The world ain’t made for cowboys like him.

It ain’t made for men who love wrong, who kiss the way they ain’t supposed to. It ain’t made for those who touch another man like they mean it—like they ache for it.

And when the world finds out, it don’t just kill a man like that. It makes an example and makes a damn good show of it. Strips a man of his pride, of his dignity, drags him through the mud, and strings him up for every God-fearing soul to see.

Nolan knew what he’d done. He figured it was a fair enough ending.

The gallows creaked beneath him. The sun beat down hard, but the air still bit cold. He could taste the dust on his tongue, bitter and dry, like the world itself was trying to choke him out before the noose even could.

The world blurred as the crowd jeered. A few whooped like it was a festival. Others spat. Someone hollered about the devil.

But Nolan? He didn’t flinch. Didn’t bow his head.

He just closed his eyes and thought of you.

You’re safe. That’s what mattered. You were supposed to be halfway across the territory by now, free as the wind. No more running. No more hiding. He gave himself up for an outlaw.

Then—

Gunshots.

Then another. Then screaming. His knees buckled. The noose jerked tight. Stars burst behind his eyes.

Another shot split, men were dropping like flys. Nolan’s head spun, the world lurching beneath him. But the rope—the rope snapped.

He hit the dirt hard, choking and gasping. Hands grabbed at him, rough and sure, hauling him upright. He knew that grip. Those coarse hands curling tight around his arms.

No. No, no, no—

“You stupid fuckin’…” he rasped, his voice shredded raw from the rope. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

But there you were. Smoke curling from your pistol, blood smeared your cheek. His blood. Their blood. He didn’t know. Didn’t care.

“You were supposed to run.” He tried to shove you away, but his arms were dead weight. “Damn it, I was supposed to die.”

But you just held him tighter. And now? Now the both of you were in deep shit.