Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Chesney
“Can you set the table while I get Dad out here?”
Heaving a sigh, I nod, already dreading whatever this meal is about to entail.
Since being back in town, it’s not often that I eat a meal with my dad.
Mostly because he tends to eat dinner before I get home.
I left Wind River earlier than I normally do today because Wade ran into an issue with the flooring at the cabins that couldn’t be resolved until tomorrow morning.
I hate how uncomfortable it feels sharing a meal with my father.
It shouldn’t be like that, but it is. Spending time with Truett isn’t so bad.
We’ve gotten closer since I’ve been back, and I didn’t realize how much I needed that.
I feel like shit that I can’t say the same about my dad.
The man is sick. He’s dying, for Christ’s sake, and I still can’t figure out a way to have a normal conversation with him.
“Can you at least try to not look so miserable about this?” Truett asks as he passes behind me.
“No promises,” I mutter, not bothering to look back at him.
I’m in a piss-poor mood, and I’m irritating even myself.
It’s more than just having to sit around the table with my father.
It’s working on the ranch. Sleeping in my old room.
Being so far away from the garage. Being around Jasper—having to see his face almost every single day, discussing logistics and business with him.
It’s everything about being back in this goddamn town.
I woke up in a bad mood, and it’s only gotten progressively worse throughout the day.
And not because anything went wrong—well, aside from the mishap with the flooring earlier—but that’s part of the problem.
Generally speaking, things are going…well.
The renovation is ahead of schedule, the numbers are starting to make sense, and I feel really good about the work I’m doing.
Yet somehow, all of that makes everything worse.
Because every step forward, every little win, means I’m more invested.
I’ve worked hard over the years to distance myself from this town, the ranch, and everyone and everything that comes along with it.
Becoming invested in the future of Wind River means getting attached to a place I have no business caring about. And caring about anything related to Jasper Smith will never end well for me. The longer I’m here, the longer I’m working toward the success of that ranch, the more trapped I’ll become.
And I can already feel it growing inside me.
I can envision the success of the dude ranch; I see our plan working.
I can see us making it through this year, but what I don’t know is if I’ll make it through unscathed.
If I’ll be able to leave this town all over again once we’re done and go back to my normal life.
One that doesn’t involve my father, or this house.
One that doesn’t center around Jasper. I barely made it when I walked away the first time; I don’t know if I have the strength to do it again.
It takes Truett a while to get Dad to the table. According to my brother, he’s having a good day. For him, that just means he’s been awake more and wants to move around.
After we dish up, Truett talks about cattle feed costs and upcoming appointments.
Dad listens from the head of the table. Or tries to.
I hardly recognize him. You’d think the longer I’m here, the more I’d get used to this new version of him, but that’s not the case.
Sitting around this table, like I did when I was younger, feels so unnatural.
It feels wrong. Like I’m sitting with a stranger.
And I guess I kind of am. I couldn’t tell you the first thing about my dad these days, other than what I’ve witnessed since arriving back in town.
I couldn’t name a single hobby, TV show, or movie he’s been into over the years.
Couldn’t tell you his favorite beverage.
I don’t know who this man is. But he doesn’t know who I am either.
“Three cabins by the end of the month would be huge,” Truett says when we get on the topic of Wind River.
I nod. “Wade’s a machine.”
“And you’re not?”
I shoot my brother a look, and he grins.
Dad watches the exchange silently for a moment.
Then mutters, “Still can’t believe you’re helping them.
” Silence settles over us, the room tenser than it was a moment ago.
Here we fucking go. Since finding out about the inheritance of the ranch months ago, my father’s voiced his distaste for my decision more than once.
I guess having a ‘good day’ also means he has the energy to voice that tonight.
My gaze cuts over to my dad as I set my fork down. “Helping us,” I correct.
His jaw tightens, and he refuses to look at me. “I don’t care what way you try to spin it. At the end of the day, it’s the goddamn Smiths you’re helping.”
I close my eyes and count to three in my head. Then five. Then ten. None of it helps. “That’s not what this is, and you know that.”
“Sure looks that way,” he tosses back.
