A cold shower in the early morning always did the trick, yet it didn't do a blasted thing this morning.

The sun began to peak, casting an orange glow through the bathroom window as Landon stepped out of the shower, water droplets clinging to his skin and leaking from his hair. He wrapped a towel around his waist before moving across the cool tiles to the cabinet mirror. Once there, he simply stared at himself for a hot minute.

He'd gotten a shade darker thanks to the Texas sun. But something else felt off, although he couldn't quite put a finger to it. Had he gotten fatter? In two weeks? Impossible. He straightened his shoulders and tightened his abs... no, he had not gotten fatter. Then why did it feel like a weight was on his shoulders? Why did it feel like his eyelids were always heavy with sleep? And why in God's good grace was he always hungry?

He sighed before his eyes fell on his phone sitting on top of the cabinet as the screen flashed:

5:57 a.m | REMINDER: Make an appointment with Dr. Lauran Dawson when you're back in Cali.

"Appointment?" he muttered, couldn't quite remember why he jotted—

Ohhh.

That was when it clicked. He had only recently recovered from a horrible case of food poisoning. It would've been earlier if he hadn't listened to Jackson and gone to the bloody hospital, though.

It had been a little over a week since he arrived at his ranch in Texas with Jackson tagging along as company. A lot had happened, but not much at the same time.

For one, since he had eaten at Stonehouse, he'd been throwing up every morning. He had gotten sick—puked his stomach so much, he thought he was dying. When day four passed and nothing changed, he had started his red jeep to get to the hospital only to have Jackson throwing himself on the driver's door, begging him not to go. "It'll pass," Jackson had said. "Stop being such a pussy, McCoy." If one thing Landon wasn't, it was a pussy, so he didn't go. Thankfully the horrendous puking happened only in the mornings, and it stopped the day before yesterday so he was back to normal. Well... not a hundred percent, so that was why he needed an appointment. After all, old age was catching up to him; better safe than sorry.

What else happened?

He had gotten to know Jackson a whole lot more.

He had shown Jackson around Fredericksburg. They strolled the streets every evening and checked out the local shops, and the bars—he even took the youngster to the museum. He had got Jackson a nice pair of cowboy boots, too. He wanted to convince himself it was because he planned on taking the youngster out to horseriding since they didn't get any chance to earlier, but the truth was that he felt bad for what happened that night they went to dinner.

Jackson wasn't complaining much either, and although he commented that the town was 'boring af' and screamed of 'old people', he took a lot of pictures wherever they went, like a lot. He even got Landon to take pictures of him... in abnormal poses... by the town's historical sites. They took pictures together, too, though Jackson never posted any because Landon didn't want the public to know.

Surprisingly, Jackson was a lot calmer than Landon had expected—with just the two of them—and he reckoned he was starting to like the younger man... like really like him.

He knew sometime back this would've happened; he dreaded it. To be honest, he didn't know how to feel when he realized this. They obviously couldn't be together. The young Alpha was in it for the power trip—everything about whatever they were doing was not genuine despite how Jackson claimed to like him. This was simply a show of 'who was better' to Jackson. Besides, they were rivals; it wouldn't cut. Whatever...

The week took most of Landon's stress away from what happened in California.

The threat of retirement from Brandon.

The stressful deal with Jackson.

The false victory at Daytona.

The sex...

The older man's stomach twisted with the mere thought of it—and not in a bad way... maybe in a way of frustration instead. Jackson had not once asked him for sex since they arrived at the ranch, they even slept in separate rooms. It was strange. Landon should've been happy... but shamefully enough, at night his body craved for Jackson's sinful touches. He had always enjoyed sleeping with the other Alpha, and he was looking forward to it, too. He guessed when it didn't happen, he was bummed out.

Landon ran his fingers through his damp hair, smoothing it back with a sigh. Stepping out of the bathroom, he made his way into the living room. However, when he got there, he stopped in his tracks, eyes doubled in shock at Jackson, sitting by the wooden purpleheart table in the living room with a laptop in front of him as he typed away on the keyboard. Over the past week, he'd learned that Jackson wasn't an early riser... this was unexpected.

Jackson must've heard him because he glanced up, his eyes darkening with a hint of hunger as he took in Landon's disheveled appearance—the wet hair, the exposed chest, the towel wrapped low on his hips. Landon felt a flush of passionate heat.

He cleared his throat before slowly stepping over to the younger man. "Good mornin'," he said, hoping his spiking pheromones didn't stir the air for Jackson to notice. "You up early."

