Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chesney
I’m up before the sun. Not that I slept very much last night to begin with. With too much on my damn mind, I tossed and turned. It’s been that way for the last few days, since the grand opening.
We know what’s coming—it’s inevitable at this stage—but the waiting is excruciating.
It’s like we’re never able to calm down or steady our minds because we’re too busy waiting for the other shoe to drop.
The house has settled into an ominous type of quiet, and we’re constantly listening for every breath.
And wondering if the next one will come.
Truett’s already sitting beside Dad’s bed when I walk into the den.
He’s holding a cup of coffee that, if I had to guess, has long since gone cold.
He was up even earlier than I was and already gone by the time I made it out to the kitchen.
I know he’s stressed about the ranch and how much time he’s spent away from it the last few days, so he’s been waking up extra early to head out and make sure things are in order for the ranch hands.
I drove up to the cabins about twenty minutes ago and checked how things were going. The grand opening was a success in my books, and a great distraction from all of this. I still can’t believe my dad showed up. Having him there was something I didn’t know I needed.
My brother glances at me as I sit in the chair beside him.
He nods, but doesn’t say anything. There isn’t much left to say these days.
Dad’s eyes are closed, and his breathing is even slower than it was yesterday.
The nurse finishes checking him before slipping out of the room.
She rests a hand on my shoulder before she goes.
“He may be able to hear you.”
My chest squeezes as I nod and thank her.
I pull my chair closer, and Truett does too.
Placing my hand over Dad’s, I clear my throat and say, “Morning, Dad.” I know it shouldn’t be, but it’s awkward, talking to someone and not knowing if they even know you’re here.
Truett reaches over and rests his hand on my knee.
Dad doesn’t move, doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t do anything, but I want him to know we’re here.
That I’m here, despite all the years I wasn’t.
“The grocery store had ribeyes on sale yesterday,” Truett says.
“Your favorite. I picked up a couple on my way home from the feed store. Chesney and I grilled ’em last night.
” My brother’s voice cracks, and the sound hits me behind my eyes.
“Even whipped up some mashed potatoes. The way Mom used to make ’em. You would’ve loved it.”
“Truett left the steaks on the grill a minute too long,” I add with a small chuckle, glancing toward my brother as the corner of his mouth lifts and he shakes his head. “They were a bit more cooked than you would’ve liked. But they were still great.”
Dad’s fingers twitch. It’s small, but they move. My heart crashes into my ribs as my gaze darts to Truett again. His eyes widen, so I know he saw it too.
“Dad?” I squeeze his hand gently.
His eyelids flutter slowly, like they weigh a hundred pounds, before they open. As he blinks a few times and looks around, his eyes are cloudy and tired. He finds Truett first, then me. A faint smile touches his mouth.
“I’m here, Dad,” Truett murmurs.
I lean closer. “So am I.”
His eyes linger on both of us. “My boys.”
I bite the inside of my cheek so hard it bleeds. My throat is uncomfortably tight. Dad’s gaze drifts toward the window, looking out at the pasture, before coming back to us.
“You remember”—his voice fades before he takes another breath—“that camping trip?”
Truett laughs. “The one with the skunk?”
Groaning, I say, “Can we not?”
Dad smiles, and this time, it’s a real smile. Not the sedated, tired smile we usually only see these days. “You were, what, eight?” he asks, meeting my gaze.
“Seven,” I grumble.
“Seven. That’s right.” He chuckles, his voice scratchy. “You swore up and down it was just a black-and-white cat.”
“I was trying to help!”
“You picked the damn thing up.”
I bite back a smile. “He looked lost and scared.”
“That smell followed you around for a week,” he says with another breathy chuckle.
Truett’s laughing so hard, he’s wiping tears from his eyes. “Remember how Mom made him strip on the porch?”
Dad nods. “Wouldn’t even let him inside.”
“Oh, that’s right,” I say, the details coming back to me. “That was the one year we rented a cabin instead of staying in tents because there was a heat wave and Lyle was still so little.”
My brother snorts. “Yup. Then you cried because your sleeping bag smelled like skunk for two straight years.”
“To this day, I still don’t understand why Mom and Dad didn’t just buy me a new one.”
“Pick up a skunk, you’re facing them consequences,” Dad quips.
Sucking my teeth, I glower at him and Truett. “None of you warned me. You just let me pick him up.”
Dad smiles. “We did.”
“No. You all just yelled.” Despite everything, I laugh. For one brief moment, it feels normal, like we’re just a father and his sons remembering the fun times.
Like this isn’t goodbye.
My dad grows quiet again, his breathing labored. Taking his hand, he brushes his thumb weakly across my knuckles. “I’m sorry, Son.”
Pressure builds behind my eyes, my heart breaking all over again. “Dad.”
“For…” He swallows. “So much.”
I shake my head. “Dad, no.”
His eyes close briefly, but he keeps going. “I wasn’t…good enough.”
