ONE
AUBREE
They sayyou can’t go home again. But some of us don’t have a choice. Not when our entire lives come crashing down at our feet.
Dust. All over the fucking place.
It’s the first thing that hits me as I make my way out of the airport in Grizzly River, South Dakota. Coughing, I put my hand up to shield my eyes from the bright sun, checking the trucks parked in front of the entrance for one person.
My older brother.
“Aubree, get the fuck over here. We gotta go.”
There. He. Is. Always in a hurry, and never one to care too much about what his little sister has going on. “Thanks, I got my suitcase and everything.”
He raises an eyebrow as he looks over at me. It’s affectionate, but it also says let’s fucking go. “There’s a lot going on at the ranch today, Aubs. We gotta get back.”
Hurrying over to where he left his truck idling, I hop in the passenger seat while he puts my suitcase in the back. Within minutes, he’s behind the wheel, and we take off with another cloud of dust behind us.
The weather in North Dakota is a crapshoot. Judging by the amount of dust that’s hanging around, it hasn’t been much of a wet spring. Glancing at the median as we pass by, I see we need some rain.
“Was your flight okay?” Truett asks, seeming to slow down for a moment, allowing himself to stop going a million miles a minute.
I don’t actually believe he cares to know. He’s always thinking about what else he has to do for the day. It’s how he’s been since he took custody of me. “It was decent,” I shrug. “Wish you would’ve let me get first class.” I shoot him a glare. “It’s not like we can’t afford it.”
“It was two hours, you brat. You didn’t need first class for two hours. I have to clean up the shit you left behind anyway,” he reminds me.
Right, the entire reason I had to leave Chicago with my tail tucked between my legs. Running home was my first and only option, but it wasn’t my favorite. I hate having Truett fix what I broke. “The rest of my stuff will be here next week.”
“Yeah.” He comes to a stop at the end of Main Street, looks both ways, and then accelerates out into the county, toward our childhood home. “I got a notification when they sent me the bill.”
Of course he’s going to throw that back in my face. “I’m sorry.” I swallow roughly. “About all of this. I know it isn’t easy, and I’m the reason…”
He grips the steering wheel tighter. “Look, we can’t change it. We just have to deal with it. When Mom and Dad died, I took custody of you, Aubree. I take that shit seriously.”
“I know you do.” He always had. From the moment we got the knock on the door, and then I had to go and fuck it up. We may not see eye-to-eye, and he leaves a lot to be desired when it comes to showing me unconditional love, but he’s always beenthere for me. He’s the only person I’ve ever been able to count on. “Thank you. Thank you for letting me come home.”
His gaze doesn’t waver from where he’s staring out at the road in front of us. “You can always come home. Your room will always be your room, even if I have a wife and kids. You’re my kid sister. I gave up a lot to keep a roof over our heads, and I’ll always do that. I just know you didn’t want to come back.”
That’s the understatement of the year. My life, actually.
“What are your plans? Do you have any?” he asks. His plans have plans. If there’s one thing Truett does, it’s prepare for what may happen. Every contingency has a contingency.
Other than lick my wounds? “I haven’t given it much thought yet. I figured I’d help you around the ranch. Even though I haven’t lived on it for seven years, I still do know my way around.”
“We can always use the help, but don’t feel like you have to do something you don’t want to do. You know as well as I do, it’s hard work.”
“Maybe that’s what I need,” I sigh, my gaze traveling over the rolling hills. I’d learned to ride a horse on terrain just like this. I think I need that again. “To get my hands dirty, for my muscles to be sore. Do you know I don’t have calluses on my fingers anymore?” I hold them up so he can see.
“That’s okay, Aubs. I sent you to college so that you wouldn’t have to.”
But what about him, I want to ask. He had dreams before our parents died, and I know it was difficult, so difficult to keep it together. He never let on, though, just how hard it was. There are so many things I want to say to him, especially after crashing out in Chicago, but the words just won’t come.
He comes to a stop on the main road and takes a left, his tires hitting the gravel that leads to the Grizzly River Ranch. It’s been seven years since I came home. Seven years since I spent timeat the big house. When I left, I never thought I’d come back. I’d told Truett I would see him again, but I hadn’t planned on it. I’d seriously let the door hit me on the way out and flipped a middle finger to the ranch.
It was where I’d grown up, where I’d become an adult, but it was also the scene of the worst moments of my life.
Clearing my throat, I gaze over at him. “Every time we come over that hill, I think back to getting driven out here the day we found out about Mom and Dad. They brought me from the hospital, and once I saw the caution tape around the holding pen, I knew it wasn’t a bad dream.”
