27. Jackson
Jackson
“ S on…” Pops’ voice is barely louder than the ticking clock on the wall, a frayed whisper floating on the tail end of a breath.
I pause with my hand on the doorknob, boots already laced, coat already on.
I’m about to head out for night rounds—double-check the barn doors, make sure the heat lamp’s still on for the chicks.
I told myself that’s why I needed to go.
That it wasn’t because sitting here, watching him wilt further into the couch cushions, was slowly splitting me in half.
Ozzy and Mama are curled up beside him on the couch, halfway through some horror film that Ozzy and Pops picked. Mama and I were both less than thrilled but we gave in.
I want to stay. But if I don’t check those fucking chicks, Ozzy won’t sleep. And if she doesn’t sleep, I sure as hell won’t either, because I’ll be listening to her padding around down here from my bed all fucking night.
“Yeah, Pops?” I manage over the tightness forming in my throat and chest. I turn, expecting him to ask for his meds. Or a drink of water. Or to move my ass because it’s blocking the screen.
But instead, he’s looking up at me with those pale, tired eyes. Eyes I used to think could stop a bull in its tracks. Now they’re glassy and wet and ringed with the kind of shadows you don’t recover from.
“Take me out for rounds?” His fingers twitch weakly at his side. “Let me see her.” Her being Betty. His girl. His horse.
The part of me that’s rational screams no. His body can’t handle the cold. The wind. The damn trip. But the part of me that’s his son—the boy who used to follow that man across pastures in the dark just to feel useful—hears the plea for what it really is.
One last round. One last time.
Ozzy’s eyes flick to mine, and she gives me the smallest nod. That’s all I need as I fetch the wheelchair.
Ozzy’s already on her feet at his side, unhooking IV lines and monitors with the kind of quiet efficiency I still don’t fully understand. “You’re a pain in my ass, girlie,” Pops wheezes with a chuckle.
“Like you’d have it any other way, old man,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to his temple before standing back to let me through.
Mama wraps a blanket around his shoulders and kisses the top of his head, whispering something I don’t hear. Then it’s just me and him, rolling through the quiet house, creaking porch boards beneath our weight, and out into the breath of the cold evening.
The sky’s painted with the final threads of sunset—amber bleeding into plum and deepening toward indigo. I wheel Pops carefully down the path, the old gravel crunching beneath my boots and the wheels on his chair. He doesn’t speak. Just breathes.
It takes some work to get him inside the barn. I have to wedge the wheels through the doorway just right, navigate the straw and uneven boards without jarring him too much. But the second we’re in, I see the spark in his eyes.
The chicks are raising hell in their brooder, a soft chorus of peeps and flutters. He chuckles—a true, belly-born sound I haven’t heard in too fucking long.
“She wouldn’t shut up about these little fuckers,” he says, the amusement slurring into fondness.
“You should’ve seen her this morning,” I reply, checking the lamp and their feed. “Full-on sobbing because she loved them too much.”
“Yeah, I think we take new life for granted sometimes. We see the babies so much, it’s just commonplace, sometimes even a nuisance. We forget what a miracle life is.”
I walk back over to him and rest my hand on the back of his chair. “You ready to keep moving?”
He nods.
“So I’m thinking Wyatt will love to do the gingerbread house competition,” I offer as we make our way along the darkening path.
“You and he could talk about it and try to take Carter down.” The family has a ‘who can build a better house’ competition every year.
Fucking Carter has been undefeated for eight years.
Last year’s was a fucking castle, complete with a moat and drawbridge.
I said that should disqualify him since it wasn’t a house, but apparently I was wrong.
Pops doesn’t say anything, and it kills me.
It kills me because he really thinks he won’t make it even a few more weeks.
This is my father. There is no stronger man than him.
He will make it; fuck everyone who has been acting for months like he only has days left.
I’ll admit, in the beginning, I did, too.
But he’s still here, and I’m not giving up on him.
I wheel him slowly along the outer fence, heading toward Betty’s stall.
“She’s gonna lose her mind when she sees you,” I say, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.
“She always was the dramatic type,” he mutters, but I see his knuckles whiten on the armrests.
When Betty spots him, it’s like someone lit a fuse. She rears her head, stomps once, and lets out this long, aching neigh. I open her stall.
She walks straight to him, lowering her head to his shoulder, pressing her face to his cheek.
Pops breaks.
“Oh, my beautiful girl…” He wheezes a joyful cry.
I watch the tears begin to roll down his cheeks as his weak hands run up her nose and over her jaw.
“Betty, I didn’t think I’d see you again, sweetheart,” he chokes out.
I look away while tensing my jaw. Seeing how happy he is with his horse, I can’t help thinking about how I tried to stop this from happening, how I tried to stop him from leaving that room, and that guilt swallows me whole.
The sound he makes while holding his horse to him—half laugh, half sob—is going to haunt me forever.
I turn away and pretend to busy myself at the feed bin. I can’t look at him like this, even though I know I should.
“Pops…” I finally manage, quiet and tight. “I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t look at me. Still petting Betty, still whispering to her like she’s the only creature on earth who could understand him.
“For what, son?”
“For… for leaving you up there. For not sitting with you more. For being afraid to see you like this.”
He exhales slowly and leans back in the chair.
“Jackie…my boy… You know I love all my kids the same, but you and I—we always had something different. Something closer.” He takes a breath and I notice there is a rattle to it. Is he too cold out here?
“I didn’t want you to see me like this. I was fine dying in that room. If it meant your memory of me could stay strong.” He chuckles. “But that Ozzy of yours? She wasn’t having that.”