My throat gets impossibly tight. “You were my dad.” It’s all I can manage. Because it’s the truth. Our relationship has always been complicated, and messy, and painful.
He looks at me again, and something inside my chest shatters. “I love you, Son.”
The tears I’ve been trying to hold back finally spill over. “I know.”
“I’ve always”—he has to take another shaky breath—“loved you.”
“I love you too,” I whisper, the words coming easier than I expected. Despite everything—the years, the anger, the heartache—I love him. I always have, even if I didn’t fully understand that until now.
Dad looks toward Truett, who’s barely holding it together. “I love you both,” he rasps. “You’ve both…make me…so proud.”
Each word looks like it takes more out of him. I can’t do this. This can’t be where it ends.
“I love you.” Truett squeezes his shoulder gently as he reaches over and takes my other hand. “We’re okay, Dad. It’s okay. Go be with Mom and Lyle.”
“Tell them…” I clear my throat. “Tell them we love them.”
“We’ve got it from here, Dad,” Truett says. “You don’t have to worry about us.”
Dad’s eyes move between us one last time, pride settling softly across his tired face. A moment later, he exhales. Long. Slow. Peaceful. We wait for the next breath that never comes. The silence that follows is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
The nurse steps into the room quietly. She checks for a pulse, then looks at both of us and nods. “I’m so sorry.”
Truett folds forward immediately, a guttural, broken sound leaving him.
None of this feels real. I don’t remember letting go of his hand.
One second, I’m waiting for another breath, and the next, the room is moving without me in it.
The nurse gently pulls the blanket a little higher over Dad’s chest. Someone comes in and asks if there’s a funeral home he’s already chosen.
Truett answers, mostly because he helped Dad get all this in place, but also because I can’t seem to remember how to speak.
My legs carry me out of the den. Past family pictures lining the hallway.
Past the dent in the wall Lyle put there with a baseball when he was nine.
Past a life that somehow keeps existing while mine stops.
It’s crazy to see how quickly news spreads in Sweet Briar.
The front door opens and closes the rest of the day as neighbors arrive with sympathetic condolences and casseroles, the familiar rhythm of a small town taking care of its own.
They all sound impossibly far away. Like I’m watching them from above.
Eventually, it gets to be too much. Walking outside, I stand on the back porch and stare across the pastures Dad loved most. The wind bends the tall grass in slow waves, the cattle graze like nothing has changed, and the sun keeps slipping lower toward the horizon.
It’s almost cruel how the whole world can keep moving when one person—the person who always felt permanent—is suddenly gone.
It’s late in the evening by the time the house quiets again.
Truett disappears upstairs to shower. The nurse is gone.
And then it’s just me. My body feels wrung out and exhausted, my eyes burn and I can hardly hold them open, but my mind can’t seem to settle.
I sit at the kitchen table, my phone in hand, and stare at my contacts.
Who do you call when nothing feels right? When nothing feels real?
Without thinking, I call Jasper. I wouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t heard the news yet. Despite being right across the creek from us, I’m sure he’s been working, and I know he doesn’t check social media much during the day. He answers on the second ring, his voice warm as he says, “Hey.”
I can’t speak.
The lump in my throat is too big, and I just…don’t know what to say.
“Chesney,” he says again, the concern building in his voice. “Chesney, talk to me.”
My vision blurs, tears welling in my eyes for the first time since Dad died this morning. A choked sob works its way from my throat. “He’s gone. Jasper, my dad’s gone.”
“I’ll be right there.” His response is instant. No questions. No hesitation.
Ten minutes later, headlights sweep across the driveway.
Before I even realize I’m moving, I’m outside.
Jasper climbs out of his truck in a hurry, and the second he sees my face, his arms are open.
I cross the yard in three long strides, my body crashing into his a moment later.
He wraps both arms around me so tightly I almost lose what’s left of myself.
I hold on to him like he’s the only solid thing left in the world.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, the words muffled against my hair. “I’m so, so sorry, Chesney.”
That’s all it takes for me to finally break.
The tears come all at once, violent and uncontrollable.
Everything pours out of me. Months of fear.
Years of resentment. A lifetime of complicated love.
Jasper doesn’t say anything else; he just holds me.
One hand grips the back of my neck, the other splayed between my shoulders.
He feels steady, certain, like he’s anchoring me.
I don’t know how long we stand here, but it’s long enough that my breathing eventually slows.
Long enough that I can finally step back.
Jasper’s eyes are wet, but he doesn’t bother hiding it as he holds my gaze.
Behind us, the screen door creaks open. Looking over my shoulder, it’s Truett stepping onto the porch.
As soon as Jasper sees him, he walks over to him.
There’s no hesitation as he pulls him in for a hug.
Truett hugs him back immediately, and I watch as my brother cries on the shoulder of the only man I’ve ever loved. Walking over, I wrap my arms around both of them, and the three of us simply stand together in the fading light.