Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Chesney
If someone had told me six months ago that I’d be unpacking my things in the house that raised me, I’d think they lost their minds
And yet, here I am, doing just that.
Being back here feels like some kind of sick punishment.
An atonement I had no say in. I’m standing in the middle of my childhood bedroom, staring at the duffel bag sitting open on the bed, with my stomach in knots and my blood pressure, no doubt, through the roof.
The room barely looks different. It has the same hardwood floors.
The same slanted ceiling. And the same dent in the closet door where Lyle threw a baseball too hard when he was eight.
My chest tightens, and there’s a dull ache settling deep in the center.
I can’t help but rub my knuckles across it as I look away.
The bed creaks as I sit on the edge. It’s one of the only things that isn’t the same.
The full-size bed I slept on when I was a teenager has been replaced with a queen-size decorated with floral bedding.
This is a terrible idea.
Every second since I left my condo in Honey Creek proves it—from the drive, to the town, to all the ranches on the outskirts, to the memories waiting around every corner like ghosts.
Hearing that this…situation only works if I’m here and actively working on the ranch was the last thing I needed to hear. It was hard enough putting my pride—and old wounds—aside to accept Jasper’s offer, but learning that I needed to be so involved on top of it nearly made me sick.
Honestly, I don’t know what I was thinking.
The signs were right in front of my face, and I even told my brother I was coming home in the last text message I sent him.
It’s like the far back corner of my subconscious knew this is how it had to be, knew I’d end up here, but my heart overrode it and tricked me into believing I could do it my way.
Should’ve known better.
A knock sounds against the doorframe. When I glance up, Truett leans there with two coffee mugs. Padding barefoot across the floor, he hands me one. “Thought maybe you’d need this as much as I do.”
“Thanks.” I accept the offer gratefully.
I got back into town late last night, after spending most of the day putting off the inevitable.
To be fair, I did have a long to-do list of stuff I needed to get done before I could go, most of which took place at the shop.
This’ll be the longest I’ve been away from there, and I needed to run through everything—twice—with Nate to make sure there were no loose ends.
“Have I told you that you’re my favorite sibling lately? ”
Truett snorts before taking a slow sip of coffee. “Only because Lyle isn’t here to compete.”
The joke lands softly, in a way only Truett could manage.
The tug on my heartstrings is still there, like it always is when I think about our younger brother, but acknowledging him like this doesn’t wreck me.
It’s taken me years to get to a point where I can remember the good parts of him and not feel distraught.
It’s only when I let my mind drift back to the bad that things sour.
“Yeah,” I murmur, choosing now to take a sip of the steaming, caffeinated goodness.
The room goes quiet for a moment as Truett settles into the desk chair across from me.
That’s also new. He’s only three years older than me, but sometimes it feels like ten.
Especially right now. The last few years have carved something deeper into his face.
Responsibility. Exhaustion. The kind that changes a person permanently.
His hair’s longer than it usually is. More gray around the temples too.
Dad’s illness hasn’t been kind to him, but neither has the ranch.
“You sleep okay?” he asks, and I laugh by way of response. He nods before saying, “Thought so.”
“I forgot how loud this house is in the middle of the night.”
The old farmhouse groans around us as if it comes alive when the sun goes down.
It’s been that way since I was a kid. When I was here for Christmas, my head was too all over the place to notice.
My only focus was getting through the holiday with as little conversation with my father as possible.
Hell, it still is now, so I’m surprised I picked up on it.
I did spend a good majority of the night wide awake and staring at the ceiling, though.
Truett smiles, and he’s got a far-off look in his eyes like he’s remembering something. “Mom used to say it was settling.”
“It sounds possessed,” I say with a small chuckle.
He laughs, but it’s brief. It’s not a sound that comes out of him often, much like me, and it hits me how little joy there seems to be in his life anymore.
I don’t think it’s because he’s unhappy, per se, but because he doesn’t leave any room for it.
In the same way my entire life is the garage and keeping my head afloat, Truett’s is the ranch, Dad, and bills.
Three things he shouldn’t have to handle alone.
Guilt gnaws at me for my continued absence.
