Page 102 of Wilder

I never understood why people were so weird when it came to grief and dying. Then again, I’d lost my parents young, so I’d had time to come to terms with its uncomfortability.

Hearing him admit to feeling lost while trying to step into his dad’s shoes made me sad. He was so much more than the man trying to live in another one’s shadow. He’d inherited this place along with the responsibility of living up to a ghost.

I’d only heard bits and pieces from the other ranch hands about Wilder’s dad, and from what I’d gathered, he’d been well respected, loved, and almost like some kind of legend figure.

“You shouldn’t have to erase yourself to run this place,” I said, curving my hand around to cup his jaw and lift his head.

He didn’t say anything right away, just stared at me with that same expression I’d always had a hard time reading. “It’s a lot harder to come back from than I thought it’d be.”

“Sully doesn’t help you?”

“He does,” Wilder said with a small nod. “As much as he can. But lately... something’s been going on with him.”

That made my brows pinch together. “What kind of something?”

He lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “I’m not sure. He’s been off. We’re not fighting exactly, but we’ve been at odds for a little bit now. He’s tight-lipped more than usual. I’m trying to give him space. Let the dust settle before I talk to him again.”

“You think it’s about the ranch?”

He hesitated for a moment. “Maybe. Or something else. Sully’s always been private. Even when my father was alive, he kept most of his personal shit locked up tight. That was just... how they functioned. My father trusted him with everything and Sully never let him down. He handled things... I think he’s still carrying that weight. My father’s death hit us all hard. Admitting he’s struggling, too, isn’t something Sully would be open to.”

Maybe... or it was a case of Sully not knowing how to bring the subject up—to start the conversation they both clearly needed to have weeks ago. Hell, maybe even months ago. Grief did weird shit to people, made them dig their heels in and lash out without explanation.

Sully didn’t strike me as that type, though. He was more of a stone wall, stoic kind of man that could weather a storm without looking like it fazed him

None of that meant things didn’t affect him, though. It just meant he was good at hiding the pain.

Whatever the case may be, it wasn’t exactly my place to get involved, even if it was killing me to see Wilder upset about it.

What I could do, though, was be there without pushing, support him until he felt the need to actually pull Sully aside and have that one-on-one talk with him, ease the burden he’d been carrying on his shoulders for the past almost two years.

“I don’t think he’s trying to shut you out,” I said after a beat. “Some people are shit at asking for help. If they’ve spent their whole lives being depended on, it’s hard to admit they need that same thing reciprocated.”

Gage was the number one culprit in my life who was guilty of that. I couldn’t even count on my hands the number of times Grey and I have had to put our foot down and force him into opening up to us.

It was like pulling teeth with our brother sometimes, but we always managed to force him to talk no matter what the subject entailed.

“You’re not failing anybody, Wilder. Least of all Sully. But maybe it’s time you both stop trying to be your father’s legacy and start making your own.”

He blinked at me, clearly surprised while he considered my words. I half expected him to brush me off and tell me I didn’t know what I was talking about—that there was more to running this place and the nuances that went into his relationship with his right hand than I’d ever come to know.

However, to my surprise he said none of that.

A slow smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah... I think you’re right.”

I couldn’t help mirror him with my own grin. “That’s the spirit.”

He lifted himself up onto his hands, leaning over to press a chaste kiss against my lips. “Thank you, Asher.”

I breathed him in, hauling him down against me, unwilling to let him go. “No need to thank me. I’m full of sage advice. Real old soul stuff.”

He chuckled against my neck. “Wise for your nineteen years, I see.”

“That’s what people tell me.”

He hummed, quiet and content, before shifting just enough to nuzzle his nose into the crook of my neck. His breath fanned warm across my skin as he inhaled deeply, like he was trying to imprint the smell of me into his memory.

Whatever the future held, I hoped Wilder stopped being so damn hard on himself. He deserved peace. To live without feeling the pressure of filling someone else’s shoes and instead, carve his own path.