Page 67 of Song Bird Hearts

I’m goin’ out west to chase cowboys,

Hope I never catch one again.”

The last note rings out soft, trembling off the water in front of us. The men don’t speak at first, all clustered around me silent. The moment feels holy, in that same way some nights just are. When the land holds its breath and you’re reminded that you’re alive because someone is looking at you like maybe you hung the moon in the sky just for them.

“When did you write that?” Gilden asks, his eyes on me.

I shrug. “Bits and pieces throughout the last few weeks. It’s a good one, right?”

He nods. “When we get on the other side of this, I expect you to play that one on a stage.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me. “You write any for us?”

Grinning, I strum the guitar again. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see,mon coquin.”

I’ve never seen a man’s eyes light up more than when I use the Cajun French endearment I’d looked up. It means ‘my rascal’ and had felt like the perfect name for my brilliant Louisianan sunshine of a man. He laughs, that charming sound filtering through the night and making me feel all warm in ways that I know I’ll never feel for anyone else other than these three men. This is it for me, no matter if I live or die after this.

Wolf reaches for my hand and I let him have it, but Knox doesn’t say anything. I can feel him hovering, the heat of him near me like a brand. The silence stretches out, long and heavy and warm, and then I lean forward and kiss Wolf, slowly, careful, needing to feel connected to them in this moment.

He groans softly before pulling me into his lap despite the pain in his ribs, one arm around my waist, the other buried in my hair.

“Careful,” I warn, even as I straddle him. “You’re still hurt.”

“I’m always hurting,” he murmurs against my mouth. “This kind of hurt just feels better.”

I laugh against him, my breath catching as he tilts his head and deepens the kiss. My fingers splay against his chest, part of me still worried how fragile he is right now. But the rest of me, it lights up like the fireflies surrounding us.

Gilden’s hands find my hips next, warm and steady, always there to keep me grounded. And Knox—silent, brooding Knox—watches from the edge of the river, his jaw locked, his chest rising hard. He doesn’t say anything as he watches, the tension exuding from him heavy in the air.

“Knox. . .” I whisper, breaking the kiss.

“I’m not stopping you,” he says hoarsely. “I just. . . need a second.”

I nod, respecting it. If he’s not ready for something like this, none of us will force him. It has to be his decision, not mine. I’d love nothing more than him to join in, but I can see his struggle right now. He needs time to adjust, and later, maybe I’ll tell him how much I actually do want him to join.

Gilden leans into my neck, his teeth nipping playfully.

“You sure?” he asks quietly, brushing my hair back and kissing down the curve of my throat. “This little riverbed’s about to turn into somethin’ real pretty if we continue.”

“Yeah,” I say, closing my eyes. “I’m sure.”

I straddle Wolf’s lap, my guitar forgotten in the grass, my mouth tingling from his kiss. His hands are gentle, reverent, as one curls around my thigh and the other presses against my lower back, holding me steady as he breaths through his pain. Beneath me, he’s already hard despite his cracked ribs and battered state, the pain of his injuries doing nothing to diminish his arousal. It isn’t urgency that charges the air this time.

It's worship.

“You’re starin’,cher,” Gilden drawls, leaning forward from his spot beside us, his palm sliding over my knee. “Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

“You,” I answer honestly. “Wolf. Knox.”

“Good,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss against my shoulder. “Tonight is all about you.”

Knox hasn’t moved. He sits cross-legged just beyond the edge of our light, his jaw still tight, his fists clenched on his knees. But he isn’t looking away. No, he’s watching me like he’s dying of thirst and too stubborn to drink.

I hold his gaze. “You don’t have to do anything,” I say softly, my voice barely carrying over the hum of crickets and rushing river water. “But I want you here.”

“I’m here,” he replies, throat tight. “I’m always here.”

Wolf’s lips curl against my neck. “He can’t look away from you.”

“Neither can you,” I whisper.

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