For a second, I thought it had landed. His eyes flicked toward me, unfocused but searching.
Then, something shifted.
“Hoyt,” he shouted, sudden and violent. “I won’t have your queer ass in my house, touching my stuff!”
The old venom came rushing back with it—spit-flecked words, the same ugly rants I’d grown up with. He slurred about men not being men anymore, about weakness, about sin and rot and shame. About boys who deserved what they got. About how the world had gone wrong, and people like my big brother, Hoyt, were the reason.
I stood there and took it. I always had. He didn’t know about me, because… why would I even tell anyone, let alone him? The fury burned hot for maybe thirty seconds. Then, it sputtered. His voice dropped off mid-sentence. His head sagged back against the chair, mouth slack again, breathing evening out.
Just like that, he was asleep again, and I headed out as soon as I could. I was pulling the door closed behind me when I saw Olivia.
She’d been waiting, bundled up in a coat, under the shelter of their shared porch, arms folded, braced to talk to me.
“Jesse,” she said, her voice tired rather than angry.
“Hey.”
“You were inside,” she said. “I saw the light.”
“I was checking on him.”
She nodded once. “I can’t keep doing this.”
“You can call me anytime,” I said. “If there’s a problem?—”
“I try,” she cut in. “You don’t always answer.”
That one stung, because it was true. If Ruth were in the kitchen, she might answer, but when I was away from the ranch, I didn’t get the messages. Then, when I did get them, sometimes the issue was fixed, and god help me, that was a way out sometimes.
She took a breath, then let it out slowly. “People in town think he’s my responsibility. They look at me like I’m supposed to handle it. Like I signed up for this.”
“I know you didn’t?—”
“I’m not family! I’m just a neighbor. And I’m sorry, Jesse, but I can’t keep being responsible for what people think. It’s not fair to me. He’s your blood, and he needs to be back on the ranch where you can deal with him.”
The thought of that made me sick. “I’ll fix it,” I said.
“Jesse… the mercantile,” she said, voice shaking now. “He lost his temper with Evan Roberts just because his hair’s longer than most,” she said. “He was ranting at that poor kid, Jesse. Calling him names. Slurs. Loud enough, the whole store heard. Then, he threw something,” she went on. “A can of saddle polish. It missed Evan’s head by inches.” Her eyes were bright, furious, and wet all at once. “His mom had to step in, and Abel went for her too! People were shouting. I thought someone was going to get hurt.”
My stomach twisted. Shame cutting through the numbness.
“I called you! You weren’t there, so I was the one who got him out of there,” she said. “Do you know what that looked like? Me apologizing. Again. Like I’m responsible for what comes out of his mouth. LikeI’msupposed to manage him.People in town are looking at me, and I didn’t do anything.” She wiped at her cheek. “I can’t do that anymore.”
“Fu—I’m sorry. You’ve done more than anyone should’ve had to.” The old man’s hate wasn’t on her, it was on me alone. Again. Always. The weight of it pressed down on my shoulders, my ribs, my lungs, until breathing felt like hard work. The past, the damage, the mess he kept making of other people—it all funneled straight toward me as if I was the one it belonged to.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, softer this time.
“Don’t be,” I told her. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Thank you for what you do. I’ll fix it.”
Fix it how? Fuck knows.
Every option I turned over came up wrong. He couldn’t stay on the ranch—not without more damage, more talk, more days like today. But he couldn’t be on his own either. Not like this. He was clear enough to dodge help and volatile enough to make forcing it a disaster. There were no good options. I was out of room.
If I sold the ranch—if I agreed with Lucas—I could put him somewhere permanent. No scrambling. No favors. No waiting for the next call. I could make it someone else’s responsibility. The thought came easily, and I hated the relief that followed. Because it wasn’t only about him. It was about me not having to keep showing up for a man who never showed up for me.
If something broke here, it wouldn’t be the land. It would be me.
The calls when he wandered. The looks from people who didn’t want him back. The weight of things I hadn’t done butstill owned. And knowing that if he crossed another line, it wouldn’t be his name that stuck. It would be mine.
