Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Chesney
I’m halfway through a bottle of bourbon before I realize I never turned on the living room light.
The room sits dim around me, illuminated only by the weak yellow glow coming from above the stove in the kitchen and the moonlight peeking in through the curtains I never fully closed.
The ranch stretches wide and dark beneath the night sky, the fence posts I can’t quite see but know they’re there, cutting jagged lines across the fields I grew up in.
Fields I swore I’d never return to.
Holding the bottle between two fingers, I bring it up to my mouth and take another pull. The amber liquid burns going down, strong enough to make my eyes water, but it doesn’t touch the chaos in my head. If anything, it makes it louder.
Jasper Smith.
His name hits me like a bruise to the chest. Before tonight, I hadn’t seen him in years.
At least, not really. Not aside from the quick glimpses around town on the rare occasions I came back here to visit, but I always kept my head down long enough to avoid running into half the town—Jasper included.
Almost two decades without a single word, then suddenly, he’s standing on the porch of my family home like some kind of ghost nobody invited in.
I can’t get the look in his eyes out of my mind.
His deep browns peering at me like he still recognized the boy inside me.
Like we aren’t strangers. I take another drink, even though I know I should stop.
I’m going to be hurting in the morning, but I can’t find it in me to care.
Not tonight.
Not after seeing him.
The rocking chair that’s older than me creaks as I lean back in it, my gaze staring up at the ceiling while the house settles around me. I close my eyes and drag in a long, deep breath when I hear the back door open and heavy footsteps heading my way. I don’t have to look; I already know who it is.
“Go away,” I mutter, not in the mood for chit-chat—or a big-brother lecture I didn’t ask for.
Truett ignores me, but I’d expect nothing less. Stubborn and hard-headed tend to run in the family. He strolls in, wearing worn jeans and a blue thermal, smelling faintly of diesel and cold night air before dropping into the recliner across from me.
“Planning on killing that whole bottle by yourself?” he asks.
“Maybe.”
“That’d be a waste of good bourbon.”
I snort, rolling my eyes.
Neither of us says anything for a minute. That’s how it’s always been with Truett. Quiet comes easily to him. To us. We’ve never been much of the heartfelt, speak-from-the-soul type brothers, but that’s how we both prefer it.
He reaches for the bottle eventually, taking a pull before setting it back between us. “All I can think about is the look on Pete’s smug face when they read that will.”
I bark out a dry laugh, the image flashing in my mind. “No shit. To be a fly on the wall for that meeting.”
Unlike Jasper and his dad, who’ve always leaned more on the pragmatic and even-tempered side, his uncle, Pete Smith, is a hot-headed, reactive asshole.
I haven’t lived in Sweet Briar since I was a teenager, and even I know how much he expected that property to be passed down to him when Clyde died. It’s how things work around here.
“Jasper said he’s talking about calling another lawyer.”
“And saying what?” I ask. “‘Please tell me my dead father can’t legally ruin my life?’”
Truett’s mouth twitches like he wants to smile, but it fades fast. The silence stretches again before he finally mutters, “You should consider it.”
The words are a slap in the face and way too goddamn sobering.
I sit forward slowly, resting my elbows on my knees. “Consider what?”
He picks at some invisible piece of lint on his sleeve, not bothering to look at me. “The partnership.”
Eyes narrowed, I stare at him for a moment because there’s no way I heard him right. “You drunk already?” I muse, irritation cutting through my chest like a knife.
“I’m serious.”
“Yeah, seriously lost your fucking mind.” A humorless laugh tears out of me before I can stop it. “You can’t honestly think I’d actually move back here and run that ranch with Jasper. I have a life in Honey Creek. Responsibilities.”
“Yeah, well, you got responsibilities here, too.” Truett leans back in the chair, calm where I’m already burning hot. “We’re drowning, Chesney.”
There it is. The truth nobody’s been saying out loud.
The ranch is barely scraping by. Medical debt piled up after Mom got sick, then Dad too.
My father’s been too damn stubborn to admit this place has been falling apart for years.
Bills are stacked on the counter beneath unopened envelopes nobody wants to look at.
And me…the screwup son who left the first chance he could.
I drag a hand over my face and heave a sigh. “You think I don’t know that?”
“I think you know it,” Truett says evenly. Carefully. “But I also think you’ve spent the better part of the last almost twenty years pretending this place means nothing to you.”
Those words steal the breath out of my lungs. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“The ranch, this town, hell, our family, stopped mattering to you the second Lyle died.”
I flinch without meaning to, but he doesn’t let it stop him.
“You left town without looking back—and I get it, Chesney, I really do—but responsibilities don’t just end because you refuse to deal with what happened. We’re a family, and this ranch is a part of that. I can’t keep doing all this shit on my own. And I shouldn’t have to.”
The wind whistles low through the fields outside, while an uncomfortable quiet blankets the room.
This exact conversation is one of the main reasons I avoid this town so much.
And Lyle. I don’t bother denying what my brother said; I washed my hands clean of this place long ago because pretending like it doesn’t exist is easier than dealing with the guilt and the shame and the vicious words I throw at myself whenever I think too hard about what happened.
They say time heals all wounds, but I’m still waiting.
My stomach twists as I laugh bitterly. “Why the hell would Clyde Smith leave part of that goddamn property to me anyway? It makes no damn sense.”
Truett’s jaw tightens.
Neither of us says it, even though we’re both thinking it… The Smiths. The rivalry. The feud every single person in this town inherited like bad blood.
“You know what’s crazy?” I mutter. “Our grandfathers used to be best friends.”
My brother sighs.
