Chapter 24
Twenty-four
Ryker
Sleep won’t come.
The house is still, but my mind is loud, full of ghosts from tonight’s dinner, all bearing my last name and sharpening their knives.
I’ve replayed the evening half a dozen times. Every look. Every accusation. Every time someone glanced my way with suspicion, like I’d let the enemy into the family.
But Ginny isn’t the enemy. She never was.
I roll onto my side, staring at the shadows on the wall.
My jaw clenches. Stupid Zach. He’s the first to point fingers, and the last to think about consequences.
He’s always been good at stirring shit up and watching the rest of us burn.
It shouldn’t surprise me that he’s painting Ginny with the same brush as her grandmother.
I stew on that a moment, and then something occurs to me.
Zach would be especially prone to laying blame elsewhere if it ultimately serves his interests.
Tarryn is still watching his shady ass and tracking what he does.
And we never have made any sense of that phone call I overheard.
He’s involved with something, and it’s not anything good.
But unlike him, we don’t just fling accusations around for fun. We’re determined to do this right.
In the meantime, though, everything about this sucks. He knew about Ginny. I don’t know how, but Zach knew there was something between us. And he made damn sure the whole room turned on me before I could even speak.
Even Tarryn didn’t say anything. Not really. She looked at me like she wanted to, but in the end, I guess silence was easier.
I sit up, running a hand through my hair, hot with frustration.
Caring about Ginny shouldn’t feel like a declaration of war.
But tonight, it did. I’m grateful to have Mom’s support, but I’m not sure I have her patience and faith.
I’m sick of pretending centuries-old grudges should dictate who we love.
I don’t accept this idea that who Ginny is related to somehow defines her. I didn’t intend to fall for her, but I did. And now, I have to fight my own damn family just to protect what we have?
Someone benefits from keeping this feud between our families alive. And it’s not me or Ginny.
I grab my phone from the nightstand. I want to call her. Hear her voice. Remind myself why this is worth it.
But I don’t. Because she’s already unsure, and she doesn’t need the weight of this too. Nothing about what happened tonight would help her feel better about sticking it out with me.
I lie back, arm behind my head, and let out a long breath. Tomorrow, I’ll talk to my dad. I’ll try to get through to him.
My phone pings.
Ginny: Are you awake?
That changes everything. I call her immediately.
When she picks up, it’s not her voice I hear first. It’s a soft, muffled sound. A sniff. A shaky breath.
My heart drops. “Ginny?” I keep my voice gentle, even though every muscle in my body tightens. “Talk to me.”
“I’m here,” she whispers, but she sounds wrecked.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, ready to— I don’t know what. Run directly to where she is? My heart aches hearing her like this. “What’s going on?” I ask. “Are you okay?”
She exhales slowly. “I didn’t know who else to call. I’m sorry.”
“You never have to apologize for needing me,” I assure her. “Do you need me to come get you?”
Her breath hitches, and I know something’s coming. Something I don’t want to hear. “What does your family think about us?” she asks.
“Well…” I hesitate, and that silence says too much.
“I knew it,” she breathes, hurt in every syllable.
“It’s not that simple,” I say. “It came out at dinner before I intended it to, and it was a lot at once. Zach ran his mouth. Max made it worse.”
“Zach,” she mutters. “Of course.”
“But my mom is on board, and the others will come around,” I tell her, hoping I sound convinced. “They’re just…stuck in the past, clinging to old wounds.”
“Yeah, well, my grandmother practically lost her mind tonight,” she says, voice cracking. “She was absolutely unreasonable, talking about loyalty and listing things our families have done to each other.”
I close my eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
“I told her the feud is ancient history. That it has nothing to do with us. But she wouldn’t hear it. None of them would.” She laughs softly. “You’d think I confessed to murder.”
I grip the edge of the mattress. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“We’re both doing everything wrong,” she whispers. “Aren’t we?”
“No,” I say firmly. “We’re doing something brave.”
She goes silent again. Then she tells me something I haven’t heard before. “They think you’re stealing our water.”
I blink. “What?”
