Chapter 3 Old Wounds
Old Wounds
MADISON
By the time we step out of Jenkins’s office the storm has let up a bit, but the air still smells of rain—wet asphalt, earth stirred up and raw.
My heels click against the pavement, and the whole town feels like it’s holding its breath.
I tell myself to focus on the puddles, to keep my suede pumps out of them, but my brain has other plans. It cracks open doors I’ve tried to keep shut for years.
Memories spill out uninvited.
Summers at Uncle Ray’s farm when I was a kid—bare feet on warm hay bales, the buzz of cicadas, the sticky taste of lemonade on my tongue.
Dylan was always there, trailing after my older brother Matthew like a shadow, but somehow ending up everywhere I was.
Matthew would narrow his eyes, standing between me and whatever trouble might be lurking, but Dylan still found ways to slip past his guard.
He’d toss me a teasing grin when I tried to keep up with them, my skinny legs flying to match their longer strides.
Once, he shoved a wildflower crown on my head and called me “Farm Princess.” I pretended to hate it, but secretly, I loved the attention.
My memory shifts, a sharper image taking its place—the high school dance.
The gym smelled of cheap perfume and popcorn, colored lights flashing against the shiny floor.
Matthew had been my shadow that night too, leaning against the bleachers with arms crossed, making sure no one got too close.
But Dylan had asked me to save him a dance.
I didn't know whether he was joking or not. My stomach had flipped when the slow song came on—“Amazed,” the one every couple seemed to claim as their song. He showed up, hands shoved in pockets, eyes darting like he’d rather be anywhere else.
I reached out, nerves jangling, hope burning.
And he laughed. Said something about how I always wanted the spotlight. How I was chasing shallow things.
The words burned then, and they still do. Too superficial. Not real work. That’s what he thought of me. That’s what everyone thought of me when I left this town. Matthew had stepped in that night, ready to deck him if I gave the nod, but I walked away instead—hot-faced, furious, humiliated.
Now, years later, the memory still throbs like a bruise.
***
The sky has turned a darker gray, clouds stacked heavy on the horizon. I keep my gaze on the street as we walk, but the memory won’t let go. His words from that dance cling like burrs: too superficial, not real work.
I can still see the way his mouth had twisted, like I was ridiculous for wanting more than cows and cornfields.
I’d spent years since then proving him wrong—building a following, signing sponsorships, creating a career out of my voice and ideas.
And yet, standing beside him now, it feels like none of it matters.
Like one dismissive look from Dylan Carter can shrink me back into that girl with glitter on her dress and shame in her throat.
I shoot him a sidelong glance. He’s quiet, as always, his stride steady and sure. His silence is the worst part. He doesn’t need words to tell me what he thinks. He never did. One look, one arched brow, and I’m back to being judged. Not good enough. Not serious enough. Not real.
Matthew glances back at us as if sensing the shift. His shoulders square, protective as ever, and the warning in his eyes is clear. I can practically hear the unspoken rule: Don’t let him get to you. Don’t let him see he still has that power.
But I hate that Dylan does. I hate that his opinion still matters at all. And I hate that some part of me still wants him to see me differently.
I swallow hard, blinking against the sting behind my eyes. The town already doubts me. I can’t let him add to it.
***
DYLAN
Madison’s heels click too fast against the sidewalk, her bag wobbling at her side like it’s ready to spill open. She always moved like that—too much energy for one place, like she had to outpace the world before it outpaced her. I should look away, but I don’t. I never really could.
The memory hits uninvited. Her leaving. No goodbye, no explanation.
One day she was sprawled on Ray’s porch swing with her notebook and a soda, laughing at something I said.
The next, she was gone—off chasing bright lights and magazine covers.
I found out from Matthew, same as everyone else. Just packed her bags and vanished.
It confirmed what I’d always suspected. Madison Wilkes wanted more than this town, more than fields and barns and people like me. She wanted glamour, a stage big enough to hold her ego. And she didn’t think twice about the ones she left behind.
I grip the brim of my cap, tugging it lower. The rain has started again, light but steady, tapping against the brim. I welcome it. Easier to focus on the sting of rain than the sting of old memories.
Matthew was furious the week Madison left.
Said if she wasn’t his sister, he would’ve cut ties completely.
I told him it didn’t matter—that I was done caring.
But I wasn’t. Not really. Watching her leave without a word was worse than the dismissal she threw at my life’s work.
It was proof she didn’t value any of it. Any of us.
I risk a glance at her now. She’s staring straight ahead, jaw set, shoulders tight. Whatever storm’s brewing inside her, I don’t want to know. All I know is this: she left once. And I’d be a fool to let myself forget it.
***
The rain patters harder, drumming against the awning as we duck beneath it outside the local grocery store near the public parking. Dylan shakes out his cap, sending droplets flying in every direction, one splattering against my cheek. Perfect. Just perfect.
