Chapter 1

Chapter One

B arron

The mist clings to the trees like a secret, thick and low, softening the world as I make my way through the woods. My boots crunch over the damp leaves, each step slow and steady. I know these woods like the back of my hand, every curve of the path, every hidden dip and rise. The air is cool this morning, sharp against my skin, but I like it that way. Keeps me alert. Keeps me grounded.

The weight of the axe in my hand feels right. Solid. There's comfort in its heaviness, the way it swings naturally at my side like an extension of me. Out here, it's just me and the trees. No noise. No people. Just the rhythmic beat of my steps and the occasional rustle of the forest coming to life around me.

The first rays of sunlight pierce through the canopy, casting long shadows and golden beams across the ground. There's something sacred about this time of day. Early. Before the world wakes up, before the chaos creeps in. I pause, inhaling the sharp scent of pine, the earth rich beneath it. This is where I belong. Among the trees. It's simpler out here.

I stop at the tree I marked yesterday, its bark worn and rough beneath my fingers. I let my hand rest there a second longer than necessary, feeling the age of it, the strength. Trees don't ask for anything, don't demand more than they give. They're honest. The world could use more of that.

I grip the axe, raising it high, and let it swing with practiced precision. The sharp thunk reverberates through the stillness, and for a moment, everything is quiet again. Just the echo of the strike fading into the mist. I repeat the motion, the rhythm as familiar as breathing. It's not just work. It's a release. A way to keep the thoughts at bay, to push everything down where it belongs.

But today, something's different. The axe connects with the tree again, and instead of peace, a memory flickers. Her face. The one I try not to think about. Dark hair, soft smile. The way she used to fit against me, like she was made for it. Made for me. I swing the axe harder, the thought burning in my chest.

I told myself I'd stopped thinking about her. It's been years, and I should've let it go by now. Should've moved on. But I haven't. Not really. That laugh of hers, the way it used to fill up the quiet spaces...it's still there, like an ache I can't shake.

Another swing. The axe bites deep into the wood, and the tree groans in protest. I grit my teeth, pushing down the rush of frustration, but it keeps bubbling up. I never had a chance to make things right. That's the worst part. I was too damn stubborn, too wrapped up in my own mess to see what I had. And now? Now it's too late.

The tree starts to lean, cracking, splintering. I step back, watching as it topples, hitting the ground with a thud that shakes the earth. There's something final about it. The sound, the impact. Like cutting down pieces of myself. But there's no time for that kind of thinking. Not now. Not ever.

I stand there for a second, my breathing heavy, watching the fallen tree. The ache in my chest dulls, but it doesn't disappear. It never does. It just fades enough to get through the day.

The familiar sound of an old engine struggling to survive rumbles through the air, cutting through the quiet of the woods. It's followed by the inevitable sputter and hiss as the beat-up truck finally gives up and dies, right on cue. I don't need to look up to know who it is. The brothers are here.

I keep swinging the axe, the sharp thunk of wood splitting beneath my hands grounding me. It's the sound I live for. The feel of the forest giving way to my strength. I don't need conversation. I don't need noise. The work is all I need, all I can count on to drown out the rest.

But then I hear Knox's laugh, loud and unapologetic, as it carries through the clearing. "Barron, you gonna pretend you don't hear us again?"

I grunt in response, focusing on the tree in front of me. I feel their eyes on my back, but I don't bother to turn around.

The truck doors slam shut, and I hear the scuff of boots on the earth. Knox, Pope, Creed, and Judge—four of my eight brothers arrive in all their loud, testosterone-filled glory and shuffle toward me, tools slung over their shoulders, grinning like they're about to start trouble. They always do.

Judge gets there first, always eager to be the one to break my silence. "What's the plan today, Barron?" His voice is rough, but there's a hint of teasing in it.

Without stopping, I lift the axe and bring it down with a sharp crack. "Cut trees," I mutter, my breath steady.

"Wow, enlightening," Pope says, deadpan, as he drags his axe along the dirt, letting it catch in the dry leaves. "I swear you're turning into one of them trees, man."

"Only thing missing is the moss growing on his back," Knox chimes in, nudging Pope's shoulder as they approach.

I smirk to myself but keep my eyes fixed on the tree, lining up my next strike. If I keep working, maybe they'll leave me be. But I know better than to hope for that.

"Still out here in the woods all by your lonesome, huh, Barron?" Creed sidles up next to me, already grinning like he's got the punchline ready. "One day, you're gonna turn into a tree yourself. Get real cozy with the bark, huh?" His chuckle is low and throaty, and I can feel his eyes on me, waiting for a reaction.

I plant the axe into the wood and stand, wiping the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. "Better company than you lot," I say, grabbing my water canteen from the ground.

The others laugh, but it's Knox who takes the bait, stepping forward with a grin. "Maybe that's why you're still single. No woman's gonna put up with a man who talks less than the wind and spends all his time with trees."

"Yeah," Judge adds, his voice dripping with amusement. "You might need to work on that charm, Barron. I hear women actually like it when you talk to 'em."

I roll my eyes but can't help the small tug of a grin at the corner of my mouth. "I talk," I say, taking a long drink of water. The cool liquid slides down my throat, easing the heat in my chest.

"Not to people," Knox fires back. "Just trees. What do you even say to 'em, huh?"

There's a beat of silence as they all watch me, waiting to see if I'll bite. I know better than to give them the satisfaction.

Pope shakes his head, his tone mock-serious. "Maybe that's it. Maybe Barron here has a secret tree romance going on."

"Must be the quiet type of love," Judge says, laughing as he picks up his axe, hefting it over his shoulder. "No wonder we never see him with anyone."

I don't bother answering. This is their way. Always poking, prodding, trying to get a rise out of me. It's been this way since we were kids. I was never the talker, not like them. They're all too used to being the center of attention, filling up every room, every space with their noise. But me? I've always been content to stay on the edge, let them take the spotlight. It's quieter that way.

"One of these days," Knox says, shaking his head as he approaches the tree beside me, "some woman's gonna break through that bark of yours. You'll see."

"Keep dreaming," I mutter, smirking as I pick up my axe and move toward the next tree. But even as the words leave my mouth, something inside me stirs. An old wound, buried deep but still there, festers for a second before I shove it back down where it belongs.

Knox and the others start working on their own trees, the sound of wood splitting and falling filling the air. It's not exactly peaceful, but it's the kind of noise I can handle.

As I swing the axe again, there's a brief flicker of something. A memory. A smile that used to belong to me. Her laugh, light and easy, teasing me the way my brothers do now. The way her hand felt in mine, soft and warm, before everything went wrong.

I shake my head, gripping the axe tighter. The past is the past. There's no point digging it up now, a decade later.

But Knox's words linger in the back of my mind, gnawing at the edges of my thoughts. "Some woman's gonna break through that bark."

I don't need anyone to break through. I built these walls for a reason.

Still, as I glance toward the mountains, where the forest stretches endlessly in every direction, there's a small part of me that wonders.

Maybe they're right.

Maybe the life I've built—this quiet, solitary existence—isn't enough.