The silence stretches until Grandma finally interjects, her tone deceptively light. “Well, I, for one, am glad Wren’s back. That girl always brought a little sense to you.”
The spoon in Mom’s hand clinks against her bowl. “Maybe she still will.”
My chest tightens, ribs feeling too small to breathe.
I rinse my bowl, place it in the dishwasher, and press a kiss to both their cheeks on my way out, ignoring Grandma’s sigh and Mom’s watery eyes.
Mom’s voice follows me out. “Fix things, Jett. Before it’s too late.”
Fix things? She’s half the reason I’m in the situation I’m in. Well, her and Dad, but he’s not here. The weariness in her voice tells me she’s hiding something, but I can’t put my finger on what.
The screen door slams behind me. Outside, the April air is cool, but the sun beats down against my skin. The smell of fresh-turned soil and cattle are heavy in the breeze. Birds trill in the hedgerows as a tractor hums in the distance.
Our farm pulses around me, alive and endless. And still, I feel like I’m standing in quicksand, sinking deeper with every breath.
The day clings to me like mud on my boots.
April on a cattle farm in Ohio is no joke. Calving season is winding down, but with a few thousand head, there’s no such thing as quiet. Mud sucking at the tractors, fence lines mangled from winter storms, calves to be tagged and vaccinated, hay deliveries stacked against the calendar. A farm this size doesn’t sleep—and neither do I, not really. The weight of responsibilities doesn’t come off your shoulders because the sun sets.
By the time I finally drag myself home, my body’s humming with that bone-deep fatigue that no shower or beer really touches. My house sits a few blocks off Main Street, close enoughto hear Friday night traffic around the bars, but far enough to pretend I don’t. Two bedrooms, one creaky porch, siding that could use a good power-wash. It isn’t the farmhouse, but it’s mine.
I ditch my boots inside the door, mud flaking on the mat, and peel out of my t-shirt. My phone buzzes on the counter. It’s the group chat. Always the damn group chat.
Baker
So…we going out tonight?
Heath
Bar Fight 2.0!
Davis
A bar fight? Really, Riggsby?
Baker
Dude, you should have seen our boy.
There was nothing to see.
Baker
You went all MMA on the guy.
Heath
How are you just hearing about it?
Baker
He lives under a rockin his wooded fortress.
Davis
Fuck off, Baker. I get to work and you’re the talk of the town.
Levi
