Chapter 17 Jett
Chapter seventeen
Jett
I slam my phone down with a huff.
Who the fuck am I anymore? Resorting to stalking her social media just for a glimpse of her is unlike me. I rarely get on the damn apps, but lately, I can't stay off of them.
I'm pretty sure that after hitting refresh for the thirtieth time, it should have been clear that she hadn't made any recent posts.
Seeing her pictures bring me a fucked-up sense of peace. I'm constantly searching for any sign of her actually moving on. She spoke the words, and that alone should have been enough. I should have been done then.
Something tells me it was all bullshit to push me away.
I know her.
I know her smart-ass mouth and how she's quick to spit venom to protect herself when she feels she has no choice.
I also know her heart, pure and full of love for me. She can deny it all she wants, but her heart is with me.
It's mine, and it always will be.
I own that piece of her, and she'll always have that same piece of me.
No distance or time can change that.
I knew what I had signed up for when I allowed myself to fall for her. I knew she wouldn't make this easy.
At this point, I should say fuck it. Most people would.
It's been a year, for God's sake.
I'm not like most people. I can't.
I pull my green and blue flannel shirt over my white tee and quickly button it a little more than halfway up. I fix my denim jeans over my brown everyday boots, grab my phone, keys, and hat, and make for my truck. I waste no time getting in and pulling out.
I can't just sit here alone with my thoughts.
What if this was never real for her like it was—and still is—for me?
What if she really has moved on? What if I read all the signs wrong?
How could I let myself fall in love for the first time with someone I knew might not love me back?
What if this is really it, and we are completely done, just like that?
The invasive 'what ifs' are drowning me, and fuck that.
Pulling the truck to a stop, I hop out and adjust my hat, approaching the guys crowded around the pen.
"Henry," I nod to the older man in greeting.
"Hey, boss," he says in reply.
I scoff in annoyance. "I'm not your damn boss. You run this ship, Henry."
"Shit, you might as well be. All the hours you've been putting in lately, you're keeping this place afloat and these guys in line, that's for damn sure."
I stay silent. There isn't much to say. There hasn't been lately.
I've always put in hours working on my family's ranch, but lately, it's the only thing keeping me going. Throwing myself into this keeps my mind busy, even if just for a little while.
"We have some fencing in the back pasture to work on.
I'll need at least three of the guys with me today.
Have Mark and whoever he chooses to bring with him take the black F-250 and get started.
" I look down at my watch. "They have ten minutes, then I expect them out there and working.
I have something to do first, and then I'll meet them out there. "
"Jett, the damn sun is barely even up yet," Henry replies with a light chuckle and minimal protest.
I nod. "But we are, and it's time to get at it." I give him a soft pat on the back and head toward the barn.
Making my way in, I pass Bullet’s stall and head straight for Harry Trotter.
"Good morning, old man," I mutter to the horse, the only one I've been able to get myself to ride lately.
He reminds me of her. That memory of seeing her up top on his back, all decked out in pink boots and hat, a white shirt, and skinny blue jeans.
She was scared to death, but she looked fucking stunning.
Even though she left me there, I can't get that day out of my head.
Who am I kidding? No matter how hard I try, I can't get her out of my head.
The day was long, and I spent over fourteen hours working before hanging it up and heading back to the house. By the time I make it inside, everyone is dressed for bed, and my dinner plate is already chilled in the fridge.
“Jettson,” my mom calls from down the hallway as she makes her way toward me in the kitchen.
“Yes, Ma’am?”
“We need to talk, son,” she says, taking a seat next to me at the kitchen island and soothingly patting my shoulder.
“Mom, it’s been a long day–”
“And that is exactly why we need to talk.” She sighs softly and waits for me to turn to her.
Our eyes meet before she continues, “I am so proud of you and how hard you’re working to help out and take over around here, but damnit, son, you are letting this place consume you already.
This ranch is supposed to be a haven, not a curse. ”
I scoff, only diverting my gaze for a moment. “It’s not a curse. Things just need to get done, Mom.”
“I love you, but that’s bullshit,” my mom says directly, holding my gaze with that ‘I know you too well for you to lie to me’ stare that has always worked on me.
“I know you, Jettson. You’re an amazing man already, but I refuse to sit back and let you work yourself down to the bone just to escape whatever you’re running from. ”
“I’m not running from anything.” The lie tastes sour as it leaves my mouth.
“Mhm, sure. We can pretend if that’s what you choose.
” She pauses, pinning me with a knowing stare that says she sees straight through my bullshit.
“The ranch will be okay; we will be okay. Henry can handle more than you give him credit for when Dad can’t.
You don’t have to do so much. You know that.
You choose to do this to yourself. If it’s not an escape, then what is it? ”
Taking a bite of my reheated, lukewarm food, I allow her question to sink in before responding.
“Does this have anything to do with a certain blonde-haired beauty?” she asks softly, and I can tell she’s trying to tread lightly.
“She was just a friend, Mom.” Another lie.
“Oh, son. You may be able to lie to everyone else, but you can’t lie to me.
I know my kids, and I saw the way you looked at her.
She wasn’t just some girl for you; she was the girl.
It’s okay to miss her.” My mom lets out a breath, resting her hand on my shoulder.
“But it’s not okay to let missing her eat you alive.
You’re too young. I don’t want that for you.
When we agreed to let you step up on the ranch, we made you promise not to let it consume you. You’re breaking that promise.”
“I don’t know what else to do!” I snap unintentionally, but my mom remains unfazed and doesn’t falter. “Working is the only time I don’t feel.”
She nods in understanding, her eyes softening at my admission. “I understand. But just know, if you don’t start setting yourself as a priority, then...” She pauses before lowering her voice to an almost comical whisper. “Then you’re fired.”
I snort. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Watch me,” she teases, pushing to stand behind me and hugging my shoulders. “I love you, son. That’s why I’m worried about you. It’s time for you to make yourself a priority.”
I don’t speak—just nod.
I understand what she’s saying, but it isn’t that simple.
I wish it were.