11. Nash
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Nash
If you’ve never tried to walk a lie into your mother’s house and set it down on the table as if it’s a casserole, I don’t recommend it.
It’s cold enough outside that the snow squeaks under my boots, the kind of cold that makes your nostrils stick together when you breathe in too hard. Buckhorn Ranch sits ahead of us, lights warm in the windows, the porch light throwing a soft yellow circle onto the steps.
Home.
Safe.
Except it isn’t, because I’m about to introduce Tessa Long as my fiancée, and I can already hear Boone’s silence sharpening.
Tessa stands confidently by my truck. Coat buttoned neat, braid tight, chin lifted. The ring catches the porch light when she shifts her hand, a flash of gold with old weight behind it.
It looks oddly perfect.
My stomach churns with regret.
“You look like you’re about to confess to a crime,” Tessa says, eyes on the house, tone calm.
“I am,” I mutter. “Multiple crimes.”
She finally turns her head. The look she gives me is the same one she used to give in high school when I’d try to wing an answer I hadn’t studied for.
Clinical. Unimpressed. Weirdly steadying.
“Breathe,” she says.
“I am breathing.”
“You’re breathing like a man sprinting uphill.”
“I feel like I’m sprinting uphill,” I say. “Except the hill is my mother.”
A tiny twitch of her mouth.
“We go in,” she says. “We say hello. We act normal.”
“That’s a lot to ask.”
Her eyes flick up and down my face, taking inventory. “Then try ‘polite.’ It’s adjacent.”
I blow out a breath, shove my hands in my coat pockets, and start up the steps. Tessa moves with me without hurrying, without hesitating, matching my pace with ease.
The door swings open before I can even plan my next move.
Rose stands there with Wyatt on her hip, cheeks flushed from warm kitchen heat and toddler disarray. Her eyes go straight to me, then to Tessa, then to the ring, and her face lights up.
“Nash,” she breathes.
Faith appears behind her shoulder. “Oh wow.”
“Hi,” I say, because I’m an idiot and that’s all I’ve got.
Rusty waddles into view with a grunt, red heeler body, eyes already judging. He sniffs my boots, then immediately turns and sniffs Tessa’s.
Tessa doesn’t flinch. She crouches a little, hand low and open.
Rusty sniffs, huffs, then leans into her fingers. He’s decided she can stay.
I stare at my dog.
“Traitor,” I whisper.
Rusty grunts again.
Rose shifts Wyatt, smiling so hard it might hurt. “Come in. Come in. Maggie’s going to—”
“Lose her mind,” Faith supplies, grinning at me. “In a good way.”
I want to believe that.
I step inside.
Warm air hits me. The smell of chicken roasting. Rose’s cooking always smells incredible. Somewhere down the hall, Ellie’s laughter rings out, light and bright. The house hums with family noise: clinking dishes, Boone talking fast, Dallas answering slow.
Normal.
McCoy normal.
Which is exactly why my chest tightens.
Because there’s nothing normal about what I’m doing.
Mom is in the dining room, setting plates with the kind of precision that means she’s been “casually” arranging things for at least twenty minutes. She looks up.
And freezes.
Everything in her stills, hands, shoulders, the air around her.
Her gaze drops.
To the ring.
Then lifts.
“Oh,” she says softly.
That single word has more weight than the whole town council meeting.
“Hi, Mom,” I say, too bright, too fast.
Tessa steps forward. She’s been waiting for this exact beat.
“Mrs. McCoy,” she says warmly. “Thank you for having me.”
Maggie’s eyes narrow slightly, just enough to show she’s thinking. “Tessa Long.”
“Yes,” Tessa says, and her smile is polite but not small.
Maggie looks at me again. I can feel my pulse in my throat.
“This is…” Maggie starts.
“My fiancée,” I blurt, because if I don’t get it out, I might explode.
Silence.
Then Faith makes a sound, choking on excitement.
“Oh wow,” she whispers again, as if the first one didn’t cover it.
Rose’s hand flies to her mouth. “I knew this was going to be wild.”
“You did not,” I say automatically.
Rose’s eyes glitter. “You’ve been humming.”
I glare. “I don’t hum.”
Dallas drifts in from the kitchen, calm as a fence post. “You hum.”
“Everybody stop talking,” I mutter.
Tessa’s hand slides lightly onto my forearm.
Just a touch.
Just enough.
My shoulders ease without my permission.
Mom steps closer and extends her hand to Tessa. It’s the handshake of a woman who has held this ranch together with stubbornness and grit and sheer will.
Tessa takes it without flinching.
They hold each other’s grip for a beat too long, both of them measuring.
Then Mom’s face shifts into what kinda might be approval.
Relief hits me so fast it almost knocks me backward.
“Well,” Mom says, “you’re welcome here.”
Faith bounces on the balls of her feet, seconds from combusting. “Okay. How long have you been engaged?”
“We’re… newly,” I say, because that’s a word, apparently.
Rose squeals. “Did he propose in some dramatic way?”
“No,” I say quickly.
Tessa answers at the same time, “It was private.”
Her voice is calm. Her smile is easy. She slides her hand into mine as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
My brain short-circuits.
Her hand is warm. Her fingers fit. And my whole body goes tight and hot. I squeeze back before I can stop myself. Tessa’s thumb strokes once over my knuckle. A tiny movement. A quiet signal.
Boone appears in the doorway, a shadow made of shoulders and suspicion. He takes in the scene in one sweep: Tessa, the ring, our joined hands, and his gaze lands on me.
Boone doesn’t react the way normal people do. He just looks.
And he might as well be reading my insides.
“Congratulations,” he says.
