“Then why do you have that look that screams, ‘Help, I’m having an existential crisis'?” she questions. “Is it the ranch or something else?”
I walk over and sit down beside her, the wood creaking beneath me. “It’s complicated.”
“Come on. Out with it.” Her voice is pushy, like she’s not letting this go. “Does this have anything to do with that event planner? Amber or Jenna, was it?
Her name makes my breath hitch. But growing up with Gabriella always made it easier to let my guard down. “What makes you say that?”
“I don’t know.” She tilts her head, raising a brow. “Maybe because every time you’re not talking about Dad or work, it’s her. Don’t even try to deny it. You’re terrible at hiding things.”
I stare out at the fields. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Gab. She has a family. And I’m not that guy. I’m not…”
“Our father,” she finishes for me.
I don’t respond. My stomach burns at the thought of me turning out like him. The man I swore I’d never become after I got sober.
She watches me, her voice softening. “Dylan, you’re not him. You’re the most big-hearted, loyal idiot I know. You’d never intentionally hurt someone.”
I sigh, rubbing the tension in my neck. “It’s not just about her. It’s the guilt. That night. The fear of losing someone again. Of getting close only to fuck it all up.” I look up, my voice raw. “Why do I shut everyone else out but let her in? And how the hell am I supposed to stop this, when I like the friendship we’ve built?”
Gabriella stares at me, no judgment in her eyes. “Do you think she feels the same way?”
A bitter laugh escapes me. “It doesn’t matter. She’s not leaving her husband, and I won't be the one who ruins her family.”
She crosses her arms. “Good. Because you know, affairs never have a happy ending. And statistically, married people almost never leave their partners.”
I shoot her a look. “It’s not like that. It’s just nice having her as a friend.”
Even though I know I’m lying to her and myself. Messaging her every morning and every night. Stopping whatever I’m doing when her name pops up on my phone. Caring about what she says. Like her words matter. Like she matters.
“Whatever you say.” She smirks. “By the way, I'm still waiting for Jenna to confirm wedding plans. I’ll have to start looking for someone else soon if I don't hear back from her. We’re finally setting a date, and it might be sooner than I thought.”
Before I can respond, the sound of boots on gravel turns our heads. Our dad approaches from the barn, stone-faced, arms crossed, the sour smell of alcohol drifting in the air.
“Gabriella,” he says, his voice curt. “I need a minute with your hotshot city brother.”
“Fine. Just don’t kill each other, okay?” she mutters before slipping inside.
And I’m left alone with him.
Dad’s eyes bore into me like they always do. Hard and unforgiving. “So, what’s this crap I hear about you wanting to sell the ranch?”
“I said what I said,” I reply, my voice unwavering. “You clearly can’t run the place anymore, and Gabriella and Amelia want nothing to do with it.”
He scoffs, stepping closer. “And what? Playing contractor in the city is better than doing real work on the ranch? I can’t do it anymore because I need you here to help. But you run off, leaving your family behind.”
I stand towering over him, fists clenching at my side, but my voice stays calm. “Family? Do not talk to me about family.” The familiar anger churns in my chest. “We all needed you. He needed you. But the bottle came first. I don’t need to stayaround a miserable old man that blames me for shit you’re just as responsible for.”
For a second, guilt flickers in his expression. Then it’s gone. “Don’t you dare bring me into this.”
I take a step closer. “I just did.”
The air is thick with words left unsaid, and years of resentment neither of us has fully voiced. Until now.
Dad exhales sharply, shaking his head. “This place was supposed to be yours. You were always meant to take over.”
The words land heavily, but I shove them away. He’s wrong. It was never mine alone. It should have been my brother’s too. Maybe if I stayed, things would’ve been different. I don’t finish that thought. Instead, I mutter under my breath, “Not anymore.”
Dad stares at me for a long moment, face unreadable. “Then get the hell off my land.”
