Jesse #3
“She lied to him.” His voice came out flat, stripped of everything.
“Every letter. She kept telling him I didn't want contact, that I remembered what he'd done, that I blamed him, and he believed her because why wouldn't he?
She was his son's wife and she was the only line he had.” His hand went still on the box, and when he looked up, his eyes were bright and furious.
“My dad let her do it. He probably encouraged it. Keeping Walter away meant keeping control of the story, keeping the money when it came, keeping me from having any other option.” He let out a breath that wasn't quite steady. “He did that. My own father did that.”
He sat with it for a second, jaw tight.
“Did Walter ever talk about me?”
“He often said that one day you’d come here, but he was old-school private, quiet, stubborn; he never talked much at all except for ranch things. I know there was a falling-out between him and your dad, over gambling with ranch money or something. Ruth might know more, being older.”
“That tracks. Dad liked to gamble and drink.” Lucas huffed as he folded the final letter with shaky care and put it back in the box.
Then, he leaned onto me again, this time heavier, and pulled out the first of a small bundle of white envelopes with the ranch logo and his name on the front, along with a year.
He sorted them in order and opened the first, clearing his throat, then reading them out loud.
“My dear Lucas,
I know you’ll never read this. I’m not even sure I should be writing it. But I keep thinking about you, and this is the only way I know how to put the words somewhere safe.
If you were here, I’d hold your hand and show you the horses first—the calm ones, not the fools.
I’d let you sit high up so you could see the land properly.
I’d teach you how to hold the reins, how to listen, and how to trust an animal bigger than yourself.
I think you’d be good at it. I think you’d like it.
I want you to know something, even if you never hear it from me.
I didn’t make your dad leave, but I might as well have.
I was a stubborn fool; I should have gotten him help when he wrecked his first car, when the drinking got too much, when he took money to gamble, but I didn’t understand, and that is on me. I should have done better.
I stood my ground because I didn’t know how to bend without breaking.
But the truth is, I wish I’d chased after Dennis when he left.
I wish I’d gone after my son instead of letting pride keep me where I was, then maybe I could have been the grandfather who showed you all the amazing things on Snow Creek.
That’s my regret, Lucas. And I hope one day, somehow, you’ll understand that and forgive me. Maybe you’ll turn up one day, ignoring how your mom and dad have reframed the past.
You will always have a home here.
I won’t send this. I know that. My son and daughter-in-law would never let it reach you because they’re teaching me a lesson, and I won’t put you in the middle of old anger that isn’t yours to carry. One day, maybe I’ll come to you.
I’m a stubborn old man, and I’ve made more mistakes than I can count. But loving you, wherever you are, isn’t one of them.
Your loving grandfather,
Walter Barrett Esq.”
There was a letter for every year, written long after Lucas’s mom’s updates had stopped, the most recent one dated last year.
Lucas read them all out loud, his voice steady even when the words weren’t, and the cabin grew warm around us.
He stayed small in my arms, curled in on himself as if he were bracing for impact, and every sentence felt as though it landed in my chest instead.
I listened, helpless and furious and aching all at once, hearing the years Walter kept reaching into silence.
By the time we left the cabin, Lucas was lagging, quiet, and he’d left his mom’s demanding letters in the cabin but had pocketed every single one from Walter.
I lifted him just before the bridge—he weighed nothing in my arms—and when he wrapped his legs around my waist and buried his face in my neck, I felt a hundred feet tall.
I heated soup, made him eat a few careful spoonfuls, even though he clearly wasn’t hungry, then sent a message to Gunner and Miguel to say I was in for the night—call if it was an emergency, otherwise I was off-grid. The ranch could run without me for a few hours.
I took him to his room after that, one hand steady at his back, feeling how tired he was in the way he leaned onto me. I turned away while he undressed and got into bed, giving him as much privacy as I could without leaving.
“Jesse?” His voice was small, barely there.
“Yeah?” I turned back. He was already under the covers. He shifted to one side, a faint wince crossing his face, then patted the empty space beside him. “Sleep in here tonight?”
I set my phone on the nightstand and stripped down to my T-shirt, suddenly aware of how wrung out I felt, how much the day had soaked into my bones. “I’ll be back in ten,” I said, and took the fastest shower of my life.
He was half asleep when I returned.
“You came back,” he murmured, soft and drowsy, and I slid in beside him, careful not to jar him, not sure what came next.
He leaned onto me without hesitation, fitting into the perfect Lucas-shaped space, and was asleep almost immediately.
I stayed awake long enough to feel his breathing even out, steady and warm against my chest, before sleep finally took me too.