Chapter Thirty-One
Spencer
The house felt quieter than usual. Nathan and Alfie had left for California earlier that morning, their absence leaving a strange emptiness in the air.
Aunt Millie hadn’t quit, of course she hadn’t.
She still came by every day, still cooked, still cleaned, and still acted like Jamie didn’t exist. Spencer had stopped hoping she’d warm up.
Her silence was louder than any words. He planned on asking her to treat Jamie with respect or leave.
He could hire Malcolm’s daughter who’d begged him for a job.
Jamie was busy most of the day when his possessions arrived from Tom. Spencer was pleasantly surprised Tom had kept his word to Jamie. And his truck had arrived two days ago, which gave him peace of mind. Things were settling down for them.
That night, after Aunt Millie finally went home, Spencer and Jamie wandered into the kitchen. The lights were dim, with the snowflakes tapping softly against the windows. Jamie leaned against the counter, unwrapping yet another candy cane, while Spencer moved toward the table.
That’s when he saw it—a folded note, addressed in sharp handwriting: Spencer Wallace.
His stomach tightened. He picked it up slowly, recognizing the signature style. Malcolm.
Spencer didn’t say anything at first. He just opened the letter, and a business card dropped out. It had a forest green background with matte white text, a sky-blue accent line, and an embossed leaf icon in the corner.
Smack in the middle of the card was this: Driven by purpose. Powered by equity. The name on the card was his father’s name: Walter Wallace, Founder of Eco Transit Mobile. Spencer’s hands trembled as he started reading the note that was with the card. The words hit harder than he expected.
Dear Spencer,
I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear from right now, but there’s something you deserve to know. Something that’s been buried for too long.
Your father wasn’t a failure. He was a visionary. Ambitious, creative, and determined to build something meaningful. His business included a fleet of electric buses and vans designed to serve low-income areas with free or low-cost transportation.
But he struggled financially, and when he needed help, he turned to the one person he thought he could trust: his billionaire father—Grandpa Wallace.
What he didn’t know was that the investment came with a hidden clause. Buried deep in the contract was a condition: if the business failed, full parental rights to the couple’s firstborn child would be forfeited. You.
The business collapsed. And the man who raised you, Grandpa Wallace, enforced the clause. Not with compassion. Not with conversation. But with lawyers. Cold, calculated, and ruthless. He repossessed you like an asset. Not a grandson. Not a child. A transaction.
Your parents didn’t abandon you, Spencer. They lost you. Legally. Strategically. Brutally. Grandpa Wallace threatened every single family member to keep their mouths shut or else. No one came forward with the truth.
I know we’ve never gotten along. I know I’ve said and done things that made you question my intentions.
But this isn’t about rivalry. It’s about truth.
You deserve to know what really happened.
You deserve to understand why your parents disappeared and why Grandpa Wallace raised you like a legacy instead of a son.
No one knows where your parents are, but you can be assured Grandpa made them disappear from you forever. The same way my father disappeared when I turned twelve.
I don’t expect anything from you, really. I just couldn’t keep this secret anymore.
—Malcolm
Spencer’s breath caught. He reread the note again, eyes scanning each line as if they might change if he blinked too fast.
Buried deep in the contract was a condition: if the business failed, full parental rights to the couple’s firstborn child would be forfeited. You.
Spencer’s hand trembled slightly. He gripped the edge of the table, trying to steady himself. He felt as if the floor had shifted beneath him.
And the man who raised you, Grandpa Wallace, enforced the clause. Not with compassion. Not with conversation. But with lawyers. Cold, calculated, and ruthless.
Spencer swallowed hard. He’d spent his whole life believing his parents had left him. That Grandpa had stepped in to raise him, out of love, out of duty. But this was something else entirely. He hadn’t been rescued. He’d been claimed. Like property.
He handed the letter to Jamie, unable to speak. Jamie took it carefully, eyes scanning the page while Spencer stared blankly at the stove.
He felt gutted. Betrayed. Like someone had pulled the rug out from under every memory he’d ever had. All those years working the ranch, trying to live up to a legacy that was built on a lie. His grandfather hadn’t raised him out of love. He’d enforced a contract.
Spencer rubbed his face, trying to breathe through the storm inside him. “I always thought they didn’t want me,” he said. “Turns out they didn’t have a choice.”
Jamie didn’t say anything. He just stepped closer, placed the letter on the table, and then rested a hand on Spencer’s back.
That simple touch grounded him more than any words could.
All those years he’d wondered why his parents had disappeared.
Why no one talked about them. Why Grandpa Wallace always changed the subject.
And now he knew. They hadn’t abandoned him.
They’d lost him. Legally. Strategically. Brutally.
The walls of the kitchen felt closer now, like they were pressing in. Everything he thought he knew about his childhood, his family, his place on the ranch had cracked wide open.
Something inside him broke. Quietly. Permanently. His grandfather led him to believe his parents had left for the city and abandoned him. Grandpa Wallace had tricked his parents, but why didn’t they return when his grandfather had passed away? No one knows. No one.
Spencer sat down at the table in the quiet of the kitchen, the letter from Malcolm again in his hand. He just sat there saying nothing, the weight of it pressing down on his chest like a stone. He felt raw, exposed, like the ground beneath him had shifted and he wasn’t sure where to step next.
He stared out the window at the snow-covered pasture, the same land he’d poured his soul into for years.
