And just like that, I’m left standing there, my first real foray into emotions feeling like a resounding failure.
For all the things I could’ve said or done tonight, I’ve clearly chosen the wrong fucking one.
Chapter 21 – Molly
I’m halfway across town when I realize I left my jacket back at Colt’s. I could just text him, ask him to bring it to our parole meeting that we have scheduled on Friday—it’s only two days away—but I decide against it. Since I’m already out, I might as well swing back and grab it now.?
Flipping a U-turn at the next green light, I head back to the Marshall farmstead, navigating the quiet country roads while lost in thought.
The drive back is quiet, the kind of stillness that makes you feel the weight of every breath. The air outside has cooled, dipping just enough to fog the edges of the windshield where the defroster can’t quite reach. It’s full dark now, the clock creeping toward nine. Out here, miles from town, the night stretches wide and endless, the sky velvet black and studded with stars. By this time, the farm is usually asleep. Most of the day workers are long gone, and only the Marshalls—the ones who live here year-round—remain.
As I make the final turn onto the long gravel driveway, the crunch beneath my tires feels loud like I might wake someone up. The headlights sweep across familiar landmarks: the old mailbox rusted at the edges, the wooden split-rail fence Cash patched last summer, the barn bathed in moonlight. The farmhouse comes into view, warm porch light glowing like a welcome… but not for me. Neither Regan’s nor Cash’s cars are in the driveway. They’re still out. With friends, probably. Maybe just grabbing drinks. Maybe more. Maybe Regan's on a date.
The thought lands harder than it should. We used to tell each other everything. Every detail, every dumb crush, every late-night secret that felt too big to carry alone. But ever since I came back, there’s been a shift. Not a fight, not anything spoken—just this quiet stretch of space between us, like we both know there are parts of our lives we’re no longer ready to share.
Especially when it comes to men.
I can’t blame her. I’ve been keeping secrets too—especially the time I’ve been spending with Colt. Not that anything had happened. Not until tonight. And now… everything feels different.
I pull the car into my usual spot, kill the engine, and just sit there for a second, the silence pressing in. My fingers drift to my mouth without thinking, brushing against lips that still feel swollen, tender, from his kiss. A shiver runs through me—not from the cold, but from the memory. The way he looked at me like I was oxygen. The way his hands gripped like he didn’t trust himself to let go. The hard length of him in his jeans pressed against my thigh.
My stomach flutters at the thought, warmth unfurling low and sweet, curling around my ribs like smoke. But the high doesn’t last. Reality pulls me back down like gravity. Colt had been upset—no, furious with my father. That kiss could’ve been about a hundred things. Rage. Helplessness. The aching, raw aftermath of desire to confront someone he’s been angry with his whole life. It might not have had anything to do with me. Maybe it was just a release. A way to ground himself, to redirect his anger before he did something he’d regret.
I’ve seen it before in crisis management: sometimes, physical connection can act as a reset button when you’re spiraling out of control and the simple touch of another human brings you back to reality.
Maybe that’s all it was for Colt.
But that’s not all it was for me.
The thought tamps down the fire in my chest, though it doesn’t extinguish it completely. The memory of his lips, the weight of his hands twisting in my hair and tugging still lingers, replaying like a broken record as I drive the last few miles to his home tucked in the woods.
When I cut off my lights, the property is quiet. The fire we sat around earlier is now just a pile of glowing embers, and the mess we’d left behind has been cleaned up. My headlights cut out as I park, and I make my way to the seating area, scanning for my jacket. It’s not there. He must’ve taken it inside when he cleaned up.
Of course he did.
Dammit.
My gaze shifts toward the RV, where a faint light glows near the back of the vehicle.Hopefully, he’s still awake.
Approaching cautiously, I tap my knuckles lightly on the front door, trying not to startle him. When there’s no response, I hesitate for a moment before cracking it open and peekinginside. The space is silent, save for the faint hum of the mini refrigerator and the crickets outside.
He couldn’t have gone far...
I step in, my eyes scanning the compact space. To my right, there’s a small couch pressed against the side of the wall, a fold-out table, and a kitchenette with a tiny stove. Directly ahead, the bathroom door is ajar, revealing it’s empty too.
That leaves only one place he could be: the bedroom.
My heart picks up speed as I move toward the back. The air feels heavier here, quieter. Pressing my ear to the closed door, I catch the low rumble of a sound—a grunt.
Oh my god… Is he—
My mind races, and before I can stop myself, curiosity wins. I nudge the door open just enough to peek through a three-inch crack and what I see stops me in my tracks.
Colt is sprawled across the large bed that takes up most of the room. The light from the bedside lamp casts a golden glow over his body, highlighting the dusting of light brown hair across his chest, trailing through the inked designs on his pecs and down the ridges of his carved abs. My gaze follows the path lower, to his strong thighs, spread wide, making room for—
Oh.
Shit.