“Yeah… She’s got opinions,” I mumble. “And she’s not shy about expressing them.”
“Good thing too,” he says, voice softening. “But her head’s big enough. Best not add to it.”
We sit in silence for a while. Betty doesn’t move. She’s still got her head resting against him like she knows.
“I’m proud of you.” he says softly.
“Don’t,” I warn through my clenched jaw, feeling the prickling in my eyes.
“You’ve made something here. You’ve become something I never could’ve. A better man. A better brother. Hell, a better father, and you don’t even have kids yet.”
“Stop,” I beg, tears stinging my eyes. But he keeps going, because of course he does. He’s my father.
“You’re gonna be okay, Jackie. You don’t need me anymore. You’ve got this place, and you’ve got her. You’ve got all the pieces, son. Now you just have to believe in yourself the way I always have, and always will.”
A tear slips down my cheek. Then another.
“I don’t want you to go.”
He doesn’t say I know. He just squeezes my hand, slow and tired. “I lived a good life. got to do what I loved, found my soulmate, and had the greatest kids I could’ve asked for. I couldn’t have asked for a better ride.”
I press my forehead to the back of his hand and take the deepest breath I can manage. “I’m not okay, though,” I choke, tears falling freely. “W-what if I need you? What if I don’t know what to do? You…”
“Jackson,” he exhales softly. “Son, you got this. You are stronger and smarter than I ever dreamed of being. You are better with Theo and your brothers, you are a great man and a hell of a rancher. I promise, you won’t need me.
There are many things I’m selfishly upset I’m going to miss, but I can assure you I will rest peacefully knowing you don’t need me anymore.
I believe in you, boy. Now believe in yourself. ”
My shoulders roll inward as I lower my head, trying to breathe and gather myself back up. After a moment, I whisper, “You want to head in?”
“Nah,” he murmurs. “Let me sit here. I want to watch the sunset.”
“It’s getting cold,” I try, and he looks at me with questioning eyes.
“You worried I’m gonna get sick?”
I chuckle, not because I want to, but because I know he wants me to.
I stand from my stool and go over to the stall, grabbing a couple of snacks for Betty and handing them to Pops before retaking my seat.
We sit silently for a long while as the sun sets over our ranch, casting everything in warm tones before fading into the indigo of the dusk sky.
My mind drifts to Ozzy and how I will have to thank her and tell her she was right about moving him out of that room.
Coming to grips with the fact that I may not have weeks left with Pops is gut-wrenching.
But this, right now, it’s something he and I needed more than I realized.
I miss my father and sitting here, watching the sunset over everything we’ve built.
It means more to me than just about anything, and I know it also does to him.
I need to give him a few more special days, and I will, regardless of how few he has left.
I plan on making them the best I can. Maybe tomorrow I can take him out again, get him to the lake, and let him see Betty again.
Looking over, I see Betty is resting her head on Pops’ shoulder while he rests his on her face.
“Alright, you two,” I say, my voice barely holding steady as I rise from the old wooden stool.
My knees crack, and the cold air bites at my joints, but I try to smile—try to make it light, like I’m not unraveling at the seams. “Tink’s gonna come out here and kick my ass if she finds out I let you freeze half to death. ”
Pops doesn’t answer, but that’s not unusual—he’s been fading in and out all evening.
I reach for the handles of his chair, glance down—and everything goes still.
Betty lifts her head with a quiet snort, sensing something before I do.
Pops’ head lulls to the side.
His eyes are closed, mouth parted just enough to steal the breath from my lungs. My stomach twists.
“Pops?” I murmur, almost playful at first, like I’m waiting for him to open one eye and give me a middle finger. “You fall asleep on me, old man?”
I take a step closer. His chest isn’t moving. Something inside me breaks loose.
“D-Dad?” The word hits the cold air like a gunshot. He doesn’t stir. Doesn’t twitch. Doesn’t flinch. My heart free-falls straight through my ribs and lands somewhere in the dirt.
“Dad—” I drop to my knees so hard it sends a bolt of pain through my hip, but I don’t care. I reach for his cold hand. He doesn’t move.
“Dad,” I choke again, louder this time, pressing his hand to my chest, to my face, to anything warm.
“Please, come on. You’re just tired, that’s all.
You just… you just need to get inside and warm up.
” My voice cracks. I know better. I know what death looks like.
And this—this is it. Still. Empty. Gone.
My mouth opens, but the scream won’t come. Just a dry, soundless sob as I curl my fingers around his. Like maybe if I hold tight enough, I can pull him back. Maybe if I say the right thing, scream loud enough, beg hard enough, the universe will give me one more second.
One more breath.
“Please,” I whisper, forehead pressed to the back of his hand. “Not like this. Don’t go like this, not when I just got you back.”
I shake his arm gently. Then harder. “Dad, please. Say something. Look at me. Yell at me, damn it—call me an idiot, tell me I forgot to latch a gate, anything?—”
But he doesn’t.
Betty whinnies softly beside us, her head dipping low like she knows.
The wind slips through the barn slats, dragging the warmth from my skin, and still I sit there, clinging to the man who once carried the weight of this ranch, this family, this world on his shoulders like it was nothing.
He was my compass.
My goddamn hero.
And now he’s gone.
Tears pour from my eyes unchecked, and I don’t wipe them away. I let them fall. Let them soak into my jacket, into his blanket, into the soil beneath us.
Because maybe if they sink deep enough, they’ll take root. Grow into something that stays.
The stars blink into existence above us, quiet and cruel. Like they’re carrying on without him.
And I’m still here.
A broken son, screaming for his dad.