Jackson turned back to his laptop screen before clicking off tabs from Landon's prying eyes, yet mistakenly leaving one open. "Mm. Morning," he turned back to Landon and placed his cup down. "I made you breakfast. It's in the kitchen."

A soft smile appeared on Landon's lips at the thoughtful gesture. This wasn't the first time Jackson made breakfast—or the second or third. He was quite good at it, too.

"Thanks," he said, unthinkingly resting a hand on Jackson's shoulder as he eyed the screen. "I've been seen you a lot on this computer since you got here. What you writin' there? Don't have nothin' else to do? And what's... " having forgotten his spectacles, Landon squinted his eyes to see clearer. "What's Ao3?

When Jackson realized what Landon was looking at, he quickly stitched off the tab. "Nothing. And... I do. Just... just writing to see if I can write."

"Well, can you?"

Jackson stared at the empty screen. "I'm jack shit at it. I thought I had a good imagination."

A little crackle left Landon's mouth before he patted Jackson's shoulder, and stepped away. "Keep tryin' you gon' get it someday... what did you make?"

"Eggs. Avocado on toast, orange juice—tea," Jackson answered, leaning back onto the chair as he made a stretch with his arms—his muscles flexing, and his veins bulging. "I made you a spinach smoothie and fried you some fish."

Landon paused in his steps. "Why didn't you fry the sausages I bought?"

Jackson made a disgusted face at Landon before he replied, "One, because it's not healthy. And two, because it's gross. Do you even know what they put in those things?... I tossed them in the trash, hope you don't mind."

This little...

Landon frowned and folded his arms. "I do actually. Why you did that for?"

"I literally just listed the reasons, old-timer."

"Ah—you, pfft," Landon waved him off with an eye roll before walking across the room, heading toward the kitchen on the other side. "When you done eatin' go get washed up. Wade's comin' over any minute now, I wanna give you two a formal introduction before I take you out for a ride with them horses."

Jackson had yet to meet Landon's best friend, Wade, who had been away visiting his sister in Houston. Wade had only returned yesterday, and when Landon mentioned over the phone he got a visitor, Wade was stunned to learn it was none other than Jackson Blaze, Landon's rival.

Landon promised he'd explain everything when they meet in person, though he didn't think he had the heart to confess to his best friend that Jackson helped him cheat in Dayton so now he owed the rookie his career... literally, as he still depended on Jackson for future winnings. He would make up something, though. A small lie, perhaps.

Jackson wasn't too keen on meeting Wade either; it seemed like he hated everyone and everything whenever Landon mentioned his friends and family. But he would meet Wade today, and they better get along—he wanted no fighting... he hoped they got along.

"Ugh. It's only six—my eyes aren't even open yet."

"That's why you need to take a cold shower."

When Landon reached the kitchen, he stepped by the counter and poured himself orange juice. The kitchen wasn't tucked away in a separate room; it flowed seamlessly into the living area, so he could see Jackson from where he stood.

Jackson's gaze lingered on Landon, a smirk playing on his lips. "Wanna join?"

Landon bit his lower lip at the question. Yes, lingered at the tip of his tongue, instead, he swallowed it down, took a sip of his ornge juice and hummed, before walking back over to the younger man. "Tempting, but no."

Jackson's gaze trailed over Landon, his eyes darkening with desire. "Did I ever mention how hot you look fresh out of the shower?" he murmured, his voice low and charged. "Towel hanging low on your hips, hair all wet... and those water drops sliding down your chest..."

"No," Landon deadpanned a moment later though his cheeks colored pink.

"Well you look hot... exceptionally hot."

"Whatever... go bathe."

Jackson snapped his laptop shut and stood, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Whatever you say, daddy."

Landon paused—his heart suddenly racing at Jackson's comment. "What you just call me?"

Jackson shrugged. "Nothing."

Landon swallowed before fringing a frown. "It better be nothin', or else am gonna—" Just then, the doorbell rang, and he sighed in relief. "That must be Wade." Wade had keys, but he always knocked out of respect whenever Landon was home.

"Ugh." Jackson visibly cringed at the mention of Wade before walking away in quick strides. "I'm outta here."

He watched as the youngster skipped the steps to go upstairs before yelling, "Hurry up and come back down. I'll be waitin' on you. And if am not here when you get down—check out back! I'll be in the barn with Wade!"

The doorbell rang again. 

A/N: I'm splitting this into two parts because:

1. I hate long chapters with a passion.

2. I'm only halfway through the other section and don't have time to complete it today.

Did I ever mention how hard it is to write the middle part of a story? The first part is always the best, the last—I know what's coming. But the middle... ugh, it's the most boring to write. I know I'm not the only one. Lots of writers experience the same.