Chapter 4 - Colton

I glance at her and force my thoughts back to safer ground.

“Hey,” I say, voice low, casual—like I’m not trying to keep from reaching over and tracing her thigh with my fingertips. “You remember when we first met? I think I was fifteen, and you were what—thirteen?”

“Yeah,” she beams at me, eyes catching the soft glow of the dashboard lights. “It was a cold winter night. Trent brought you home with your two little siblings—Jack and Dory. How could I ever forget that night?”

I nod, letting the memory tug me back.

“My dad had been on another drunken rampage,” I say, the words falling heavier than I mean them to. “He’d already been going at me and Mom, and then he turned on the twins. Jesus, they were only five. He’d have put them in the hospital or worse. I couldn’t let that happen.”

She doesn’t interrupt, just listens—eyes soft, hands folded in her lap, like she’s hearing it for the first time even though she already knows every beat of the story.

“I wasn’t some strong kid back then. Just a scrawny, pissed-off fifteen-year-old trying to survive. I got between him and the twins, but he knocked the hell out of me.” I pause, jaw tight at the memory. “Mom jumped on his back like a damn lioness—pulling his hair, screaming, giving me time to get the kids out.”

Margo’s face tightens, and her bottom lip trembles slightly. She looks like she wants to reach over and touch me but doesn’t—maybe because she knows that if she does, I might unravel right here in the driver’s seat.

“I threw Jack and Dory in the truck and just drove. Twenty bucks in my pocket. No destination. The Walmart parking lot seemed as good a place as any to not die that night.”

Her eyes flicker with recognition. “And then Trent saw you on his way home from baseball practice.”

I nod, a slow grin tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Yup. I was freezing my ass off, had given the twins my coat, and figured we’d just ride it out ‘til morning. That’s when I saw that rust-bucket Volvo of his swing into the lot.”

She laughs softly. “God, that car was awful. I’m still convinced it had a family of raccoons living in the backseat.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” I chuckle. “But man, he didn’t even hesitate. Took one look at my busted face and the twins shaking in the front seat and basically ordered me to follow him.”

“You tried to say no,” she grins. “But Trent always was obnoxiously persistent when he cared.”

“That he was.” I glance over at her, warmth spreading through me. “Your parents welcomed us in like we were family. Sat us by the fire, handed us cocoa with those big-ass marshmallows your mom always bought in bulk. I’d never felt that kind of kindness from strangers before.”

I look at her for a beat longer, letting the next words land where they belong.

“And you…” I say, my voice low. “You didn’t even hesitate. You took Jack and Dory into the den like they were your cousins or something. Pulled out toys, played with them until they stopped crying. You made them laugh. I’ll never forget that, Margo. What you did that night—what your whole family did—it meant more than you’ll ever know.”

She’s staring back at me now, the smile still on her lips, but her eyes shimmer with something deeper. Something softer.

“I thought you were a hero back then,” she whispers. “Still do. You were just a kid, but you stood between your father and those babies like you were ten feet tall. In my head, you became this mythic figure—this protector of the innocent. And now?” Her lips curl into a smirk, eyes shining. “Now you’ve got the muscles and brooding stare to match.”

“Oh, is that how you see me?” I tease, brow lifting.

“Absolutely. Brooding. Bad-ass. Quietly noble. A real paperback cover kind of guy.”

I huff a laugh. “Well, my Navy SEAL days are behind me now. No more classified missions. Just a boring private gig that pays the bills.”

“Yeah, Trent mentioned that,” she says with a shrug, and then she smiles in that way that makes my chest ache. “But you’ll always be a bad-ass hero to me.”

And damn it all, if I don’t want to kiss her right now.

Hard.

Long.

Like I’ve earned it every day since that cold night in the Walmart lot.

But I don’t.

Because she’s still Trent’s little sister.

And I still haven’t figured out whether this is crossing a line…

That’s why, thirteen years later, I have to tread carefully.

Because this isn’t just any girl in my passenger seat—this is Margo Warner. Trent’s baby sister. The one girl I swore was off-limits. Someone I care about far more than I should admit out loud. And tonight—for the first time—I’ve let myself wonder what it would be like if she were mine.

That kiss she planted on me at the wedding?

Hell.

It was meant to be for show, but it cracked something open inside me—something I’ve spent years locking down. And I’ll be damned if I can get it closed again.

We turn down the dark road that winds toward the lake, the cab filled with that loaded silence that hums louder than the engine ever could.

When I finally ease the truck to a stop along the shoreline, I kill the ignition. The silence grows. Only the soft ticking of the cooling engine and the faint lapping of water against the rocks fills the space.

