29. Nash
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Nash
If I’ve learned anything about myself lately, it’s that I make terrible decisions in three specific scenarios:
Tonight, I manage to hit the trifecta.
The barn dance is loud and warm, full of people who have known me my whole life and still somehow manage to look at me like a new rumor.
String lights soften everything more than it deserves, and the fiddle music is fast enough to keep you from thinking too hard while the chili is spicy enough to make you drink more than you meant to.
And I am, apparently, a man who thinks the solution to my life actively unraveling is to stand at the bar and pretend bourbon is going to stitch it back together.
Dallas stands beside me, nursing a beer, practically doing math with every sip, while Boone talks to Sheriff Tate Carson a few feet away, posture relaxed but eyes still scanning the room because he’s a man who can’t turn it off.
Clay still isn’t here. He’s still on the circuit, living his best reckless life somewhere else while I get to deal with the consequences of being the brother who stayed.
Lucky me.
I tip my glass back and swallow.
It burns.
It doesn’t help.
Faith appears as a cheerleader with a mission, laughing too loud and dragging Rose toward the dance floor again. Maggie is in conversation with Virgil Tucker, her expression tight the way it gets when she’s listening to something she doesn’t like but refuses to show it.
And Tessa…
I find her without meaning to.
She’s on the edge of the crowd near Maeve, cup of cider in hand, posture straight and composed, holding herself together with nails and stubbornness. She belongs and doesn’t belong at the same time.
She’s not watching me, which is probably good. Except it makes my chest feel hollow.
I take another drink.
That’s when Boone’s hand lands on my shoulder.
“You doing alright?” he asks.
I swallow, then give him my best grin. “Never better.”
Boone doesn’t laugh. He just looks at me, measuring the weight behind my words.
“Where’s your fiancée?”
The word hits wrong.
Fiancée.
A costume we’re all pretending fits.
I glance toward Tessa again. “Over there.”
Boone’s gaze follows mine, then returns. “You two have been weird all night.”
I scoff. “We’re always weird.”
“You keep saying that, but you know what I mean.”
Yeah.
I do.
I take another sip to buy time. “I’m fine.”
Boone’s eyes narrow. “Nash.”
My stomach tightens. “What?”
“If something’s wrong, stop trying to carry it alone.”
That lands too close.
Because the truth is, I am carrying it alone: the land, the stalling, the surveys, the way the council’s eyes went cold.
And then there’s Tessa.
The worst part is, she’s the only one I want to talk to about any of it.
Which makes no sense, because she’s the one person I shouldn’t want.
Boone’s gaze holds mine. “You hear me?”
I nod too fast. “Yeah.”
He doesn’t move.
I force a laugh. “Boone, I’m twenty-three, not thirteen. I can handle my own feelings.”
Boone’s mouth twitches. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”
“What are you worried about?”
Boone’s eyes flick toward Tessa again, then back. “That you’re about to do something stupid.”
I snort. “You mean like ruining things with my fiancée?”
Boone’s expression hardens. “Yeah.”
My throat goes dry.
He doesn’t know. Not the full scope. The journal, Juniper House, the line I’m standing on that might not even be mine.
But he knows something.
And suddenly I can’t breathe in this barn full of warmth and eyes and noise.
“I need some air,” I say.
Boone studies me, then nods once. “Don’t wander.”
“I won’t,” I lie.
I slip away from the bar before he can stop me.
Outside, the cold slaps me hard enough it’s almost mercy, the night sharp and the snow reflecting the string lights from inside the barn. I breathe in slowly, trying to reset my nervous system. I’m a machine that just needs recalibration.
I hear the barn door creak behind me.
I turn.
Tessa steps out, coat buttoned, braid tight, cheeks flushed from the warmth inside, and her eyes narrow the second she sees me.
“Running away?” she asks.
I huff a laugh. “Strategic retreat.”
She steps closer, boots crunching on snow. “You’ve been drinking.”
“Observation skills.”
Her gaze flicks to my glass. “How much?”
“Not enough,” I mutter, then regret it immediately.
Tessa’s jaw tightens. “Nash.”
The way she says my name is a warning. It should make me behave, but doesn’t.
I stare at her, the cold air between us, and all I can think is that I want to touch her.
Not in the way we touch in public for the town, the act, but for me, the part of me that’s tired of pretending.
“You okay?”
The question cracks me open.
Because I’m not okay. Not even close.
But if I say that, I’ll have to explain why.
And if I start talking, I might not stop.
So instead, I do what I always do.
I deflect.
“You stalking me?”
Tessa’s mouth twitches. “I came out to breathe, and you were here looking like you were about to throw yourself into the snow.”
“Tempting.”
She crosses her arms. “You’re struggling, I think.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re spiraling.”
I snort. “We just did this an hour ago.”
Tessa takes a step closer, eyes sharp. “Something happened.”
I swallow.
Tessa exhales slowly, trying to keep her own emotions contained. “We need to talk about this.”
My chest tightens. “Not here.”
Her brows lift slightly. “Where, then? In the middle of the barn where Clara Jenkins can hear us breathe?”
I huff. “No.”
Tessa studies me for a beat, then turns slightly, gesturing toward the dark road beyond the rodeo grounds.
“Walk,” she says.