“When’s the last time you went on a date?” I ask before I can stop myself.
His smile disappears in the blink of an eye. “Now, what’s that got to do with anything?”
I snort. “That long, huh?”
“Mind your business,” he drawls. “Actually, how long has it been since you’ve been on a date?”
“Whoa, whoa.” I hold my hand up and shake my head. “We’re not talking about me right now.”
“Yeah, well, we sure as shit ain’t talking about me either.”
We both laugh, and the room feels lighter.
For a moment, it’s almost like we’re kids again instead of two grown men carrying way too much on their shoulders and two sons watching their father die from a vicious and unforgiving disease.
We’re just brothers again, without all the complicated bullshit that’s gotten in the way of that over the years.
But the feeling vanishes as quickly as it arrives when we hear a car pull into the driveway.
Truett stands and glances out the window, then breathes out a heavy sigh as he meets my gaze. “Nurse is here.”
The coffee in my hand suddenly tastes bitter and a wave of nausea swirls in my gut. My mouth dries as I stand.
“You don’t have to come down,” he offers.
I appreciate the offer. He can probably see the unease written all over my face.
And it would be so easy for me to stay right here and hide.
Pretend everything is fine, like I’ve done for years.
I’ve gotten pretty good at both, after all.
But instead, I set my mug down on the desk and walk toward the door.
“No.” I clear my throat. “No. I’ll come with you.”
Truett studies me for a moment, like he’s trying to figure out if I mean it, then nods. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
My heart thrashes against my ribs as we head downstairs and into the living room, where a woman, probably my age, is waiting.
Her name is Jennifer, according to the badge clipped to her scrub top, and she’s got a friendly smile and kind eyes.
The type of person I would imagine makes difficult things seem less terrifying.
Dad’s sitting in his recliner when we enter, and Christ. Christmas wasn’t that long ago, but I can visibly tell how much he’s declined since then. The weight loss, the hollow cheeks, the way his clothes fit him differently now. He’s smaller, and he looks so…frail. My father has never been frail.
When I was six, he carried a full-grown calf across a muddy pasture because it had broken its leg.
Then, when I was ten, he spent an entire weekend helping me rebuild an old pickup truck engine because I wanted to understand how it worked.
And when I was fourteen, he sat in the pouring rain for nearly four hours while I learned to rope because I was stubborn and refused to quit.
Back when I thought I’d grow up to be a rodeo cowboy.
My dad has always been larger than life in my eyes. The strongest man I’ve ever known.
And now, cancer sits where that man used to be. It’s chilling.
He glances up as we step into the room. “Look who finally showed up.”
The familiar gruffness in his voice nearly breaks me.
I force a smile. “Miss me?”
“Not particularly,” he drawls.
Jennifer laughs softly, probably assuming he’s joking. But I’m not so sure.
Our relationship has never been the same since the accident. Not that it was all that great in the years leading up to it. When I was little, I was my dad’s buddy. I’d follow him everywhere and want to do everything he did. We had a great relationship.
Until we didn’t.
The appointment is routine, according to Truett.
She takes Dad’s vitals, reviews the medication list, and asks question upon question, my father becoming increasingly more annoyed with each one—all things I’ve become painfully familiar with over the last few days since Truett gave me the rundown.
The cancer has progressed since his surgery; doctors say there are no longer any treatments expected to stop or reverse the disease, and at this point, the focus isn’t about curing the cancer but keeping Dad comfortable and managing his symptoms. But knowing what to expect and actually seeing it—somebody caring for your parent the way they once cared for you—are completely different things.
There’s something so unnatural about it, something so deeply unfair.
You always know your parents will get older and, eventually, die, but nothing can prepare you for when it’s time to actually face that.
And knowing that my brother has been witnessing this much longer than I have has me feeling like the biggest piece of shit.
My issues with my father aside, I should’ve been here for Truett and I wasn’t.
By the time Jennifer leaves, I’m emotionally wrung out. I make Dad some lunch while Truett helps him back into bed, but he drifts off before I can bring it to him. Apparently, the medication makes him sleepy.