Chapter 4
Juniper
I keep my back straight as I walk away, each step heavier than the last. The gravel bites into the soles of my feet, but I don’t stop to put my shoes on. I don’t look back. If I do, I know I’ll break.
I can feel Rhett’s stare burning into my back all the way to the car.
Knowing he’s here makes me want to turn around and run back to him.
Instead, I pick up my pace, the weight of his gaze dogging me until the sedan comes into view.
I catch sight of a familiar figure leaning casually against the door.
Caleb, Rhett’s stepson. The boy who used to shadow me through our high school halls is a man now, tall and buttoned into tan slacks and a plaid shirt that looks freshly ironed, though he wears it with the same nervousness I remember. His smile is hesitant, tugging like it’s out of practice.
“Hey, Juni,” he says, voice warm but careful.
My chest tightens, a rush of memories tangling with the strangeness of seeing him here, caught between past and present.
“Hey, Caleb,” I manage, forcing a steadiness I don’t feel.
His smile edges wider, almost sheepish. “I didn’t know you were back.”
“Got here yesterday.”
“Denver didn’t work out?” His tone is soft, cautious, like he’s testing the ground between us.
I give a small shake of my head, and the way his brow furrows nearly undoes me.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says.
“Don’t be sorry.” The words slip out too fast, so I soften them with a faint smile. “What about you? How have you been?”
Caleb shifts his weight, hands sliding into his pockets, gaze flicking past me toward the shadow I know is Rhett before coming back. “I’ve been good.”
“Still working at the ranch?” I ask, more to fill the space than anything.
“God, no.” He lets out a quick laugh, shaking his head. “I stopped working there when Mom and Rhett got a divorce.”
My eyebrows shoot up before I can stop them. “They divorced?”
“Right after graduation,” he says simply, like it’s old news.
But it hits me like a stone to the chest. Of course I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t here. I didn’t stay long enough to see the cracks splinter all the way through.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
But I’m not, and that makes me a terrible person. I never liked Caleb’s mother, Tilly, and as much as I’d like to say it’s because she’s a bitch I know that’s a lie. I never liked her for the simple fact that she was married to Rhett.
“Yeah.” His agreement is soft, not bitter, just resigned. He hesitates, shifting his weight like he’s working up the nerve. “So, I’d love to catch up once you’re settled. Maybe coffee? Or—” his mouth quirks, a flash of that boy I used to know, “—something stronger.”
A smile tugs at me despite everything. I nod. “I’d like that.”
I don’t get a chance to say anything else because my mom comes up to the car, motioning for me to get in. I give Caleb a small smile, which he returns, and then slide into the backseat.
The car ride back is silent.
Mom finally speaks when we’re halfway home. “You’re not to encourage him.”
I wonder which Slade she’s talking about but get my answer soon enough.
“Rhett Slade is nothing but a disruption and a devil in man’s clothing,” she continues, like she didn’t just spend the morning gutting me with every word out of her mouth. “He thinks because he has money and land, he can say whatever he wants. But that man has always been a bad influence.”
I stare out the window and let her talk. I mean, what else can I do?
“He’s dangerous,” she snaps. “And I won’t have you associated with that kind of person.”
My jaw tightens. “I didn’t ask him to sit next to me.”
“He touched you in church,” she hisses like the word is a sin. “People saw.”
Silence falls so hard it chokes the air.
Dad doesn’t say a word the whole time. Just grips the wheel tighter.
By the time we pull into the long, winding driveway of the ranch, my stomach is a knotted mess.
The house looms in the distance like a mausoleum, and for the second time today, I wonder how I’ll survive another night under its roof.
Inside, I head straight for the guest room.
No dinner. No small talk. No more fake smiles.
I peel the dress off and toss it in the corner, dragging on an old tee and sweatpants.
My reflection in the mirror looks hollow-eyed, pale, like a ghost of someone who used to be something.
I press my palm against the glass like I could reach through and touch the girl I used to be.
What would I even say to her?
The question lodges in my throat like a shard of glass.
I let out a bitter laugh. God, that list is never-ending.
I’d tell her to stop trying so hard. To stop starving herself to fit into dresses for people who only loved her when she smiled and stayed small.
To stop handing her heart to people who only wanted to use it as kindling.
To stop believing that being liked meant being safe.
