“Please,” he said, mouth curling into a half-smirk, “if I wanted to watch a man mope over a woman, I’d pull out your high school yearbook.” He jerked his chin toward the trailer. “Goats. For your big fairytale orchard debut. You’re welcome.”
Ethan should probably tell him he could come take the goats—hell, the rest of the animals too—back next week after the hearing. But the arrogant smirk plastered across Trent’s face kept the words locked behind Ethan’s teeth.
“But really,” Trent went on, “what’re you out here fussing about?”
Ethan glared. “What’s it to you?”
“Just trying to figure out if I should be here when you blow a gasket,” Trent said. “Wouldn’t want to get caught in the crossfire when you finally have that midlife breakdown.”
“I’m not having a breakdown,” Ethan bit out.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
The words lodged under his skin like a splinter. Ethan’s jaw tightened. Of course Trent would say something like that. He had always been there, watching with a snide comment or a hateful whisper in Leticia’s ear. All these years he’d been waiting for the cracks to show. Even after Leticia left, he stayed, biding his time until he could say I told you so.
He could ignore it. He should ignore it. But Trent’s stare didn’t waver, and that look made Ethan’s whole body hum with restless energy. “Cut it out, man. You think with all I’ve got going on I want to deal with your bullshit too?”
Trent didn’t answer. He just stood there, watching him with a look that made Ethan’s skin itch. He didn’t blink, didn’t twitch, didn’t even shift his weight. That calmness burned hotter than a slap in the face, like Trent didn’t need to say a word to remind Ethan just how close to the edge he already was.
Heat crawled up Ethan’s neck. His hands flexed at his sides, itching for something to strike. He wanted to hit something—needed to hit something—and Trent’s face was right there, begging for it. If the man so much as smirked, Ethan wasn’t sure he’d stop himself from swinging.
“You wanna know what’s wrong?” The words tore out of him, but once they were loose, he couldn’t stop them. “Every morning, I wake up wondering which bill I’m gonna pay late, or how I’m gonna tell my kids they can’t keep the house they’ve grown up in.”
His breath came quick, but it felt good to vent the anger boiling inside him.
“I’m holding this farm together with nothing but desperation, and the kids know it. They should be out playing, not worrying about this shit.”
Something flickered in Trent’s expression, but Ethan plowed on, too far gone to care.
“On top of all that, I’ve got strangers sniffing around my property, looking for a way to take what’s mine because of some crap buried in the dirt I didn’t ask for and can’t control.”
Ethan kicked at the dirt and wished he could dig it up and haul every drop of magic away.
He jabbed a finger toward Trent’s chest. “And while I’m doing that, I’ve got my ex’s brother standing here, smirking like he called it years ago.”
The truth was, Ethan had never let Trent bother him much before. Not really. But standing here now, he couldn’t shake the fear that Trent had been right all along, that Ethan wasn’t good enough, and that he was destined to screw this up.
That was the real problem. He kept shoving that fear down, burying it under chores and bills and the worried looks in his daughters’ eyes. But it didn’t stay buried. It built, and built, until it was clawing its way out of his chest, demanding somewhere to go.
“Try staring down the clock every damn day knowing it’s all slipping away, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. And then—” His voice caught before turning sharp again. “Like an idiot, I go and pick a fight with the one person who’s been in my corner, because I’m too damn angry at the world to aim it where it belongs.”
The silence after was brutal. The words left a sour taste in his mouth. He didn’t add the details of his fight with Honey. About the way she’d sat there that morning, eyes wide and hurt, after he’d thrown blame at her just to have somewhere to put the fire eating him alive. How he’d taken her hope, the thing that made her so irritatingly persistent,and twisted it into something ugly. He wasn’t about to hand that confession to Trent.
For a beat, all he heard was the faint bleating of the goats in the trailer and the distant squawking of the chickens.
“Shit, man,” Trent said finally, running a hand over his jaw. “That's a lot.”
“It is.” Ethan let out a breath that felt more like defeat than relief. He hated that he’d spilled so much in front of Trent of all people. But when you keep shoving your feelings down long enough, they don’t stay buried. They bubble up, boil over, and scorch whoever’s standing too close.
“Look,” Trent went on, shifting his weight like the words didn’t sit right in his mouth. “You and me—we’re not gonna braid each other’s hair anytime soon. But…you’re doing right by those girls.” He paused, glanced toward the house, then back. “And for what it’s worth, the fed’s tougher than she looks. She’ll probably forgive you. Might even still be around after all this blows up in your face.”
The compliment was so backhanded Ethan almost missed it.
“Anyway.” Trent cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck as if he were as uncomfortable with this twist as Ethan was. “Where are my nieces?”
“Doing their homework.”
Trent’s mouth quirked, not quite a smile. “Then they’ll be fine. Between the Westbrook brains and that Hale stubborn streak, they’ll land on their feet no matter what you throw at them.”
