Page 16 of Unruly

I shrug, keeping it vague. “He’s doing good—working hard. You know how he is.”

I leave out the part about his latest obsession. Rhett doesn’t need me adding fuel to that fire right now.

Sloane eventually stands, stretching. “I’m going to pull some fresh linens out of the closet and get the guest room set up for us.”

As soon as she disappears down the hall, Dad pulls me into a hug that’s tighter than usual. His voice is low against my hair.

“Sloane’s right. We are here for you,” he whispers. “Always have been and always will be. We love you.”

I squeeze him back, eyes stinging again.

Waiting until they both disappear down the hall, I pull out my phone and text Zach.

Me:

Don’t fucking talk to my family

Three dots appear immediately.

Zach:

I do what I want, remember?

CASH

The back porch of the main house is quiet, except for the low hum of the night. I’ve got my boots kicked up on the rail, a half-warm beer in my hand, and Pixie sprawled across the wooden porch. The old dog twitches every few seconds, chasing something in her sleep.

I know the feeling.

Out past the yard, the tree line sits black and heavy. Crickets chirp away in the grass, and somewhere deeper, a coyote yips once and falls silent. This place always sounds like it’s holding its breath right before it decides whether or not to bite you. It’s home, for better or worse.

The screen door creaks, but I don’t turn my head. I already know who it is by the way the air shifts.

Dad steps out, boots heavy on the wood. He drops into the chair two down from mine without a word. Grandpa is already out here, rocking slow and steady in his old chair, no drink in his hand, just existing.

“Evening,” Dad says.

“Evening,” I echo.

Grandpa rocks in his chair, looking out into the darkness.

Dad clears his throat. “You get those heifers moved to the south pasture like I asked this morning?”

I shake my head and take a slow sip, already knowing where this is headed. “Forgot.”

“You forgot? That’s your answer? You forgot? Those heifers needed to be moved today, Cash.”

I set the bottle down on the table beside me and raise my hands. “I had other shit to handle for Rhett.”

“You always have a goddamn excuse for why something doesn’t get done. You can’t just do whatever the fuck you want, son. You keep acting like this and⁠—”

“And what?” I cut in. “I ain’t out here for you to fucking lecture me about responsibility, Dad. I did what Rhett asked me to do because there was a trough that was cracked and needed to be replaced. Sorry if I felt like that took priority.”

Dad’s jaw locks. “Watch your mouth, boy.”

I scoff. “Or what? You gonna fire me? Hard to fire your son from the fucking family.”

Dad and I have always been like this—two hard-headed bulls in the same pen, neither one willing to back down first. He hated the ranch when he was growing up like me because Grandpa’s oldest, Luke, was the golden boy, similar to Rhett. Dad was the screw-up, the one who got in trouble, ran wild, and eventually landed in prison at twenty-one because he was the getaway driver for a bad decision that cost him five years.