“Clyde and Grandpa built that business from nothing,” I continue, as if he doesn’t know this story backwards and forwards, just like I do. “A shared dream. Shared land. Shared cattle. Hell, they practically raised Dad and Jasper’s old man together.”
Iron Creek Ranch. At least that’s what it was called way back when.
Before the Jennings got pushed out. Before it solely became Smith land and was rebranded to what it is now—Wind River Ranch.
Something happened. Nobody ever tells the story straight.
Fuck, I’m not sure if anybody even knows the whole truth.
Over the years, it’s become just bits and pieces and half-sentences cut off when kids walk into rooms. It’s become angry looks, broken friendships, and a divide so old that nobody even questions it anymore.
Not even us. One day, they were family, and the next, they hated each other enough to split the whole damn town down the middle.
And somehow, Clyde—and Jasper—expect me to walk back into the middle of it like nothing ever happened. It doesn’t make a lick of damn sense.
“Maybe Clyde saw something in the two of you,” Truett murmurs, and my heart slams into my ribs. “Maybe he thought you two could end this fucking feud once and for all for the good of our families.”
“It started with them!” I boom, pushing to my feet. “If he wanted to squash it, he had years to do it. But he didn’t. So, don’t try to act like this is noble or meaningful or some bullshit second chance.”
Truett stands slowly, meeting my energy with frustrating calm. “You don’t even know Jasper anymore.”
“I know enough.”
He gives me that look that screams I’m not mad, I’m disappointed. “He came here himself tonight.”
“Yeah, and? He looked about as thrilled as I felt.”
“But he came,” he repeats before I scoff. “He could’ve sent the lawyer.”
That has me pausing for half a second. Because Truett’s right—Jasper could’ve stayed away entirely.
Instead, he showed up on our porch with tension carved into every inch of him, shoulders tight beneath his coat, dark eyes locked on me like he didn’t know whether he wanted to hit me or drag me closer.
My pulse pounds harder at the memory as a shiver rolls down my spine.
“I’m not doing this,” I say plainly.
“Chesney,” he grits out, almost pleading.
Looking my brother in the eye, I don’t budge. “No.”
He sighs. “You haven’t even thought about it.”
“Actually, I have thought about it,” I toss back. “And the answer’s still no. As a matter of fact, make that a fuck no.”
His jaw tightens and his nostrils flare on a tired exhale. “You’re drunk,” he mutters. “You oughta think about this with a clear mind.”
“You oughta mind your own fucking business, Truett. I’m not playing. This is my choice, and I’m not fucking doing it. End of discussion.”
A flicker of anger shines in his eyes. “We could lose this place. How can you care so little about the place that raised you? A place that means a hell of a lot to me and Dad. And you, too, but you’re too damn stubborn to admit that.”
“Of course I fucking care!”
“Then stop acting like you’ve got nothing to lose!”
It’s the first time he’s raised his voice all day.
The words echo through the still house before silence crashes down.
I stare at my brother, and he stares right back, his chest rising rapidly.
Then it hits me. The reason Truett’s so damn adamant about me doing this.
Fear. Not about the ranch—at least, not entirely. But about me leaving again.
“You don’t understand,” I finally say, quieter now. “I can’t be here.”
“Yes, you can.”
“No, I can’t.” My voice cracks despite my best efforts to remain steady. “Every damn thing in this town reminds me of him. About what happened.”
Lyle.
I don’t say his name. I don’t have to. Truett’s face shifts instantly. It’s all there… Pain. Exhaustion. Understanding. And somehow, that makes me angrier.
“You weren’t there,” I say, my resentments surfacing. “You got to move on.”
He rears back. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?”
“You think losing him didn’t destroy me too?”
The guilt consumes me like an avalanche, but I’m too far gone to stop now. “I was sixteen,” I say, my voice rough. “I was supposed to be watching him.”
His eyes soften. “Chesney, it wasn’t your fault.”
I shake my head. Truett’s right; I shouldn’t have been drinking on a night like tonight.
“We both know that’s not true,” I mutter. “It was on me, and I—” My voice cracks. “I was supposed to be watching him.”
Truett steps toward me. “Chesney…”
“I left because I couldn’t breathe here anymore. Every fence line, every pasture, every goddamn gate—” Memories flood my mind like it was yesterday. “I hear him everywhere. I can’t fucking escape him when I’m here, Truett.”
There’s a ringing in my ears, and I feel unsteady on my feet. My hands are shaking. And not just slightly. Violently. I curl them into fists so tight my knuckles ache.
“I can’t come back here,” I whisper.
My brother stands in front of me, his dark eyes holding mine, like he’s remembering things he shouldn’t.
Like he knows exactly what this town still does to me.
“Maybe this is your chance to stop running,” he says quietly.
“Maybe this is your chance to finally face what happened and free yourself from the shackles locked around you.”
I gape at him like he’s lost his damn mind. “Running? My life is in Honey Creek now.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, they don’t land right, because if that were true, tonight wouldn’t hurt so badly. I grab the bottle of bourbon off the coffee table and shove past him toward the hallway.
“Chesney.”
“I’m leaving tomorrow,” I mutter, already halfway to my room. “I mean it. I’m driving home first thing in the morning.”
Home.
A funny word for a place that’s never stopped feeling temporary.
Truett’s voice follows me. “Dad would love to spend time with you again before then. Don’t be a coward. I know you’re better than that.”
I freeze, everything in me going still because despite everything—the guilt, the grief, the anger twisting through me like barbed wire—there’s still a scared teenage boy somewhere deep inside me who could really use his dad right now.
Could really use one of his pep talks and the advice I pretend I don’t need.
But I just…can’t.
So instead, I keep walking until I’m safely inside my room because thinking about that hurts worse than leaving ever did.