Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chesney
I’m halfway underneath a side-by-side, replacing a cracked CV axle, when I hear heavy footsteps approach. I don’t think anything of it because there’s been steady foot traffic over here for the last hour.
“Hey, do you know your phone’s ringing?”
My heart does this annoying thump at the sound of Jasper’s voice. “Who is it?”
“They must’ve hung up, but let me check the screen.” There’s a short pause, then I hear him say, “It’s Truett. You’ve got three missed calls from him in the last ten minutes.”
“Shit.” My stomach drops as I roll out from under the rig. Jasper’s already in front of me, handing me the phone. The concern looking back at me tells me he knows that’s not a good sign either. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” He gestures behind him. “I’m just grabbing something, but I’ll give you some privacy.”
My hand is already trembling as I call my brother back. It barely rings once before he picks up. “What’s wrong?” I ask before he has a chance to say anything.
He doesn’t say anything for a second. Dread fills me because the silence sounds like maybe he’s on the other end of the phone trying very hard to keep it together. I don’t know how I know that, I just do.
“Truett, what happened?”
“It’s Dad…” His voice cracks. Every muscle in my body goes rigid. “The nurse called and said he just crashed. They think he’s getting close.”
The wrench slips from my hand, and everything around me disappears. The tools. The barn. The half-finished side-by-side. I can’t hear any of it anymore. None of it matters.
“I’m on my way,” I say, hanging up before he responds.
I do a half-ass job putting away the tools, my hands shaking so badly I’m surprised I don’t drop anything again. My heart is thundering, and every part of my body feels numb. Wiping my filthy hands on my jeans, I nearly trip over the toolbox as I hurry out of the barn.
Jasper spots me as I’m about to hop in my truck. “Everything okay?” he asks, already walking over to me, his eyes filled with worry.
“It’s my dad.” The words barely come out. “They think…” I can’t finish the sentence, but I don’t have to. Something in Jasper’s expression changes as he jogs the rest of the way over.
“I’m driving you.” He holds out his hand for my keys, but I shake my head.
“No. I got it. It’s not that far.”
“You shouldn’t drive like this, Chesney. I don’t care if it’s just next door or across town.”
I huff a breath through my nose. I don’t fucking have time for this. “I said I got—”
“I. Will. Drive. You,” he grits out, gesturing for my keys again.
The firmness in Jasper’s voice catches me off guard. For a second, all I can do is stare at him. Then something inside me collapses. “Okay.”
Jumping in behind the wheel, he switches over the ignition as I hop in the passenger seat.
The drive is short but quiet. This is the first time I’ve let someone else carry even a tiny sliver of this.
It feels almost as terrifying as knowing I’m about to lose my dad.
Jasper pulls up in front of the house a couple of minutes later, and I hop out before the truck even comes to a complete stop.
“Thanks,” I murmur, glancing back at him.
“No need to thank me.”
“I’ll come pick up the truck later.”
“I’m not worried about it,” he says. “Go inside and be with your dad.” He pauses for a second, then adds, “I’m here if you need me, Chesney.”
I swallow thickly and nod.
The house is too quiet when I step inside. I have no idea what I’m walking into.
“Dad?”
The hospice nurse meets me in the hallway. “He’s comfortable,” she tells me softly.
Comfortable. Funny word choice, given the circumstances.
I nod. “What now?”
She gives me the kindest smile I’ve ever hated. “Now…” She pauses carefully. “We make sure he feels loved.”
All the air is punched from my lungs. Nobody says something like that unless the end is close. Really close. I knew it was coming, but now that it’s here, it doesn’t feel fair.
When I step into the den, Dad’s asleep. Or maybe unconscious. It’s becoming more difficult to tell lately. His breathing has changed. It’s slower, and he takes longer pauses between each breath.
As I sit in the chair beside the hospital bed, I place my hand over his, just like I did a month ago when he was moved to hospice.
The conversation we had that morning replays in my mind no less than once a day.
His apology. The look of sadness and guilt in his eyes.
How it felt to finally tell him what I’ve been keeping to myself since I was sixteen.
We haven’t spoken about any of it since that day, but I have made more of an effort to sit with him like this.
Every night when I get home from Wind River, I come in here and check on him.
If he’s awake, I’ll fill him in on my day.
The grand opening is coming up next week, and he even seems excited about it.
