Chapter 33 Abilene
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Abilene
Saturday
I almost don’t go.
I stand in my bedroom for a full ten minutes, staring at my reflection like she might offer advice if I glare hard enough. She doesn’t.
She just looks back at me with wide eyes and too-pink cheeks and the unmistakable expression of a woman walking willingly into something she doesn’t know how to control.
I told Marshall yes because it felt like the responsible choice.
The adult choice.
The end-this-so-everyone-can-move-on choice.
I didn’t say yes because I felt calm about it.
My stomach has been in knots since noon. Tight, restless, buzzing.
The same way it felt right before the fire evacuation. The same way it feels when the letters surface in my thoughts, and I remember that my family is not as tidy as I was raised to believe.
I need clarity.
I need closure.
I need to stop letting my heart yank me in three directions, testing how much strain it can take before everything snaps.
So I shower. I braid my hair. I put on a dress that is soft and familiar and absolutely not seductive, because I’m not trying to seduce anyone.
I’m trying to end a situation.
Though my pulse disagrees.
By the time I walk onto the ranch drive, dusk has settled in that muted, violet way that always makes everything feel a little unreal.
The house lights glow warm against the darkening trees. Smoke from the chimney drifts lazily upward. It looks peaceful.
Which feels like a trap.
I pause and remind myself why I’m here.
To talk. To decide. To move forward.
Not to feel the way my body is already responding to the knowledge that all three of them are inside that house.
The door opens before I knock.
Jesse.
He smiles when he sees me, and my chest tightens in response, instinctive and dangerous. He looks like himself: soft flannel, worn jeans, bare feet as if he forgot shoes exist once he crossed the threshold of fatherhood.
“Hey, Honeybee,” he says.
The nickname still does things to me. That’s part of the problem.
“Hey,” I manage.
His gaze flicks over me, hanging there just a second longer than necessary.
“Come in,” he says gently, stepping aside.
The house smells of dinner and wood smoke. Marshall is at the table, setting plates with methodical precision.
Wyatt stands at the counter, glasses on, sleeves rolled, stirring something on the stove as if this is the most normal evening in the world.
Both look up when I enter.
The air changes.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi,” Wyatt replies.
Marshall nods once. “Glad you came.”
I swallow. “Me too.”
That’s… not entirely true. But it’s not a lie either.
Dinner is polite. Too polite.
Conversation sticks to safe ground. Weather. Repairs. Market gossip. The twins’ frog phase.
I focus on my plate, on chewing, on breathing normally, on not noticing the way Wyatt’s knee brushes mine when he shifts, or the way Jesse’s hand rests casually on the back of my chair, or the way Marshall watches me, trying to read something written beneath my skin.
This was a mistake.
I can feel it building. The thing I came here to prevent. The tension. The awareness. The hum under the surface that says nothing is resolved.
Finally, Marshall sets his fork down.
“Okay,” he says. “We need to stop pretending this is just dinner.”
My heart stutters.
Jesse exhales slowly, leaning back. “Yeah. Probably.”
Wyatt doesn’t move. He just looks at me, devastatingly present.
I fold my hands in my lap so they stop shaking. “I didn’t come here to… make this harder.”
Marshall’s gaze softens. “I know.”
“I came because I thought we needed to put it to bed,” I continue. “Whatever this is. So we can all move on.”
Silence stretches.
Jesse’s jaw tightens. “And what does ‘put it to bed’ look like to you?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
Because the truth is… I don’t know.
I don’t know how to choose without losing something. I don’t know how to be fair when my feelings refuse to line up neatly. I don’t know how to stop wanting things I was never taught I could want.
Wyatt shifts then. Sets his glass down carefully.
“Can I say something?” he asks.
Marshall nods.
Jesse glances at him, wary but listening.
I look up, startled.
“Yes,” I say.
Wyatt takes a breath. The kind that means he’s about to step off a cliff.
“What if we’re thinking about this wrong?” he says.
The words land like a ripple in still water.
Jesse frowns. “How so?”
Wyatt’s gaze flicks briefly toward the window, toward the dark beyond the glass. “Dakota.”
Marshall stills.
I blink. “Dakota?”
Wyatt nods. “She didn’t choose one man and shut the door on the rest. She didn’t pretend she only had space for a single kind of love.”
My pulse kicks up, sudden and sharp.
Jesse lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. “You’re not—”
“What if,” Wyatt continues calmly, “instead of making Abilene decide who loses… we tried something different?”
The room goes very quiet.
I feel heat creep up my neck. “Wyatt…”
“What if,” he says gently, eyes never leaving mine, “we stopped acting like this has to be a competition?”
