John had always been a man who tried to do right or at least, convince himself he was. But lately, things had shifted.

It started with whispers. Then glances. Then nights she didn’t come back to his bed. Abigail had been slipping and John, dense as he could be, wasn’t blind.

He knew.

And when he did, something cold settled in his chest. Not heartbreak. More like humiliation. A kind of hollow ache that curdled into resentment real quick.

So when you walked by that morning, hair loose, hips swaying, sweet smile, he looked a little longer than he should’ve. Long enough for you to glance back over your shoulder.

And smirk.

You were something else. Beautiful in a quiet, devastating way. Most of the men in camp had tried their luck at one point. Javier with his guitar and stories. Sean with his jokes. Even Dutch, with his charm and heavy stares.

But you? You gave no one the time of day. And that made it worse.

But John needed something.

And for once, he was tired of being the one left hurt. Then a thought struck him. One he probably shouldn’t have entertained.

That evening, after the sun dipped low and the fire cracked soft between tents, he found you sitting alone, book in hand and whiskey untouched beside you.

“You always read the same damn pages or are you just tryna look smarter than the rest of us?” he asked, lazy grin pulling at his lips.

You raised an eyebrow, not bothering to look up. “I like the quiet. Don’t mean I want it interrupted.”

He chuckled and sat anyway. “Well, then you’d hate me followin’ you out on a ride tomorrow.”

That made you look at him. Sharp eyes, tired smile but there was something. A little bitterness in his charm. “What’s this about, John?”

He shrugged but the smirk didn’t reach his eyes. “Figure I’d spend time with someone who don’t lie to my face every damn day.”

You tilted your head in curiosity, voice softer now. “Trouble in paradise?”

John leaned forward, forearms on his knees, close enough to smell the smoke and faint parfume clinging to your skin.

“Don’t reckon it was ever paradise,” he said. “But I am gettin’ real tired of pretendin’ I ain’t worth more.”

Your gaze lingered on his for a beat too long. “You sure you’re not just lookin’ for someone to hurt back?”

He laughed, bitter and low. “Hell if I know. Maybe I’m just sick of bein’ the fool.”