5. Nash
CHAPTER FIVE
Nash
Dinner has never been this quiet.
Not the comfortable kind, either. Not the end of a long day hush where everyone’s too tired to talk. This is the sharp kind. The kind that presses in on your ears and makes you acutely aware of every scrape of a fork, every swallow, every breath you didn’t mean to take so loud.
We’re all here. Everyone.
Mom sits at the head of the table, back straight, hands folded, bracing for testimony. Boone’s to her right, solid as ever, shoulder brushing Rose’s. Rose is helping Ellie cut her chicken into neat little pieces while keeping one eye on Wyatt, who’s determined to launch peas across the table.
Dallas sits across from me, posture relaxed, eyes anything but. Faith’s beside him, nudging Lila to eat her carrots and shooting me looks that bounce between concern and barely contained curiosity.
Rusty lies under the table, directly at my feet, where he’s strategically positioned himself for maximum crumb interception. He sighs loudly. Even he can feel the tension.
They weren’t at the meeting.
I made sure of that.
But Buckhorn doesn’t wait for official announcements.
“So,” Mom says at last, setting her fork down with a little click. “When were you planning on telling us you were engaged?”
There it is.
My stomach drops as if I missed a step on the stairs.
I shift in my chair, the wood creaking under me, announcing my discomfort. “It all happened kind of fast.”
That’s not a lie. Just not the whole truth.
Faith raises an eyebrow. “Fast as in… today fast?”
Rose looks up, genuinely surprised. “You weren’t seeing anyone at Christmas.”
Ellie pauses mid-bite. “Uncle Nash, are you getting married?”
Wyatt bangs his spoon against the table, delighted by the word ‘married’, even if he has no idea what it means.
Rusty thumps his tail once, hopeful.
My chest tightens. This is not how I wanted them to find out. Or talk about it. Or look at me as if I’ve skipped several chapters of my own life.
“Who is she?” Mom asks.
Her voice is calm. Too calm. It’s the same voice she used when Clay first talked about leaving for the circuit. When Boone told her Ellie was his. When Dallas brought home paperwork instead of excuses.
I open my mouth.
Nothing comes out.
Boone watches me over his glass.
Boone has always been the bar. The standard. If he’s not disappointed yet, it’s because he’s giving me time to explain myself.
Dallas doesn’t need explanations. He just waits long enough for lies to trip over their own feet.
“I just didn’t want to make a big deal out of it,” I say finally, grasping for something that sounds reasonable.
“That ship has sailed,” Faith mutters, not unkindly.
Lila tilts her head, studying me. “Do we know her?”
“Yes,” I say immediately.
Too quickly.
Every adult at the table looks at me.
Great. Perfect. Outstanding work, Nash.
Rose smiles. She believes in people the way some folks believe in gravity. Faith believes in effort, in fixing things before they break.
Rose murmurs. “She must be special.”
My chest twists.
Because that’s the problem. This lie would be easier if it didn’t touch something real. If I didn’t want that word to fit someday. If I wasn’t so tired of being the one people laugh with but don’t lean on.
Mom folds her hands. “You could have told us.”
I picture her disappointment settling in. That recalculation behind her eyes, the one that says she expected better of me.
I didn’t want to be a screw-up.
I wanted them to take me seriously.
I picture Boone’s disappointment if I say it out loud. Dallas’s quiet concern. Mom’s silence… the worst kind, the kind that says she’s already shifting who she thought I was.
I’ve spent my whole life being the fun one. The idea guy. The one with big plans and unfinished edges.
I can’t be that guy again. Not tonight.
But as I part my lips, with no clue what’s about to come out of my mouth, Wyatt lets out a delighted shriek and slams both hands on the table.
“Peas!” he announces.
Before Rose can react, he sweeps his arm across his plate.
Green arcs through the air.
One lands in Boone’s water glass. Another hits Faith’s sleeve. A third bounces directly off Rusty’s nose.
Rusty startles, then immediately decides this is the best thing that’s ever happened. He lunges forward, scrambling under the table, tail wagging so hard it thumps against chair legs.
“Nash—” Mom starts.
“Rusty, no—” Rose says at the same time.
Ellie gasps. “Wyatt!”
Lila laughs. Full belly laugh. “The dog ate the peas!”
Wyatt claps, thrilled by the madness he’s unleashed.
Rusty’s head pops up beside my knee, triumphant, pea stuck to his whiskers.
Faith groans. “Great. Now he’s going to think this is dinner theater.”
Boone reaches for a napkin, calm as ever, fishing peas out of his glass. “Five-second rule doesn’t apply to beverages.”
Mom exhales, already grabbing paper towels. “Rose, I’ve got it.”
Rose’s mouth twitches. “He’s been practicing that arm all day.”