“Careful,” I mutter, swiping at the water. “Wouldn’t want your storm cloud routine to soak anyone else.”
His head turns, slow as a freight train. “Storm cloud routine?” His voice carries that familiar edge, equal parts irritation and disbelief. “You barged in like a hurricane today, Madison. Pretty sure the town’s still drying off.”
My jaw snaps tight. “At least hurricanes make an entrance. You just brood in the corner and pretend it counts as personality.”
His mouth curves—half smirk, half challenge. “Better than selling a smile for likes.”
The words hit their mark, sharp and deliberate. My throat locks for a beat, but I refuse to let him see it. I tilt my chin, summon the sass that’s always been my armor. “Funny. For someone who doesn’t believe in my work, you seem awfully invested in bringing it up.”
A flash of something—anger, or maybe regret—flickers across his eyes before he looks away. He tugs his cap lower, muttering, “Some things never change.”
My laugh comes out brittle. “No. Some things do. You just don’t want to see it.”
The tension prickles sharp enough that Matthew shifts where he stands, eyes narrowing, protective radar fully activated. His glare at Dylan could slice steel. The warning is clear: Watch yourself.
For a long moment, it’s just the rain filling the silence between us, pounding out the things we’ll never say. Old wounds lie raw, right beneath the surface, waiting for the next careless word to split them open again.
Matthew clears his throat, cutting into the silence. “Maybe we should keep this civil. Ray wouldn’t want the two of you at each other’s throats before we’ve even started.” His voice is even, but the steel underneath it leaves no doubt—he’s watching both of us.
***
DYLAN
The rain runs in rivulets down the sidewalk, pooling around our feet. I stand there, staring at her, and something shifts. For years I told myself Ray might leave me the farm because I earned it, because the Carters had always worked his soil. But today proved he saw something else, too.
Ray saw her.
Madison Wilkes, with her bright ideas and relentless drive.
She’d taken nothing but a blog and turned it into a six-figure business.
Built something out of thin air, with grit Ray must’ve recognized even if I was too blind to.
He trusted her to bring that same fight here, to the farm he loved.
Maybe that’s why he made this arrangement—because he knew she could turn scraps into something worth keeping, just like she did in the city.
I let out a breath, slow and rough. My chest aches, and not just from grief.
Seeing her again stirs up more than old grudges.
It digs up the memories I buried deep—the girl with hay in her hair, laughter spilling out on summer nights, eyes shining brighter than the fireflies.
The one I told myself I’d stopped caring about the moment she left.
But the truth claws its way up, undeniable: I never stopped. Not really. And that’s the part that terrifies me most.
And when my eyes flick to Matthew—standing there, jaw like stone, his gaze locked on me—I know he sees it. His silent warning is unmistakable: Don’t hurt her.
I tip the brim of my cap lower, as if it can shield me from both the rain and the truth. But nothing can cover the way seeing her again cracks me open, pulling me back to a place I swore I’d left behind.
***
The rain forces us across the street to the diner, its neon sign buzzing weakly against the storm-dark sky.
Inside, the air smells of coffee, fried bacon, and the faint sweetness of pie cooling on the counter.
It’s warmer here, too warm, like the town itself is trying to smother me in nostalgia.
I shrug off my damp jacket and slide into a booth.
Dylan follows, Matthew taking the end seat like he’s the referee no one asked for.
A waitress drops off menus, eyeing the three of us with open curiosity. I can already hear how this scene will spread—Madison Wilkes back in town, sitting across from Dylan Carter, brother Matthew standing guard. By tomorrow, half the county will have an opinion on what it means.
Dylan keeps his cap low, scanning the menu he probably knows by heart. I clear my throat, letting sarcasm coat my words. “Don’t suppose you’ll recommend the kale salad.”
He huffs, the closest he gets to a laugh. “Kale doesn’t belong within fifty miles of this place.”
Matthew shoots us both a look, one brow arched. “Don’t start.” His voice carries the weight of every time he’s had to step between us.
I bite back a retort, sipping the water the waitress set down. The glass is cold, grounding. My phone buzzes in my bag, no doubt messages piling up from sponsors and followers. But here, under Dylan’s steady gaze and Matthew’s protective shadow, the city feels a million miles away.
The waitress returns with coffee for Dylan and pie for Matthew, who digs in like he hasn’t eaten all day. Between bites, he levels Dylan with a glare. “You remember she’s my sister. That hasn’t changed.”
Dylan doesn’t flinch. “I remember.” His voice is quiet, almost respectful. For a second, I glimpse the boy who once put a wildflower crown on my head and grinned like he knew a secret.
I shift in my seat, unsettled by the warmth creeping in with the steam from the coffee cups.
This town is watching.
Matthew is watching.
And I’m not sure which scares me more—the judgment in their eyes or the truth unraveling in mine.
***