Chapter 23 Carson
TWENTY-THREE
CARSON
At one point, Lennon not saying I love you back would’ve bothered me, especially when I’m the one who said it first. But over the past few weeks that we’ve hung out, I’ve come to realize a few things about her.
She cares deeply, and for some people, that’s a vulnerability they can’t easily let others see.
Although she’s in her twenties, she’s spent most of her life being an adult, the same way Jesse has for us, and she’s probably burned out.
The people who were supposed to care about her and love her with no conditions very much had not.
So I’m not shocked that she didn’t say it back.
“Sorry I’m late,” I apologize to the guys when I get downstairs to put on my outer layers and shoes. They’re already dressed and ready to go.
“No problem,” Jesse says. “The snow has almost stopped, and I got up early so I’ve plowed a path.”
“If that’s the case, y’all can go ahead, and I’ll catch up.”
I don’t want them waiting for me when they could go ahead and get started.
“Are you sure?” Devlin looks down at me, eyebrows raised.
“Positive. I’ll just be a few minutes.”
The truth is, I want to be by myself for a moment. I want to sit with the fact that I told a woman I love her, she didn’t respond, and I’m truly okay with it. This is progress for me, and I need to recognize that.
“All right. See you out there.”
The door swings shut behind them, and the house goes quiet in a way that only happens after a fresh snowfall. I take my time putting on my boots to make sure everything is covered, so no snow can get in.
I pull my heavy canvas jacket off the hook by the door and shrug into it, tugging the collar up around my neck before I yank my knit cap down over my ears.
When I push out the back door, the air hits me hard enough to steal the breath from my lungs.
Jesse wasn’t lying. He’s carved a wide path through the snow from the house down to the barn, snow piled high on either side.
My breath fogs in front of me as I walk, boots crunching steadily against the packed trail.
By the time I get to the barn and pull the heavy door open, the smell of everything that’s familiar wraps around me. It’s one of those smells I’ve grown up in, and no matter what’s going on in my head, stepping into a barn has a way of quieting things down.
Jesse has already got a wheelbarrow going at the far end. Devlin is working the middle stalls, checking water lines and kicking old hay back from the gates. Neither of them says anything when I walk in, which I appreciate more than they probably know.
I grab a pitchfork off the wall and get to work.
We don’t have any cows presenting symptoms this morning.
There are no signs of labor, no heifers restless and pacing.
There are signs that Nora was out here at some point, but the fact that she isn’t still here is a good thing.
We work our way through the stalls, clearing out the wet bedding from the night before and pitching down fresh hay from the loft.
I can do this on autopilot, and that’s exactly what I need.
I work my way through the last stall on my side, spreading hay in long, even sweeps. The repetition of it reminds me of being a kid doing this. I hated it. It was the most boring job in the world, but right now, I’m glad to have it. My arms are burning a little, and that feels good too.
“Hey.”
I glance up. Devlin is leaning against the gate of the empty stall across from me, arms folded over the top rail, watching me closely.
He’s the brother who can constantly tell when you’ve got something on your mind.
He’s got the look on his face that I hate.
It’s the same one he had when I wrecked my first truck at seventeen and tried to pretend I was fine about it.
One thing about him, though? He’s patient, always has been. He never pushes. He just waits you out.
“What?” I say, but it comes out easy, not defensive.
“You tell me,” he says, voice sardonic.
I set the pitchfork against the wall and pull my cap off, running a hand through my hair before I put it back on. I exhale slowly.
“I told Lennon I love her last night.”
Devlin doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react the way I half expected him to. He just nods once, his jaw working like he’s trying to figure out if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.
“She didn’t say it back,” I add, because it’s the part that sounds like it should matter, even if it doesn’t.
“Hm.” He’s quiet for a beat. “How are you with that?”
“Better than I thought I’d be,” I say and mean it. “She’s…I don’t know. I think she needed to hear it more than she needed to say it. If that makes sense.”
“It makes more sense than you probably realize.” He shifts his weight, glancing toward the far end of the barn like he’s looking to see how close Jesse is.
Even though Jesse took the lead when our parents died, Devlin is still the oldest, and he shouldered a lot of the burden by joining the military.
He sent back money that helped hold us over, and without that, we wouldn’t have made it.
“You know, being the oldest…” He reaches back, scratching his neck.
“There’s a huge responsibility that people don’t always see from the outside.
You’re watching out before you’re old enough to even know that’s what you’re doing.
And after a while, letting somebody in feels less like a gift and more like a risk you’re not sure you can afford. ”
I look at him. “You’re talking about yourself too.”
“I’m talking about both of us.” He cuts me a look that’s almost a smile. “Took me a long time to let my guard down. Lennon is carrying that same thing. It’s not that she doesn’t feel it, Carson. It’s that feeling it that big is terrifying when you’ve had to protect yourself your whole life.”
I think about what she told me. About her parents.
About growing up being the responsible one, the one who held things together when everything around her was coming apart at the seams. And I think about the way she’d looked at me in that quiet moment before the words left my mouth—like she already knew what I was going to say and was bracing herself for how heavy it would feel.
“I know,” I say. “I’m not waiting on her to say it back. I meant what I said, and that’s enough for me right now.”
Devlin is quiet for a moment. He picks up the pitchfork I set down and turns it over in his hands, not doing anything with it, just holding it to have something to do with his hands.
He’s obviously working out whatever it is he wants to say in his head, so I’m patient with him, the same way he’s always been with me.
“She loves you,” he says finally. “For what it’s worth, coming from me.”
I look at him.
“The way she looks at you.” He shakes his head and wears a smirk. “If there’s one thing being with Atlee has taught me, it’s not a thing you can fake, little brother. I’ve been around long enough to know the difference now.”
The fluttering in my stomach stops at those words. Not because I needed the confirmation. Somewhere underneath all of it, I already knew. But hearing it from Devlin, the man who doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean? It makes it real, and that’s all I need.
“You wouldn’t tell me that if you didn’t believe it,” I say.
“No,” he says simply. “I wouldn’t.”
He hands the pitchfork back to me and pushes off the gate, straightening up to his full height.
“Finish up this stall,” he says, back to business. Bossing me around in the way only he knows how. “Jesse found a water line that needs checking on the south end, and I need another set of hands.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll be right there.”
He walks away, and I stand there for a second in the quiet of the barn, hay dust floating slowly in the low morning light coming through the high windows. Everything else around us is still, and somewhere up in the house, Lennon is still sleeping in my bed.
I pick up the pitchfork and get back to work, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m carrying something I don’t know how or where to put down. Maybe I can make the roots that I’ve always been scared to.