But more than anything, I’d tell her to stop caring so damn much what people thought because when push came to shove, those same people she bent over backwards for, cried over, bled for?
They were the first ones to turn on her.
To look away.
To listen to the lies.
To let her drown.
I lean my forehead against the glass, the cold seeping into my skin. Outside, the sun has started to fade, casting everything in that eerie dusky gold Ruin Ridge is known for—beautiful in the kind of way that makes your stomach hurt.
My throat burns.
“I miss you,” I whisper. “God, I miss who I used to be.”
But the truth is I don’t even know if that girl ever really existed.
Maybe she was always just a version of me built for someone else’s comfort and approval.
Maybe the real me is just now beginning to claw her way out.
And maybe that’s why Rhett scares the hell out of me.
Because he doesn’t want the polished version.
He sees the mess. The cracks. The parts I hate. He always has. And he stays anyway.
I’m still staring at my reflection when the door swings open with a bang, slamming into the wall like a gunshot.
I jump and my body goes cold. I turn slowly, already knowing who it is.
Dad fills the doorway like a shadow, his expression stone.
Just a man who’s already decided what I am and what I’ll do to make up for it.
“You’ve brought shame to this house once again, daughter,” he says, voice low and judgmental. “This ends now. Tomorrow you will apologize to the Pastor.”
The room spins a little. I blink hard, steadying myself even as my ears ring.
Apologize to the Pastor.
I stare at him, mouth dry, throat aching. It’s like the past five years never happened. Like everything I survived meant nothing. Because Chester Hilbert is still untouchable. Still righteous. And I’m still the liar. The girl they buried and blamed.
My silence only makes him angrier. He crosses the room and grabs my arm. His grip is hard, his fingers digging into the soft part just above my elbow to remind me who’s boss.
“Do you understand?” he snaps.
His eyes bore into mine, daring me to fight. Daring me to make this worse. I don’t flinch and shove the fury down. Because if I fight him now, I lose everything. He’ll kick me out without blinking and I have nowhere else to go. So I do the only thing I can.
“I understand,” I say.
Two small words. Flat. Emotionless. A surrender in sound only.
This house will never see me as anything but the girl who ruined their image. They don’t want me healed. They want me obedient. And I’ve been conditioned to give them exactly what they want.
The next morning, I wake up with a heavy feeling in my stomach. It’s not dread but something worse.
Resignation.
It settles like lead in my gut, dragging down every breath.
I didn’t sleep worth a crap last night because of the nightmares.
Nightmares I thought were long gone. But apparently being back in this town has reopened old wounds and now I get to relive the past via my dreams. Over and over.
I stare at the ceiling, blank and cracked, just like this room.
Just like me. I should tell my parents that I’m sick, but I know it won’t matter, so I peel myself out of bed.
Every movement aches. Like my bones know what the day holds and are already protesting.
By the time I’m dressed in the most conservative blouse I packed and a skirt that feels like a costume I already feel miles away from myself.
I look like the girl they want me to be.
Not the woman I’m trying to become. But this outfit is safe in ways that matter.
And I need all the safety I can get to face Pastor Hilbert.
I make my way down the hall quietly, like I used to as a teenager when I knew they were already disappointed in me but hadn't said it yet. Mom’s in the kitchen, making toast like nothing’s wrong.
Dad’s reading the paper at the table, waiting to deliver me to my penance like it’s a chore on his to-do list.
“Eat something,” Mom says without looking at me.
I don’t think I can stomach food. Not when I’m supposed to smile at the man who once locked a door behind me and told me to repent.
“I’ll eat after,” I say quietly.
Dad folds the paper with sharp movements and stands.
“Let’s go.”
I follow him out to the truck. The sky is pale and hazy, like even the sun doesn't want to witness what’s about to happen.
Dad doesn’t try to make small talk as we drive.
Instead, he acts like I’m not there, which is fine by me.
I take the time to prepare myself, but honestly? Nothing can prepare a person for this.
The truck rattles to a stop in the gravel lot of First Baptist Church of Ruin Ridge. I stare at the building through the windshield, fingers clenched in my lap. The white steeple juts into the sky like a blade. The front doors are shut, but I swear I can feel him on the other side waiting for me.
I already feel sick.
Dad doesn’t cut the engine.