My heart is pounding now. Too fast. Too loud.
Marshall frowns. “You’re suggesting—”
“I’m suggesting,” Wyatt says, “that we acknowledge what’s already happening. That we talk about it instead of pretending it doesn’t exist.”
Jesse stares at him. “You’re talking about sharing.”
Wyatt nods once. “I’m talking about choosing honesty over fear.”
My breath feels thin. This is not what I expected.
I shake my head, half laughing, half panicking. “I… I never would’ve considered that.”
Wyatt’s mouth curves faintly. “Neither did I. Until I couldn’t stop thinking about how miserable we all look trying to force ourselves into boxes that don’t fit.”
Marshall rubs a hand over his jaw, thinking hard. “This isn’t something you suggest lightly.”
“I know,” Wyatt says.
Jesse looks at me then.
“Is that something you would even want?” he asks quietly.
That’s the question, isn’t it?
I open my mouth to say no, but the word doesn’t come.
Because when I imagine choosing, cutting two of them out of my life completely, my chest aches in protest. When I imagine denying the way my body responds differently to each of them, something inside me feels… dishonest.
“I don’t know,” I admit, trembling. “I’ve spent my whole life being careful. Being contained. Wanting one thing at a time because that’s what you’re supposed to do.”
Wyatt’s gaze softens. “And what do you want now?”
The room feels smaller. Warmer. Charged.
I stand, pacing without meaning to, my thoughts racing fast.
One by one, they rise too, the space tightening as they surround me.
I feel it then—not just fear, not just desire, but the sudden, terrifying relief of permission.
“I want…” I swallow. “I want to stop pretending I’m not affected by all of you.”
Jesse rasps. “Abilene…”
“I want to be honest,” I continue. “About how safe Wyatt makes me feel. About how seen Marshall makes me feel. About how alive Jesse makes me feel.”
The words hang there, fragile and electric.
“I don’t know what that means,” I whisper. “I don’t know what it looks like. I just know that choosing one of you feels like cutting off a part of myself I didn’t know existed until now.”
Silence.
Then Wyatt steps closer, just near enough that I feel him.
“We wouldn’t do this unless you wanted it,” he says. “Unless we talked. Unless everything was clear.”
Marshall nods. “No pressure. No assumptions.”
Jesse’s gaze holds mine, intense but careful. “You get to say no. At any point.”
My chest feels tight and full at the same time.
I nod. “I know.”
The realization settles in my bones, warm and frightening and undeniable.
I’m not being pulled apart.
I’m being invited in.
Jesse moves first, sliding his hand to my waist, pausing there like he’s asking permission without words.
I don’t pull away.
Wyatt’s fingers brush my arm. Marshall steps closer behind me, his presence an anchor at my back.
My breath stutters.
“This is…” I whisper.
Wyatt smiles softly. “Different.”
My pulse roars in my ears. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel like I’m doing something wrong.
I feel like I’m stepping into my truth.
And when Jesse leans in, slow and careful, giving me every chance to stop him…
I don’t. I close the distance instead.
The kiss is unhurried, like he’s waiting to see if I’ll change my mind. I rise onto my toes, hands sliding up his chest, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his flannel. He exhales against my lips when I tug, silently asking.
“Yes,” I whisper.
That’s all it takes.
He shrugs the flannel off, the movement smooth and practiced, and suddenly there’s skin where there wasn’t before. My palms spread over his shoulders without thinking, calming myself in the proof of him.
Wyatt steps closer on my other side. His touch is careful, like he understands how big this moment is for me.
Marshall’s hands settle at my waist from behind. He doesn’t rush. He simply breathes warm against my neck until I lean back into him.
No one speaks. The quiet is thick with awareness, with the sound of breathing and the faint crackle of the fire in the other room.
I feel seen. Chosen.
Jesse’s hands skim my arms, thumbs brushing lightly over goose-pimpled skin. Wyatt reaches for his glasses, setting them aside with care before tugging his shirt over his head. Marshall shrugs out of his jacket, then his shirt, movements controlled, but no less charged for it.
One by one, their layers disappear.
Denim. Cotton. Barriers.
Jesse’s forehead rests against mine. Wyatt’s hand laces with my fingers. Marshall’s palm presses reassuringly on my lower back.
“You okay?” Marshall murmurs again.
I nod. “More than okay.”
Their attention doesn’t waver as they guide me gently, together, toward the bedroom. Hands warm, movements slow, every step chosen.
The door closes softly behind us.
And whatever happens next doesn’t need to be rushed, or explained, or justified.
It’s already decided.