Truett sighs. “Dad—”
“No. Don’t. I spent my entire fucking life watching that family—”
“Watching what?” I cut in, more harshly than I intended. My father stares at me, his gaze narrow and his face already beet-red, and I stare right back, standing my ground. Old, familiar frustration builds inside me and, suddenly, it’s like I’m fourteen all over again.
“Chesney.” My brother’s warning tone does absolutely nothing to ease the tension.
“What, Truett? What?” Something in me snaps as I look directly at my father again.
“What did they do that’s so unforgivable?
What could have possibly happened that you’ve spent your entire life holding this pathetic grudge?
God, this is so fucking stupid! It’s nothing but an elephant in the room that nobody’s ever been allowed to talk about.
Do you realize how silly that sounds? How silly you sound, all these years later, still bitter as ever. Learn to let shit go. My god.”
I push my chair back, the legs scraping across the hardwood floor.
“Sit down,” my dad grits out.
Huffing out a laugh lacking humor, I shake my head. “I’m not hungry anymore.”
It’s not true, but I can’t stand being in this room. Not with him and all this mysterious history. It’s been twenty years since the first—and only—time I asked, and I still have no idea.
Dad’s voice follows me toward the doorway. “Don’t you fucking walk away from me.”
I make the mistake of stopping for half a second and turning around, regretting it immediately. He looks old, and sick, and nothing like the intimidating man he once was in my eyes. Guilt crashes into me, and I know he sees it. The anger leaves his face, replaced with something worse… Sadness.
“I don’t want you getting hurt.” The confession catches me off guard. This conversation is giving me whiplash. Exhaling slowly, he adds, “I never wanted that.”
My throat tightens. Looking at him now, hearing the softness in his voice, I see the man I once looked up to again.
It’s brief, but it’s there. The man who used to wait up when I came home late.
The man who sat beside my hospital bed when I broke my arm at eleven.
The one who taught me to drive. The man who’s disappearing a little more every day.
“I know,” I say. Then I grab my keys and leave before anybody can say anything else.
Getting into my truck, I have no real destination in mind.
All I know is that I need to clear my head, and I’ll never be able to do that inside that house.
Ten minutes later, I pull into a parking spot in front of The Broken Horn, a small hole-in-the-wall dive bar that’s been here longer than I’ve been alive.
Stepping inside, it’s apparent this place hasn’t changed a bit. It’s got the same neon signs, the same old country songs playing from the same rickety jukebox, and the same locals sit in the same seats they’ve occupied for over thirty years. It’s half comforting, half depressing.
I slide onto a stool at the far end of the counter and order a bourbon.
The bartender sets it in front of me, and I waste no time taking a long sip.
Then another. It burns going down, but it helps take a little bit of the edge off.
Not as much as I’d like, but enough to feel like I can breathe again.
Everything’s piling up quicker than I can keep up, and it’s suffocating.
Dad. The ranch—both of them. The cabins. Jasper.
Especially Jasper.
My brain latches onto his name. It’s doing that a lot lately.
Coming here, I knew I was going to have to see him.
I was prepared for it. What I wasn’t prepared for are the little moments here and there when I find myself opening up to him.
The moments when my walls slip just a little before I even realize it’s happening.
The goal was to bide my time, do what I needed to do, and interact with Jasper as little as possible.
And for a while in the beginning, I did a pretty good job, even with the incident in the office.
But then the other night happened down by the creek, and it made me feel something I haven’t felt in almost twenty years.
I know thinking about him isn’t going to get me anywhere good.
Spending time with him won’t either. Because no matter how hard I try not to notice him, try not to remember things, try not to compare the man he is now to the boy I knew back then, it’s impossible.
My brain won’t let me, and I don’t know what to do with that.
The stool beside me scrapes. I glance up, then curse under my breath and consider leaving. Speak of the fucking devil. Apparently, the universe hates me today because Jasper Smith slides onto the seat beside me like my thoughts alone made him appear out of thin air.
Of course.
His dark gaze meets mine. He freezes, and for a moment, neither of us says anything. Nor do we look away. “Jennings,” he finally mutters.