Seth is the quiet one, the observer. He sees everything. He probably saw this coming before I even admitted it to myself.
I drop my head, staring at the mud on my boots.
“I like her,” I say. The words feel heavy, dragging out of me. “I always have. Since we were kids. Since before, well…any of this.”
Seth nods slowly. “I know.”
“She was the girl next door. The cute neighbor who climbed fences and helped birth calves.” I shake my head. “Then she grew up. And she left. And Billy got his heart broken. And I was just… there. Watching it happen.”
“Does Billy know?”
“I told him. He knows I care. He knows I’m protective.” I shrug. “But he doesn’t know the half of it. And he doesn’t need to. It doesn’t matter.”
“Why not?”
“Because she doesn’t belong to me,” I say simply. The truth tastes bitter, like unsweetened chocolate. “She never has. She’s Billy’s. She’s always been Billy’s. Even when she was in New York, even when she was gone, she was his. That doesn’t change just because I want it to.”
Seth is quiet for a long moment. He picks up his mug, swirling the liquid inside.
“You’re a good brother,” he says.
“I’m a dumbass,” I counter. “Pining after my brother’s girl. It’s a cliché. It’s pathetic.”
“It’s not pathetic. It’s human.”
I look at him. He’s not looking at me. He’s staring at the bunkhouse, too.
His expression is guarded. There’s a tension in his shoulders that I recognize. I’ve seen it in the mirror.
I frown, a thought nudging the back of my mind. It’s a suspicion I’ve had for years, one I’ve never dared to voice.
“Seth,” I say.
“Yeah?”
“Do you have feelings for Sedona?”
The question hangs in the air. It’s risky. It crosses a line we’ve never crossed.
Seth freezes. His hand stops halfway to his mouth. He stares straight ahead, his profile rigid.
I watch him. I see the war happening behind his eyes. The struggle to deny it, to keep the peace, to maintain the lie.
He’s the peacemaker. He doesn’t like conflict. He doesn’t like messy emotions.
But he doesn’t lie.
He sets the mug down. He exhales, a long, ragged breath that seems to deflate him.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I do.”
I stare at him. My shock is a physical thing, a jolt that runs through my limbs. I knew. Maybe deep down I always knew.
But hearing him say it out loud is different.
“You do?” I ask.
He nods. He runs a hand through his hair, ruffling the blond strands.
