Chapter 10
Jett
Wren’s been home for a few weeks, and I’ve managed to avoid her at all costs since our last run-in.
Turns out, my luck is about to change.
Sitting out front of her dad’s farmhouse, I take in all the cars in the gravel driveway while the engine ticks as it cools.
My sister’s car, my mom’s and my grandparents’ SUVs.
Her brother’s truck, her grandparents’ SUV, and her dad’s newer truck…
along with his old truck. The one Wren has been driving since her return.
I should leave, but I can’t bring myself to shift into reverse.
I drag a hand over my beard, blow out a slow breath, and climb out of the truck, ready to get this family dinner over with.
My sister swings open the Drummond’s screen door as I reach for it.
“Well, look who decided to show up,” Saylor says, grinning, stepping back to let me in. “I was wondering if you were going to skip out.”
“Had chores,” I mutter, stepping inside.
“You do know you pay people to do those, right?”
The smell hits me first—brisket off the smoker and Wren’s grandma’s pie.
Each week, the Riggsbys and Drummonds get together for a family dinner; they have been since long before Wren and I were born.
Since being home, I’ve enjoyed these weekly dinners.
Of course, it was a little awkward when I returned, but I chalked it up to adjusting to civilian life.
Before I can walk deeper into the house, Saylor reaches out to stop me.
“Wren’s here.”
“Figured.”
Her face softens. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
She huffs a breath, but doesn’t say anything.
I glance toward the living room, where my grandpa is sitting on the couch next to Wren’s grandpa, who’s sitting in his recliner. The two are talking about something farming-related, and for a split second, I expect to see my dad leaning against the wall with a beer in his hand.
But he’s not here. He hasn’t been for years.
The ache stirs in my chest, but I don’t pause long enough to let it fully sink in. Instead, I follow Saylor down the hallway to the kitchen, where more chatter rings out. A blond-haired boy tears down the narrow hallway, nearly knocking Saylor over.
“Corbin!” Rachel calls out after her son. “Stop running in the house.”
I catch him around the waist, spinning him through the air, and he lets out a squeal. “Where are you off to, wild man?”
“Stealing chocolate from Gramps’s basket,” he whispers before shushing me. “Don’t tell my mom.”
“Sneak me a Twix and your secret’s safe with me.”
“Deal,” he promises, and I set him on his feet.
Glancing toward the kitchen, I find Wren standing next to my mom. Her hands are full of dishes, but her eyes are on me, causing my feet to falter. Her hair is pulled in a messy knot, a few pieces falling loose around her face, and she’s wearing a yellow dress that flows over her frame.
I forget how to breathe for a second.
“Jett, honey,” Grandma greets, startling me from my Wren-trance. It startles her too, because in an instant, she’s moving through the kitchen toward the dining area in the attached sunroom.
I lean down and press a kiss to Grandma’s cheek before doing the same to my mom and Wren’s Grams.
“Wasn’t sure if you were coming tonight.”
“I heard you were making your famous spoonbread. Couldn’t miss that,” I answer Grandma. She brushes off my compliment.
“We’re just missing your brother and his family,” Mom says, glancing around the room.
My brother, Crew, and his wife, Bret, and their newborn son, Carter, live in Indiana, which isn’t too far.
He plays professional football in Indianapolis, but I could see him having a short career before moving back to Silo Bay to raise his family.
“Sweetie,” Grams turns to me, handing me a pile of silverware. “Do you mind setting these on the table?”
I take the silverware, glancing toward the room where Wren slipped away to. “I see what you’re doing, Grams.”
She tsks. “You plan on eating with your hands tonight, Jett Samuel?”
Wren’s back is to me when I enter the sunroom. My nerves are radiating as I step over the threshold. I clear my throat, shuffling the silverware so they clatter, not wanting to startle her.
She glances over her shoulder, her eyes widening briefly before she slides a mask over her face.
I start setting the silverware around the plates she’s placed on the table. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be here.”
“At my parents’ house?”
“Yeah, you haven’t been to any of the other dinners.”
She doesn’t answer me. It grates on my nerves how she won’t give me the time of day. Dancing at Sunset Shores was fine, but holding a conversation, that’s where she draws the line.
“Want me to go?”
“That’d be great.”
I snort a laugh. “There’s feisty Wren.”
“Don’t act like you know me, Jett. You have no idea who I am or what I’ve been through.” Her voice cracks at the end.
I tilt my head, watching the way her chest heaves as she places the last plate on the table.
“Everything good in here?” Nate steps into the room, glancing between the two of us.
Wren pastes on the fakest smile I’ve seen as she walks past her brother and pats his shoulder. “It’s great. Why wouldn’t it be?”
This is going to be a long dinner.
We all crowd around the big dining table.
Platters are passed, chairs scrape against the floor, and conversations mix.
Mark sits at the head of his table. Nate’s next to him as he helps fill Corbin’s plate, and Rachel is on her son’s other side.
Happiness radiates off them, and a part of me wishes I were them.
What could my life be like if I hadn’t gotten in that car the night that changed everything?
Wren sits next to Rachel, across from me and a few chairs down. She’s close enough that I can see the gold glimmer in her amber eyes.
Close enough that I remember what it feels like to hold her hand beneath the table during family dinners.