Dallas leans against the counter, Lila half hidden behind him, watching with those sharp little eyes she uses on strangers. Dallas’s expression stays calm, but his eyes are awake.
Too awake.
Ellie slips into the room behind Rose, peeking around her mom’s side. Her gaze goes straight to Tessa’s ring.
“Is that real?” Ellie asks.
Tessa’s whole expression softens. She crouches just a little, bringing herself down to Ellie’s level without making a show of it.
“It’s real,” Tessa says gently. “Do you want to see?”
Ellie nods, excitedly.
Wyatt toddles in behind her, points at the ring, and declares, “Shiny.”
Faith snorts. Rose might cry. Maggie watches, and her face loosens around the edges. Emotion I haven’t seen much since Dad died.
Tessa holds her hand while Ellie leans closer, careful not to touch. As if it’s a museum piece.
And in that moment, the lie feels… dangerously close to becoming more.
Dinner happens whether I’m ready or not.
Plates clink. Chairs scrape. Wyatt tries to steal food from everyone’s plate. Rusty tries to steal food from Wyatt. Faith talks enough for three people. Rose keeps feeding everyone as if it’s her job to make sure we’re all still alive and functioning.
Maggie asks Tessa questions. Subtle ones. Safe ones. What she’s doing at work, how her grandmother is.
Tessa answers as if she’s been training for this her whole life.
She laughs at Faith’s jokes at the right moments. She compliments Rose’s cooking. She listens when Mom speaks.
And she touches me, writing a language onto my skin.
A hand on my arm when I start talking too fast.
A shoulder bump when I get defensive.
A light squeeze of my fingers when my mother says something kind, and my throat tightens. I’m twelve again and don’t know what to do with feeling seen.
I hate how much it helps.
I hate how good she is at this.
I hate that I’m watching her and thinking, I don’t deserve her pretending.
Because she’s not just convincing my family, she’s convincing parts of me I’ve never been able to talk into believing.
That I can be strong.
That I can be chosen.
That I can walk into my own house and not be the unreliable one everyone braces for.
Boone watches.
He doesn’t say much, but every time Tessa’s hand lands on me, his gaze flicks there. He’s not buying what I’m selling, but he’s willing to watch the product.
Dallas stays quiet. Lila stays close to him, eyes tracking Tessa, figuring out whether she’s safe.
At one point, Faith leans over and stage whispers to Rose, “He’s blushing.”
“I am not,” I say automatically.
Rose grins. “You’re blushing.”
“I’m… warm,” I protest.
Faith’s eyes sparkle. “You’re in love.”
I choke on my water.
Tessa pats my back as if she’s soothing a child.
My mother watches me with a small, satisfied smile.
And that’s the worst part.
Because Mom looks happy.
Genuinely happy.
She’s been waiting for me to bring someone home.
The lie sits heavier.
At the end of dinner, Ellie runs off and comes back with a piece of paper held carefully in both hands.
Her cheeks are flushed with excitement.
“Uncle Nash,” she says solemnly, “I made you something.”
My chest tightens because Ellie calls me Uncle Nash when she’s trying to be serious, and it kills me every time.
She holds up the paper.
It’s a drawing. Stick figures—two tall ones, a little one, and a dog that looks suspiciously like a potato. Above them all hovers a giant ring.
“This is you and Tessa getting married,” Ellie announces proudly. “And this is your dog, and he’s being good.”
Rusty grunts under the table, offended.
Faith makes a strangled noise. Rose presses a hand to her mouth again. Mom’s eyes shine, trying not to show it. Boone’s eyebrows lift. Dallas’s mouth twitches, almost smiling.
I stare at the picture.
My throat goes tight.
Because Ellie drew it as if it’s inevitable, real, and the future makes sense.
Tessa steps closer, takes the paper carefully, and smiles at Ellie in a way that is so soft it almost hurts to see.
“It’s beautiful,” she says. “Thank you.”
Ellie beams and runs off excitedly.
Tessa hands the picture back to me.
Our fingers brush.
My pulse spikes. I’m seventeen again, and she’s standing too close to her locker, smelling of clean soap and determination, making me feel I need to either win or run.
I don’t do either.
I just stand there, holding the drawing. Holding the lie.
Holding the strange, sharp awareness that Tessa Long is in my house and somehow making it feel steadier.
Maggie crosses the room and squeezes my arm once.
“I’m glad,” she says quietly, so only I can hear. “I’m glad you’re not alone.”
My chest tightens so hard I can’t breathe.
Because I am alone.
I force a smile. “Yeah.”
Tessa’s hand slides to my back, just for a heartbeat. She heard my mother’s words. She felt the way they hit me.
Boone watches that too.
His gaze narrows a fraction.
He knows something’s off.
I don’t know what gives it away, me, her, the way my smile is a little too practiced, the way Tessa’s calm is almost too perfect, but Boone clocks weak fences the way other people clock weather.
And right now, he’s watching for the break.
Tessa looks up at me, and I swear she’s not acting at all.
She’s here, with me, in the middle of the mess, and that does something to my chest that I don’t have a name for.
I swallow hard, set Ellie’s drawing carefully on the counter, and look back at my family. My mother’s softened pride, Rose’s bright warmth, Faith’s delighted joy, Dallas’s quiet watchfulness, Lila’s wary eyes, Boone’s suspicion.
Then I look at Tessa Long, my fake fiancée, my enemy, my rival, my problem.
And I realize something that makes my stomach drop even harder than the lie did.
She’s better at this than I am.
And I don’t just need her to be.
I want her to keep touching me as if it means something.
Which is a whole different kind of disaster.