Page 69 of Unruly

“Here’s what’s going to happen: you’re going to go to court—finish the damn divorce. Then you’re going to leave her alone. You’re going to let her go.”

He tries to shove me off. I press my knee harder.

“And if you ever make her cry again,” I say, leaning in so he can see exactly how serious I am, “I will bury you. She’s not yours anymore—she was never really yours. She’s mine to protect now, even if she never wants to see me again.”

“You think you can come into my house and threaten me?” Zach spits, blood on his teeth, eyes wild with fury. “She’s my wife; I will never let her go. And if you know what’s good for you, ranch boy, you’ll let her go too.”

I stand up, breathing hard, knuckles split and bloody.

“You don’t get to threaten me. You had your chance with her and you fucked it up. Infect her life again and I won’t just break your jaw, I’ll fucking end you. Slowly.”

I walk out of the house and head toward my truck, slamming it shut as soon as I’m seated and pulling out of the driveway before the adrenaline starts to crash.

No one gets to have her, except me.

HALLE

The late morning sun filters through the kitchen window of my house as I stand at the counter, stirring sugar into my second cup of coffee, the spoon clinking against the ceramic.

Since family dinner, Cash and I haven’t spoken, texted, or even acknowledged each other. I shouldn’t be mad, or upset; it was never supposed to get serious anyway.

I just wish I could believe that.

There’s a knock at the front door, which pulls me back to earth. I glance at the clock—it’s barely ten. It wouldn’t be Cash, or my brother⁠—

A rush of fear comes over me. What if it’s Zach? No, he wouldn’t do that. We have court in a month. He will just wait for that.

I set the mug down and walk through the living room, still in my soft gray sweatpants and an old tee. When I open the door, I find Rhett Thornwood standing on the porch, his broad shoulders filling the frame. He’s not much older than Cash, but he carries himself with more maturity. Unlike Cash’s red hair, he has sandy blond hair that matches his youngest brother and the rest of the Thornwood men.

“Hey, Hal,” he says, voice low. “Got a minute?”

I nod and step aside. “Come in. Coffee’s fresh if you want some.”

“Nah, I’m good. Colt thinks I need a break from the caffeine.”

I laugh. “I need to warn you, that advice comes from someone who chugs energy drinks on repeat during finals week.”

He chuckles and follows me into the kitchen where I grab my mug and take a sip.

“Well, why are you here, Rhett?”

“Um …” He stammers, “C-can we sit?”

I nod toward the kitchen table and we settle down in seats across from each other. Then, he reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulls out a sealed, cream-colored envelope and slides it across the table. I look down and see the unmistakable handwriting of Grandpa Ben.

My stomach tightens.

“Found a stack of envelopes while going through his belongings. He wrote one to everyone. This one was for you.”

I stare at the envelope but don’t reach for it. My fingers stay wrapped around my mug, the warmth grounding me. “Thank you for bringing it. I … I ‘m not ready to read it yet. I’m sorry.”

Rhett studies me for a long moment. “Understandable. Take your time. I’m sure Grandpa wanted you to have it whenever you were ready, so it’s no rush.”

Silence stretches between us, comfortable in the way only families who have known each other for a long time can manage. Outside, the occasional car passes by.

I sip my coffee, letting the bitterness steady me. “You didn’t come here just for the letter,” I say after a few minutes watching him anxiously fidget with his fingers.

He shakes his head. “No, ma’am.”