He’d given up everything for this place.
His music, his life in California, the version of himself that felt free.
He used to sing under stage lights, used to feel alive in front of a crowd.
But he’d traded all of it to keep a promise to a man who didn’t deserve it.
Spencer clenched his jaw, the anger rising like heat in his chest. He’d worked himself to the bone—early mornings, late nights, broken fences, sick horses, brutal winters—all to honor a legacy built on lies.
He’d believed he was doing the right thing, staying loyal to the man who raised him.
But now he wasn’t sure if it had ever been about loyalty…
or just a desperate attempt to earn love that had never been freely given.
He thought about Saddle Creek Ranch—every inch shaped by his sweat and sacrifice.
And suddenly, it felt less like a home and more like a monument to manipulation.
His grandfather had never deserved the love Spencer gave so freely.
Never deserved the promise he kept. Never deserved the years Spencer spent trying to prove he was worthy.
Spencer folded and unfolded the letter slowly, his hands trembling. For the first time, he wondered if staying here was about honoring the past—or finally letting go of it.
Spencer didn’t cry. Not yet. But something inside him broke.
Quietly. Permanently. And for the first time, he wondered if staying on the ranch was about loyalty or just a lifetime of trying to earn love that had never been freely given.
Spencer didn’t know what to do with the truth.
But he knew one thing—he wasn’t going to let it define him. Not anymore.
Jamie didn’t push. After a while, he simply reached for Spencer’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, then led him upstairs without a word. Spencer followed, grateful for the silence, for the way Jamie always seemed to know what he needed before he could ask.
Their bedroom was dimly lit, soft shadows dancing across the walls.
Jamie guided him to the bed and told him to lie down.
Spencer did, face down, arms stretched out, the tension in his shoulders like coiled wire.
Jamie climbed beside him and worked his hands gently across Spencer’s back—slow, steady pressure that melted into aching muscles.
Spencer closed his eyes, letting himself sink into the rhythm of Jamie’s touch.
It wasn’t just a massage. It was caring. It was love. Every movement said I see you. I’m here.
Afterward, Jamie drew a warm bubble bath, the scent of eucalyptus rising with the steam. Spencer slid in, the water enveloping him like a soft blanket. Jamie sat beside the tub, his fingers trailing through the bubbles, eyes never leaving Spencer’s face.
Spencer looked at him, heart full and aching. Jamie had been his anchor through everything—through the fight with Malcolm, through the letter, through the unraveling of everything Spencer thought he knew.
Jamie leaned in, brushing a damp curl from Spencer’s forehead. “I love you,” he said softly.
Spencer’s throat tightened. He reached for Jamie’s hand and pulled him closer. “I love you too,” he whispered.
Their lips met in a quiet kiss—gentle, lingering, full of everything words couldn’t hold. Spencer felt the ache in his chest ease, just a little. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. But in that moment, with Jamie beside him, he felt something close to peace.
Two weeks later, he invited Malcolm for dinner.
Dinner felt formal, almost too polished for Spencer’s taste. The fine china was out, the silverware gleamed, and the roast smelled like something Aunt Millie would’ve approved of—though she wasn’t there. Spencer had invited Malcolm, and that alone made the whole evening feel like a gamble.
Malcolm sat at the head of the table like he owned the place, posture straight, eyes scanning the room like he was sizing it up.
Spencer watched him, trying not to let old resentment bubble up.
It was hard. Malcolm had always carried himself as if he were owed something, like Saddle Creek Ranch should’ve been his by birthright.
But tonight wasn’t about grudges. It was about decisions.
Spencer cleared his throat. “I invited you here to make you an offer.”
Malcolm leaned back, grinning. “I’m listening.”
Spencer slid a folder across the table. “Would you like to buy into half of Saddle Creek Ranch? At a fair price.”
Malcolm blinked, then laughed. “You’re kidding, right? You hate me. I hate horses. Why me?”
Spencer shrugged, keeping his tone even. “Because you were the only family member who gave me freedom from my past. You told me the truth about my parents’ disappearance. That mattered.”
Malcolm’s grin faded. He looked down at the contract, fingers tracing the edge. “I was twelve years old when my father abandoned us. My mother and I were afraid he’d met the same fate as your parents.”
Spencer nodded slowly. “That’s true, your father never surfaced either.”
There was a pause. The kind that hung heavy in the air, like both of them were standing on the edge of something they didn’t quite know how to name.
Malcolm flipped through the contract. “I have a question.”
“Ask.”
“It says we can co-live on the ranch, but it states you’ll be living in California. How’s that supposed to work?”
Spencer leaned back in his chair. “I’ll be a silent partner. I want certain rooms reserved for when we come back for visits and business. That’s all.”
Malcolm studied him for a moment, then smiled. “Sounds like a good deal to me.”
He turned to Jamie, who’d been quiet through most of dinner, sitting beside Spencer with that calm, steady presence Spencer had come to rely on. “I’m sorry, Jamie,” Malcolm said. “I was rude to you. I’ve got a lot to learn about different lifestyles.”
Spencer glanced at Jamie, who gave a small nod, polite but cautious.
Spencer felt a flicker of relief. Or just the strange sense that things were shifting.
He wasn’t sure whether this deal would work, or if trusting Malcolm was a mistake.
But for the first time, he was choosing his future instead of just surviving his past. And that felt like progress.