"I'm running the ranch now. With my brother."
He smiles crookedly. "Your dream came true."
Yes, it did. And yet I've lost so much along the way.
He reaches over the door and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers trail over the outside of my earlobe. My shoulders bunch and I move from his reach. "I don't think your wife would appreciate you touching me like that."
He sighs and tucks his hands in his pockets. "I didn't set out to cheat on her. It wasn't my plan. But you, Jessie, you were just," he shakes his head, "you felt like the person I was supposed to be with. You came along too late. Or maybe I settled too early. Does that mean I never get to have you? I have to accept my position, simply because I made the wrong choice?"
I flinch at his words. Considering what I've recently learned about my own father and his infidelity, what Austin is saying packs a punch. "That's the weakest sentence I've ever heard a man speak. Leave your marriage because it's right foryou, not because you met someone you like better than your wife. For the moment, at least." I close my car door and open the back seat, pulling out bags. "I'm busy. You need to leave."
He stays rooted in his spot, so I cut around him and go toward my house.
Behind me, Austin says, "I spoke to the dean. He's agreed to reinstate you."
I stop and turn around. "Why would you do that?"
"You're smart, Jessie. You have a lot of potential. I don't want to see it wasted."
My arms lift, level with my waist and loaded down with bags. I gesture out at the land surrounding us. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'm happy here."
“You don’t seem like you are.”
“Fuck off, Austin.”
"You liked me, once upon a time. I'm not a bad man, even though I did a bad thing."
"I know good men. I was raised by good men. Just because you're not bad, does not mean you're good." I spin around and keep going. He doesn't say another word, and I unlock the door and step inside. I give it a few minutes, then peek out the front window to see if he's left. He's gone.
My phone chimes with a notification. A text from Austin.
Don’t blow this opportunity because you’re mad at me.
My fingers hover over the phone, poised as my brain sifts through a snappy response. In the end, I delete the message, block his number, and bring up my last conversation with Sawyer. I read through it four times. A mundane conversation about what to make for dinner.
If only I could be transported back to that time, as recent as it was, when that was our greatest concern.
The family dinneris as awkward as I thought it would be. Where we were once a rowdy, boisterous crew, talking over one another and sending goodnatured barbs across the table, tonight we are quiet. Conversation is contrived. Forced. My dad tries to keep the chatter moving, which might be the biggest, most obvious change of all. A chatty Beau Hayden is unnerving.
Thank God for my nieces and nephews. They provide much-needed entertainment and comedic relief. Just a little while longer and Colt’s implants will be turned on. For now, we all use ASL to communicate with him. Every single time someone signs, it reminds me of Sawyer. But in all honesty, almost everything reminds me of Sawyer.
That’s what an in-love heart does. It yearns, even when it no longer has a physical target to aim for.
After dinner, my dad asks me for help with dessert. I follow him to the kitchen, knowing this isn’t about the pie my mom baked.
He pulls a knife from the block and slices the first of the two pies down the middle. “How are you?” he asks.
I watch him quarter the pie. The scent of apples and cinnamon fills the air.
“Fine,” I answer.
He looks at me, his eyes communicating his disbelief.
“I’m not fine,” I mutter. I remove a stack of plates from a cabinet, and a handful of forks from a drawer.
My dad finishes cutting the second pie, then places the knife in the sink. He spends a moment gathering his thoughts, facing away from me, shoulders hunched. “I’m very sorry, Jessie.” He turns to face me as he speaks. He appears older than he looked a month ago. I thought getting a secret off your chest is supposed to make you feel better, but it doesn’t look like the case for him. He’s obviously still carrying that weight. Knowing my dad, he will insist he carry it even when everyone has told him he can set it down.
“I hope you know how much I love you,” he continues. “How much I love your brothers, and especially your mother.”