And somehow, I follow her as if I’ve been ordered.
We move away from the barn, boots crunching on snow, music fading behind us.
Old Mill Road stretches out ahead, narrow and dark, lined with bare trees and fences half buried in drifts. It’s quieter out here, the kind of quiet that makes you hear your own heartbeat.
Mine is loud.
Tessa keeps her hands in her coat pockets, posture stiff as ever, but I can see tension in the set of her shoulders.
“You’re drinking because you’re upset,” she says after a moment.
I laugh softly. “No, I’m drinking because I’m a cliché.”
Tessa shoots me a look. “Nash.”
I exhale. “Fine. Yes.”
She nods once. “About the ranch.”
“About everything,” I admit.
Tessa’s gaze shifts ahead, focused on the road, probably afraid to look at me too long.
“Tell me,” she says.
And that’s the thing.
She says it as if she can handle it.
I wonder if she can take whatever I’m carrying and not flinch.
Which is exactly why I want to tell her.
And exactly why I shouldn’t.
“The council’s stalling,” I say. “They want surveys. And a county review. They’re calling it ‘precaution.’”
Tessa’s jaw tightens. “That’s not precaution. That’s fear.”
I snort, bitter. “Welcome to Buckhorn.”
“And Hank Lawson?”
My hand tightens around my empty glass. “He’s enjoying it.”
Tessa’s breath fogs in the cold. “It’s my uncle pushing.”
I glance at her. “You think I don’t know that?”
She meets my gaze, eyes sharp. “Then why are you acting like you’re alone in it?”
Because I am.
Because Boone doesn’t know. Dallas doesn’t know. Mom knows fragments but not the full mess. And Tessa… Tessa is caught between her family and mine in a way no one else is.
“I’m trying not to make it your problem,” I mutter.
Tessa scoffs. “Too late.”
We walk in silence for a few beats, and then the bourbon—it’s always the bourbon—loosens the thing I’ve been holding down for weeks.
The thing that’s been pressing at my ribs every time she looks at me, every time she touches me, every time she walks away.
“Tessa.”
She glances at me. “What?”
I stop walking.
She takes one more step, then stops too, turning to face me fully.
The moonlight catches the edge of her braid, the sharp line of her cheekbone. Her eyes are dark, hard to understand.
My chest aches, and my mouth is dry.
I should not do this.
I should go back to the barn. Drink water. Make jokes. Dance one more stupid dance. Pretend the act still works.
But I’m standing on Old Mill Road with Tessa Long, and the truth is sitting in my throat.
“I’ve fallen for you,” I say, and the words come out rough, immediate. They’ve been waiting for an exit.
Tessa freezes.
Her eyes widen, just slightly.
“What?”
I laugh once, breathless. “I know. Trust me, I know.”
“Nash,” she whispers, warning again, but it’s shakier now.
“I’m serious,” I say, stepping closer. “I’m so damn serious it scares me.”
Tessa’s throat works as she swallows. “You’re drunk.”
“I’m buzzed,” I correct automatically. “There’s a difference.”
She stares at me, trying to decide whether to slap me or run.
“This is insane,” she says.
“Yep.”
“We’re fake engaged.”
“Started fake,” I snap. “It doesn’t feel fake anymore.”
Her jaw tightens. “We hate each other.”
I shake my head. “We said we hated each other.”
“Nash,” she snaps, “we have a rivalry.”
“We have chemistry,” I fire back.
Her cheeks flush. “That is not—”
“It is,” I insist. “It’s been there forever. We just didn’t have language for it when we were seventeen and stupid and trying to win.”
Her eyes flash. “And the land?”
“I know,” I say, cracking now. “I know. The land is a mess. The families are a mess. The town is a mess. But you…” I swallow hard. “You make sense to me.”
Tessa goes still.
And then she says, very quietly, “Don’t say things like that.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t afford to believe you.”
My chest tightens.
“I love you,” I say anyway. “One of our stupid rules, one I didn’t even think I’d need, was not to fall in love. But I have. I love you, Tessa Long.”
The truth lands between us.
Her breath catches.
I might as well have just handed her a gun and asked her to trust me not to pull the trigger.
“No,” she whispers.
“Yes,” I say, stepping closer until the cold between us disappears. “I do. I love you, Tessa. And I don’t know what to do with it.”
Her hands lift slightly. She might touch me, she might stop me, she might push me away.
In the end, she does nothing.
Her voice comes out strained. “You don’t get to say that like it fixes anything.”
“I’m not saying it fixes anything,” I reply, shaking my head. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”
Tessa swallows hard. “We started this as a lie.”
“I know.”
“And you think love makes that okay?”
“I think love makes it worse,” I say honestly. “Because now I’m terrified I’m going to lose you.”
Her eyes flicker—she’s raw and frightened beneath the control.
“Nash,” she whispers again.
I don’t give myself time to think.
I step in.
I kiss her.
It’s the kind of kiss that says I’m done pretending I don’t want you.
She freezes.
Then her hand fists in my jacket, and she kisses me back hard.
And I know, immediately, that I just made everything more complicated.
But I also know I don’t care.
Because for the first time tonight, my heart stops pounding, trying to escape.
It pounds because it’s alive.
And it’s hers.