A beat.
The horses’ hooves crunch softly on the cracked earth beneath us.Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbles.
Luke clears his throat.‘Is this the new honest Jamie?’
I huff a laugh.‘Who knows?This might be a limited-time offer.I heard vulnerability has a poor shelf life.’
He gives me a soft smile.‘Noted.’
We ride further in silence.Then, because I’m me and I can’t sit in my own feelings too long without my insides trying to self-combust, I blurt out, ‘So … I did a bit of research last night.’
Luke glances sideways, suspicious.‘That so?’
‘Yeah.’I shift slightly in the saddle.‘Turns out this land’s actually perfect for growing hemp.’
He doesn’t respond, so I press on, nervous now.‘There’s a program.All you need is a commercial licence – there’s even a startup that’s already working with farmers.They’d be interested in this place.You wouldn’t have to go it alone.’
That gets a reaction.He snorts – dry, humourless.‘Let me guess.Is this the same thing your last toy, Dylan, was harping on about the other month?’
The words sting, sharp and fast.‘Excuse me?’
‘You know,’ he says, still not looking at me, ‘the one who thinks saving the planet means never wearing socks?’
My jaw tightens.‘Thatguyis trying to help, actually.I’m trying to help.’
‘By doing what?Googling my future?’
I straighten, heat rising behind my ribs.‘No.By offering options.
Ideas.Because you’re doing it tough out here, and pretending you’re not doesn’t make you a hero, it makes you stubborn.’
Skip’s stride falters for a moment, muscles tense.‘Jamie—’
I cut in.‘I’m not suggesting you take a handout.I’m telling you there are people out there who want farms to succeed.People who don’t see it as some pity project but an actual opportunity.’
His silence is louder than anything else around us.It buzzes with pride, with hurt, with that worn-in bitterness people wear when they’ve been let down too many times.
‘You think I don’t already know what’s out there?’he finally says, voice tight.‘You think I haven’t tried?Filled out every form?Waited months to be told I missed the cut-off, or the funding dried up, or that some other farmer got it because he had a better postcode?’
I swallow hard.‘I didn’t know.’
‘No.You didn’t.’
His voice is frayed now.Not from yelling – he just looks exhausted.‘You don’t get how it feels to run yourself into the ground only to stayexactly where you are.’
‘I’m trying to,’ I say, quieter now.‘I’m not criticising you.I’m just—’
‘You’re just showing up with good intentions and links and pretending this is a puzzle you can fix in a week.’
That one lands.Clean and cruel.
I feel it all beginning to unravel – whatever we were building, whatever I was letting myself hope this could be.My mouth opens.Then closes.
When it opens again, my voice is brittle.‘Wow.So that’s what you really think.’
‘I didn’t mean it —’
‘No, it’s fine,’ I cut in, tone sharper now.‘I forgot I’m the tourist here.Sorry for caring.’
