Page 2 of Unruly

“Currently? Everyone. But you’re the easiest target this morning, so I’d move fast if I were you.”

That tracks. Rhett in a mood is its own weather system. You don’t argue with it, you don’t try to reason with it, you just get out of the way or you get wet.

I pull my shirt off, turn it right-side out, and pull it back on.

“The belt, too,” Dawson says.

I look at him as I fix my belt without a word. “How drunk was I last night?” I ask.

Dawson’s expression doesn’t change, but something behind his eyes shifts in a way that tells me I don’t actually want to know.

“Tell me,” I say.

“You let someone suck you off behind the barn.”

“That explains my pants being fucked up.”

“I only know because she came back around the corner with the biggest grin I have ever seen on a human face. And then, about two minutes later, you came stumbling out with your hat sideways.”

“So, she had a good time,” I say, shrugging. I remember the sound she made more than anything else about her.

“Cash.”

“That’s a good thing, Dawson. That means I did something right last night.”

“That is not the takeaway I would have gone with.”

“Noted.” I can’t help it, the laugh comes out before I can stop it, low and a little rough around the edges from the hangover. “Was it at least after midnight? Tell me it was after midnight.”

“It was after midnight.”

“Then it was a solid night.”

Dawson stares at me for a long moment. “You are almost twenty-two years old.”

“I know how old I am.”

Old enough to know better. Young enough not to care yet. The gap between those two things is where I live.

“Start acting like it. Fucking girls just out of high school is not for you, Cash.”

I open my mouth to say something else but the screen door bangs open before I get the chance, and whatever easygoing version of this morning exists evaporates on the spot as Rhett comes off the porch, heated.

He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t look at Dawson. His jaw is set, his eyes forward.

Two steps behind him is Colt.

Colton Dawson. He’s got his head down slightly, hands in his pockets, and the look of someone who has already read the room and made his peace with it. He’s here for his vet internship, starting today—his first real day on Thornwood land in any official capacity.

I like Colt—have since we were younger.

Rhett blows past us without a word.

Colt meets my eyes for exactly half a second as he passes. He acknowledges both of us and I give a small nod back.

Then they’re both gone, swallowed by the barn doors, and the yard is quiet again.

Dawson and I stand there.