Then Margo’s voice cuts through the quiet, soft and low.

"I never thanked you properly," she says, turning toward me. "For what you did back there. Pretending to be my boyfriend and all."

I shrug, trying to downplay the way my heart is punching my ribs like it’s trying to escape.

"It was nothing. Just glad I could help."

She shifts toward me fully, her eyes glinting in the moonlight like polished emeralds. "It wasn’t nothing, Colt. You saved me tonight. That guy’s… not stable."

The way she says my name—soft, breathy, familiar—sends a current down my spine.

"Anytime, Margo," I say before I can stop myself. "You know I’d do anything for you."

And there it is.

Too much truth, out in the open.

Her breath catches. Her eyes lock with mine. And for a second, I swear I see something flicker there—desire, maybe. Or hope. Or maybe I’m just a fool with a hero complex.

Needing a detour from the temptation crawling up my spine, I clear my throat.

"So, tell me about this Preston guy." I shift slightly in my seat. "He wasn’t just some ex. You were engaged."

The word tastes bitter in my mouth.

She hesitates, then nods. "Yeah. Until he showed me who he really was."

I wait, letting the silence pull at her, hoping she’ll open up. When she doesn’t, I press gently.

"Are you sure it’s really over? That it’s not just… something you could work through?"

She huffs out a dry, humorless laugh. "Oh, it’s over. Finito. Canceled, deleted, blocked on all platforms. He’s toast."

"Because he cheated?"

Her scoff is sharp. "If only it were that simple."

I feel my spine straighten, jaw clench.

"He didn’t hit you, did he?"

She quickly shakes her head. "Not exactly. Not with fists."

My hands curl around the steering wheel even though we’re parked. Not with fists is its own kind of violence.

She looks up at me, vulnerable but strong.

"At first, he was charming. Thoughtful. Romantic even. But the closer we got, the more jealous, possessive, controlling he became. I started feeling like I was starring in a suspense thriller where the villain sleeps in the same bed."

I don’t interrupt. She needs to get this out.

"And the worst part?" she adds with a sarcastic tilt of her lips. "He kept using the fact that he broke off an engagement for me like it was a Get-Out-of-Jerk-Free card. Every time I called out his behavior, he’d throw that in my face."

I shake my head, disgust curling in my gut.

"Did you love him?" The question slips out before I can reel it back.

She blinks, surprised. Then shrugs slowly. "I thought I did. But I think I was more in love with the idea of Preston Vanderholt III—family money, political future, white picket fence. It all looked so shiny from the outside." She pauses. "But the price? My freedom, my voice, my peace? Way too damn high."

She gives me a small smile. "And honestly, I think what’s really eating at him now is that I had the nerve to walk away."

That tracks. The way he looked at her at the wedding like she was a prize he lost, not a person he hurt. Rage simmers just beneath my skin.

"Margo," I say, my voice low, edged with steel, "I don’t like the sound of this guy. The way he acted tonight… it’s setting off alarms in my head."

She sighs and drags her fingers through her hair, frustration etched into her features. "I know, Colt. But I’ve told him it’s over. I’ve blocked his number. What else can I do?"

I reach across the console and wrap my hand around hers. Her fingers are soft, warm, and they tremble just a little under mine.

"Be careful," I say, the words hard and serious. "Guys like him? They don’t handle rejection well. They can turn." I hold her gaze. "Promise me you’ll keep your phone on you. Don’t go anywhere alone, at least for now."

She nods, lips parting. "I promise."

Relief pulses through me, but it’s short-lived.

Because the thought of him still out there, watching her, thinking he still has a claim? It makes my blood boil.

"And if he tries anything—hell, if he so much as breathes in your direction—you call me." My voice is quiet but dangerous now. "I’ll deal with him."

Her breath hitches. Her eyes widen. Not with fear—but with something else.

And just like that, we’re caught in it again.

That quiet, heavy moment where the world slips away and the only thing left is her… and me… and this thing between us that refuses to stay buried.

Without thinking—without permission—I lean in and press my lips to hers.

It’s not soft.

It’s not slow.

It’s everything I’ve wanted and everything I shouldn’t have.

And for once, I’m not holding back.

She kisses me back with just as much hunger, her hands sliding into my hair, pulling me closer. It’s messy and heated and filled with years of what-ifs finally crashing into now.

I’m so caught up in her taste, her warmth, the little sounds she makes against my mouth—

Snap.

A twig outside the truck. Close.

I freeze. Every sense suddenly on high alert.