The tension fractures. Not gone, but cracked enough to breathe through.
“I should probably head out,” I say, pushing my chair back. “Early morning tomorrow.”
It’s a weak exit. I know it the second the words leave my mouth.
Mom’s gaze sharpens. “Nash—”
“I’ll explain,” I say quickly. “Soon. I just… need some air.”
Boone doesn’t stop me. Dallas’s eyes follow me as I stand. Faith might want to say something, but decides against it. Rose gives me a small, encouraging smile that somehow makes it worse.
Ellie waves. “Bye, Uncle Nash.”
“Night, kiddo,” I say, forcing a smile.
Wyatt squeals. Rusty noses my boot hopefully.
I grab my coat and head for the door before anyone can press harder.
Outside, the cold hits my face. I breathe it in, trying to calm the mess in my chest.
What the hell did I just do?
I wanted them to believe in me.
I wanted to prove I wasn’t just all talk.
Instead, I’ve backed myself into the tightest corner of my life, and I have no idea how I’m supposed to get out. But right now, I do need a drink…
I drive into town with the radio off, headlights slicing through the dark. Every red light daring me to turn around. I don’t. I keep going, because sitting alone with my thoughts feels more dangerous than any bar.
The place is already half full when I push through the door. Warmth hits me first. Then the smell. Beer, old wood, a hint of smoke that never quite leaves. Laughter hums under the music, familiar and low.
I slide onto a stool and signal for a whiskey.
Make it a good one.
I’ve barely taken the first swallow when I feel eyes on me. Not subtle. Buckhorn never is.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Penny Tucker says from two stools down, turning toward me with a grin that’s way too bright. “If it isn’t Buckhorn’s most eligible fiancé.”
I choke on my drink. “That was fast.”
She laughs. “Small town. You should know better by now.”
Before I can respond, Becca Haskins appears at my elbow. She’s dressed up, hair curled, eyes shining.
“Congratulations,” she says, a little breathless. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”
“Uh… yeah,” I say, which is not an answer at all.
Tommy Greene lifts his beer in my direction from the high top where he’s standing with Laura Tucker. Laura’s tucked into his side, smiling gleefully.
“Didn’t see that one coming,” Tommy says.
Laura laughs. “None of us did.”
Sheriff Tate Carson raises his glass from the corner booth. “Guess that means we won’t be seeing you around here as much, huh?”
The questions start stacking up faster than I can dodge them.
“Who is she?”
“How long’s it been?”
“Is she from Buckhorn?”
“When’s the wedding?”
I do what I always do. Grin, shrug, deflect.
“She’s… great,” I say.
“It’s still new.”
“No date yet.”
Half-truths wrapped in charm. The old routine.
I knock back the rest of my whiskey and signal for another, my pulse still racing as if I’m mid-freefall. This is worse than dinner. At least my family knows me well enough to sense when I’m lying. These people just want a story.
And I can feel it slipping out of my hands. Every version already mutating. Every detail I don’t give being replaced with one someone else will.
Becca watches me over the rim of her glass, disappointment flickering across her face before she smooths it away. Penny is clearly already planning who to tell next.
I take a long drink, letting the burn settle in my chest.
Maybe this was a mistake.
Maybe I should’ve told the truth back at the table.
Maybe…
The bar door swings open.
Cold rushes in, slicing through the warmth and noise.
I feel it before I see anything.
A shift. A pull. My shoulders tense. My grip tightens on the glass. The room seems to tilt, just slightly—my balance has gone off without warning.
I glance toward the door.
Dark coat. Snow dusted boots. Confident stride that doesn’t hesitate, even with half the room turning to look.
For one stupid heartbeat, my brain supplies the wrong answer.
Not her.
Then she steps fully into the light.
Tessa Long.
My breath catches so hard it actually hurts.
Her hair is braided tight, same as always, but her cheeks are flushed from the cold, her eyes bright and alert, taking in the room.
My pulse spikes, loud and insistent, my body’s sounding an alarm my mind didn’t authorize.
This is not how I wanted to see her again after that meeting.
This is not how I wanted to feel.
She pauses just inside the doorway, scanning the bar. The second her gaze lands on me, electricity snaps through my chest.
Locked.
There’s no mistaking it this time.
Her eyes narrow in recognition.
She’s found exactly what she came for.
My stomach drops. My skin goes tight. Heat curls low and unwelcome, completely at odds with the panic chasing it.
Of all the nights.
Of all the places.
Maeve O’Connell steps in beside her, already clocking the room, already grinning as if this is better than whatever she’d expected.
I lift my glass without meaning to, hand moving on instinct alone, heart hammering against my ribs, trying to escape.
Because if there is one person in Buckhorn who will not let this lie slide…
It’s Tessa Long.