Close enough to remember what it felt like to kiss her.
Close enough to feel the pain of leaving.
Jerking my head away from the memories, I place a few strips of brisket on my plate as I wait for the spoonbread to make its way around. The damn cornbread with the honey butter. My stomach grumbles in anticipation.
Small talk starts—farm updates, town gossip, my grandpa complaining about some new restaurant and their city-like menu. Briefly, it feels like I can handle this dinner, like Wren and I can actually be in the same room without a war breaking out.
Then my mom has to break the bubble. “It’s nice having everyone together again. Feels like old times,” she says, eyes darting between Wren and me.
Wren lets out a sardonic laugh.
Every fork stops moving as the air fills with tension.
Nate leans back in his chair, watching me like he’s anticipating he’s going to have to break up an inevitable fight.
Wren’s stormy glare lands on me. “You ever planning on telling me why you left without a word?”
There it is.
Ten years of silence sitting right in the middle of the table between the macaroni and cheese and Grandma’s spoonbread.
“Pumpkin,” her dad starts. “I don’t think this is the time.”
Rachel scoots closer to Corbin, as if she’s preparing to protect her son from flying dishes.
I rub my hand down my face, exhaling a deep sigh. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Then what was it like?” she asks with a bite.
I glance at my mom, who’s sitting there, ramrod straight. Something in her expression and the way she won’t meet my eyes... Realization dawns on me.
“You never gave her the letter.” I don’t ask because I already know the answer. I turn my attention to Mark, who’s trying to put the pieces together.
“What letter?” Wren asks, angrily.
“I wrote you a letter after basic training,” I say. “Told you everything, starting with why I left. Told you how much I loved you–”
“If you loved me, you wouldn’t have left.”
“I told you I was letting you go because you deserved more than following me around the country while I tried to figure things out. I wasn’t saddling you with military life.”
Wren looks down at the table, shaking her head. “I never got a letter.”
She turns slowly toward her dad.
He doesn’t say anything. The truth is written all over his face.
Her voice comes out eerily calm. “You knew.”
Mark exhales slowly. “Wren…”
“You knew he wrote me,” she says, standing up now, her chair scraping against the floor.
“Nora and your mom… We thought it was better if you had a clean break,” he explains.
Saylor whistles under her breath, and I stare at Mom in disbelief.
“You thought it was better if I believed he just left me? That our relationship, hell, our friendship, wasn’t worth a goodbye?”
“You were eighteen and he was… He wasn’t ready for you.”
Ouch.
“So you decided for me?”
“We were trying to protect you.”
“Funny,” she says, voice taking on an edge. “You protected me so hard, you pushed me into...”
She stops herself from saying any more, and my hands form fists as I wonder who was in her life and who fucking hurt her.
Concern creases Mark’s forehead, and his eyes soften. “Wren.”
“No.” She backs toward the kitchen. “Ten years I questioned my worth and why I wasn’t good enough for him. I’ve faced unimaginable things. And the whole time, you knew the truth.”
“We thought we were helping,” Mom whispers, finally saying something.
“Well, you weren’t,” Wren barks, her voice breaking now. “It wasn’t your choice to rewrite my life based on what you thought was best for me.”
She looks at me one more time. Her eyes are softer now, but still angry and full of pain.
“It wasn’t your right to decide my life either,” she tells me before walking out. Seconds later, we hear the front door slam shut.
Nobody talks for what feels like forever.
Mark sits back slowly, rubbing his face like he’s aged years in minutes.
Mom wipes her eyes with a napkin. Rachel sits awkwardly while Saylor tries to figure everything out.
She was young when I left, and I don’t think anyone’s ever filled her in on the full story.
Hell, I’m learning about the full story in real time.
I’m pissed. I trusted Mom to give Wren the letter after basic training.
I didn’t have her new address, and I knew they’d be able to send it to her.
Never could I have imagined she wouldn’t pass it along.
I was already struggling with leaving her behind, and it pains me to know they thought I wasn’t good enough.
I made one too many bad decisions, but she still deserved to know I didn’t abandon her.
I still loved her, and I haven’t stopped in ten years.
Grandpa clears his throat. “Well, secrets don’t stay buried forever.”
Saylor chuckles. “Thanks for that, Grandpa.”
“You’re welcome, kiddo,” he says, winking at her.
I stare at the door she just walked out of, my chest tight and my stomach in knots. My appetite is gone, spoonbread long forgotten.
“Jett,” Mom starts, but I cut her off with a glare.
I push my chair back and stand.
“Where are you going?” she asks quietly.
“To find her,” I say, digging my keys out of my pocket.
Saylor takes off after me. “Jett, wait.”
“Not now.”
She grabs the crook of my arm, and I glare at our connection. “Give her a minute to process. Don’t go storming over there right now.”
Maybe she’s right.
Ten years ago, I wrote her a letter explaining how much I loved her. How much her friendship meant to me over the years, and how tired I was of being a screw-up.
Inside the letter, I never asked her to wait for me because I wanted her to live her life. But the subtext was that if we found our way back to each other, I’d be waiting for her with open arms and a heart full of love.
As much as I want to run to her, maybe I need to give her a minute to take it all in. I need a moment to process everything too.