A single, dull latch. That was all it took.

Ethan’s breath stuttered, then caught again, sharper this time. The cab felt too small, too quiet, and the noise that tore out of him sounded wrong in the space—raw, broken, like it had been clawing its way up for hours. His shoulders curled inward as he folded over his knees, hands braced there, trying to hold himself together even as the sobs dragged through him in uneven bursts.

Carter didn’t start the engine. He just reached over and pulled Ethan in, steady arms closing the distance until Ethan’s shaking settled against him.

For a second, Ethan let himself lean into it. Then the emotion surged again—too big, too fast—and he broke away, folding forward with his hands over his face. The sobs came harder this time, ugly and shaking, impossible to swallow down no matter how hard he tried. He tried anyway. Tried to breathe. Tried to be quiet. Tried not to fall apart like a kid.

Didn’t work.

Carter pulled Ethan into his chest, one arm around his shoulders, the other hand cupping the back of his neck. Ethan pressed his face into Carter’s shirt, gripping fistfuls of fabric as if he’d drown without it.

“I’m sorry,” Ethan choked out. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“Hey,” Carter murmured, voice low and steady. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Ethan shook his head, the sting of tears hot against his skin. “She hates me. And now she hates you because of me.”

“She’s wrong,” Carter said. “And she doesn’t get to decide who you are.”

Ethan tried to breathe, but it came out jagged. Carter rubbed slow circles between his shoulder blades, grounding him, keeping him from spiraling off the edge.

“Just breathe, sweetie,” Carter whispered. “I’ve got you.”

It took a minute—maybe longer—before Ethan could lean back again. His eyes burned, lashes sticking together, and his throat constricted. His breaths came in small, uneven pulls, as if he hadn’t quite figured out how to breathe normally again.

Carter grabbed a napkin from the glove box and handed it over. Ethan wiped at his face, the paper catching on the dried salt at the corners of his eyes. His hands trembled a little, the aftermath of everything he’d just let out, but he didn’t hide it.

Carter didn’t comment. He just waited, patient as ever, until Ethan could look up again.

“Ready?” Carter asked.

“No,” Ethan said. “But… yeah.”

Carter started the truck and pulled away from the home. Ethan stared out the window, watching the perfect trees and open land blur into shades of green. His chest still ached, but Carter’s hand stayed on his thigh the whole drive, thumb brushing back and forth in a slow, steady rhythm that kept him from falling apart again.

When they turned onto the long dirt road leading to the cabin, Ethan blinked hard. The place didn’t look the same.

New security cameras mounted on poles. Motion lights. A truckload of men unloading fencing materials. The start of a tall perimeter fence had already been staked out around the property. Ethan’s stomach ached. It looked like a compound. Like someone was preparing for war.

Carter slowed the truck, eyes scanning everything with that protective, calculating look he got when he was already ten steps ahead.

Ethan swallowed. “This is… a lot.”

“It’s what your father ordered,” Carter said. “He wants you safe.”

Ethan nodded, but the sight of it all made his chest tighten again. He wasn’t used to people protecting him. Not like this. Not with actual fences and hired men and plans. He wasn’t sure if he deserved it.

Carter parked beside the cabin. “Come on,” he said gently. “Let’s go inside.”

Ethan stepped out of the truck, staring at the half-built fence, the workers, and the equipment. The world had shifted while he wasn’t looking. Carter came around the truck and rested a hand on the small of his back, guiding him toward the porch.

“You’re safe here,” Carter said.

Ethan wanted to believe him.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Ablack SUV rolled up the drive, gravel crunching under the tires. Ethan’s father stepped out, suit jacket tossed in the back seat, sleeves rolled up, hair mussed as if he’d run his hands through it a hundred times.