“They think your family diverted runoff from the upper watershed, and you’re willing to sacrifice your new vines to destroy the vines on our side that produce our best wines.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I wish I were. Gran has the lawyers reviewing the original agreements, and she’s pulling soil samples.”
My blood boils. “Jesus. That’s way beyond a wild accusation.”
“I know,” she says, voice weary. “It’s the war all over again. And we’re caught in the middle.”
“I would never do that to your family. My family wouldn’t do that.”
“I believe you,” she says. But then her voice breaks again. “It doesn’t matter, though. They don’t. And they never will.”
I want to argue, though this is remarkably similar to the defeatist spiral I’ve just been circling in myself. I want to tell her something that will make sure none of it matters. But I hear her trying to breathe through tears, and my mind goes blank.
“This is why we can’t be together,” she whispers.
“No,” I snap. “Don’t say that.”
“You don’t understand. You haven’t seen the way they look at me, the way they talk about you. It’s not safe.” Her breath hitches again. “I’m scared for you. I’m scared of what they’re going to do.”
“I’m not.”
“Well, I am,” she counters, and I can hear the panic bleeding into her voice. “I need you to hear me. Please, don’t come here. I couldn’t handle it. I can’t protect you.”
I press my fingers to my eyes. Every part of me wants to be with her. To hold her. To take this weight off her and make it mine. But I know she’s right.
“Okay, I won’t come,” I say gently.
Her breath shudders out. “Thank you.”
“But do you want to come here? Meet somewhere? I’d love to see you, help you through this.”
“I can’t risk it right now. Evidently, my cousins have been watching, so for tonight, I think I’ll just lie low.” She sighs.
“I’m not giving up on you,” I tell her. “Not now. Not ever. You mean too much to me.”
She doesn’t answer right away. Then, in a whisper so soft I almost miss it, she says, “You mean everything to me.”
We stay on the phone, breathing in sync across the distance, two hearts breaking quietly in the dark.
“I can’t do this,” she whispers. But she doesn’t hang up. She stays. Needing me even as she pushes me away.
Finally, she murmurs goodbye and the line goes dead. I close my eyes and imagine her here, curled beside me like she used to be.
I want to throw something. Scream. Drive over there and demand that her family stop treating her like some kind of traitor. But I don’t. Instead, I text Tarryn.
Me: You awake?
The three dots come to life.
Tarryn: Unfortunately, yes. What’s up?
I stare at the screen for a second, then type.
Me: Just got off the phone with Ginny. She says Evelyn is convinced we’re stealing their water.
There’s a pause.
Tarryn: We’re NOT.
Me: I know that. But they think we’d sabotage our own vines just to destroy theirs. She says Evelyn has lawyers and is collecting soil samples.
Tarryn: That’s insane. We’re having issues in the same area. Something’s off, and trust me, I’m not interested in losing the money or the time invested in those vines just to destroy theirs.
Of course something’s off. But we’re too busy drawing battle lines to talk to each other like neighbors.
Me: If the families actually talked, we could probably figure it out together.
Tarryn: That would require Evelyn Dempsey to be a rational human being. So…unlikely.
I smirk despite myself.
Me: You’re not wrong. She’s old. Stubborn. And dangerously good at rallying people around a vendetta.
Tarryn: She’s been nursing a grudge since disco was popular.
I sigh.
Me: Zach’s also really good at nursing a grudge. That had to be a calculated move at dinner tonight, right? You think he’s really that worried about Ginny? Maybe he’s just shifting the attention off of himself.
Tarryn: Maybe. I’m still logging the weird things I notice, but so far, there’s no smoking gun.
Me: I’ve got tomorrow off. Want to go out to block 9 and take a look? See if we can figure out what’s really going on with the water?
Tarryn: Yeah. Meet at the maintenance shed at 9. Dress to get dirty.
Me: Always do.
I put my phone on the nightstand and let my head fall back against the headboard.
What a mess. But at least this is a way to take action.
Showing people the truth is going to be the only way they’ll stop believing the lies.
We have to start untangling this, one acre, one argument, one act of good faith at a time.