It’s like he’s completely forgotten about the feud. Or maybe he’s decided that he doesn’t want to spend what little time he has left worrying about something that doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.
Truett comes in after a while, quietly sitting in the seat beside me.
Neither of us says anything, but there’s a heaviness hovering over the room.
Like the universe knows what’s coming. I suddenly hate every second I spent away from this place.
Every ignored phone call. Every missed birthday.
Every excuse. I hate the anger I held on to for so many years, and how, if I wasn’t such a coward, I could’ve just talked to my dad.
I could’ve told him exactly what I told him a couple of months ago, and maybe I would’ve gotten more time with him.
Regret is cruel, only showing up once it’s too late to fix anything. I’m no better than my family. I became the type of man I’d loathed my entire life, and I never even realized it until now.
Eventually, the sun fades, and Dad remains asleep.
The nurse comes back and stays with him, sitting in Mom’s old rocking chair in the corner of the room, while insisting Truett and I relax and get something to eat.
I’m not in the mood to do either of those, but we leave anyway, knowing there’s nothing we can do except wait.
Truett tips his head toward the back door. “Wanna go sit in the barn?”
I nod and follow him outside.
It’s something our father used to do after a long day on the ranch.
The barn has always been his oasis. A place for him to clear his head, to relax, to get away from Mom and us kids—except for Lyle.
He always had a soft spot for the baby of the family.
Even put a TV and gaming system upstairs for him.
I wonder how long it’s been since he’s had a beer in here.
The barn smells exactly the way it always has—hay, leather, and motor oil.
The accident didn’t happen in here, but any time I come in here, it always feels like a reminder.
Truett grabs two beers from the old fridge Dad kept out here and hands me one. We sit on overturned feed buckets, looking out through the open doors. The moon hangs low over the pasture and stars dot the night sky.
For a while, we don’t say anything. My chest feels hollow, and I don’t think my hands have stopped trembling since I got the call from my brother hours ago. My nerves are shot. I’ve never felt as helpless as I do right now. And I’m sure Truett feels the same.
“You remember when Lyle convinced Dad he could train that goat?”
I laugh before I can stop myself. “Oh my god. I forgot about that.”
He chuckles too, taking a pull from his beer. “He named it Steve and insisted that Mom knit him a cowboy hat that matched his.”
“And she did.”
“Of course she did,” he murmurs. “That woman would do anything if she knew it’d make us happy.”
“Didn’t that same goat chase the delivery guy across the yard one time?”
“Yes!” Truett snorts. “Dad laughed so hard he cried, and Mom was horrified. She baked him that chocolate cake and two dozen cookies to make up for it.”
The memory settles warmly in my chest. I couldn’t have been older than ten, which means Lyle was really young. He used to have the craziest ideas, and somehow, always got my dad to agree to them. And he was a hard man to convince.
“I miss him,” I admit, barely above a whisper.
Truett nods. “Me too.”
There’s a knot in my throat that wasn’t there a minute ago.
“Can I ask you something?”
His eyes lift to mine. “Sure.”
I stare at the dirt floor, my pulse pounding while I pick at the label on the bottle. “How did it not affect you?” Clearing my throat, I finally look at my brother. “Lyle. How did you…” The words die on my tongue.
“Keep living?”
I nod, chewing on the inside of my cheek.
“Oh, Ches.” His expression softens as he sets his beer down. “It destroyed me. I just couldn’t let it.”
It feels like I’m a little boy again, looking to my older brother for advice. Like I’m small, and he’s smart and knows how to handle everything better than me.
“You were sixteen,” he says, smiling sadly. “You stopped eating. You weren’t sleeping, and when you did, the nightmares came. I saw the way you blamed yourself for every breath you took. I figured one of us had to keep standing.”
The barn goes quiet. I look away, shame burning hot on my face.
“I wasn’t stronger than you, Chesney.” His voice is steady. “I just knew Mom couldn’t lose another son.”
Part of me always resented Truett a little because it seemed like his life continued, while mine came to a screeching halt.
“But then she did anyway,” I murmur, avoiding his gaze. “Because I left.”
Truett sighs deeply, and I can feel his eyes on me. “She understood why you left,” he says. “Out of everyone, his death hit you the hardest. I think she worried if she forced you to stay, she’d end up burying you next.”
I lift my gaze as my heart stutters. “Did she say that?”
“Not in so many words.” He shakes his head. “But I know I worried about that too.”