Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

Trey

T he farm stretches out before me, but it's not the farm I know. The sky is a surreal shade of deep purple, the trees are whispering secrets I can't understand, and the horses move like shadows, ethereal and ghostly.

I'm in the middle of the pasture, and there, under the lone oak tree, is Wade. He's younger, maybe fourteen, his face full of that mischievous energy he always had. He's wearing his favorite blue shirt, the one he always insisted was his lucky charm. He waves at me, a wide grin on his face.

"Trey, come on!" he calls, his voice echoing strangely in the dreamscape.

I walk toward him, my steps heavy, the ground feeling like it's shifting beneath my feet. As I get closer, the oak tree transforms, its branches twisting and curling into strange shapes, forming a canopy that seems to stretch into infinity.

Wade is now sitting on a swing hanging from one of the branches, pushing himself back and forth with the exuberance of a five-year-old, but now he's the same age as when he died. "Remember when we used to play here?" he asks, his eyes twinkling with a mix of nostalgia and something I can't quite place.

"Yeah, I remember," I say, my voice sounding distant to my own ears. "We had a lot of good times here."

He nods, still swinging, but his expression shifts, becoming more serious. "You've got a choice to make, Trey," he says, his tone cryptic. "You always do."

"What choice?" I ask, unease creeping in.

Wade jumps off the swing, landing lightly on his feet. He gestures to two paths that suddenly appear, diverging from where we stand. One path is bathed in golden light, the other shrouded in shadow.

It feels cliché and I don't trust it.

"The path of memory," he says, pointing to the shadowed path, "and the path of love," he continues, indicating the golden one. "Which will you choose?"

I look at the paths, then back at Wade. "I don't understand. I've already made my choice."

He smiles, but it's tinged with sadness. "You can hold on to the past, to the guilt and the memories of what was lost, or you can move forward with love, with Holland. But you can't have both, Trey."

I know I can't have both. I'd already concluded that and broke things off with Holland. I'm disappointed in Wade, that he can't be more original. I'm disappointed he's not proud of my decision or at least a little fucking grateful.

The dream shifts again, and I'm standing alone in a field of tall grass. Wade is gone, but his words linger in the air. The sky above me is now a swirling mass of clouds, forming shapes and patterns that are almost recognizable but slip away as soon as I try to focus.

A horse appears, galloping toward me from the golden path. It stops in front of me, its eyes deep and knowing. It speaks, though its mouth doesn't move, its voice resonating in my mind. It sounds like James Earl Jones, which lends some credibility to the words. That man always sounds like he knows what he's talking about. "The past is heavy as an elephant and light as a feather."

That makes… no sense at all.

From the shadowed path, a different figure emerges. It's Wade again, but older this time—as old as our father actually—his face lined with the years he'll never actually get to live. He looks at me with a mixture of disappointment and understanding. "The past is heavy as an elephant—"

"Yes, I know," I say churlishly. "And light as a feather."

"Actually, as light as a slice of American cheese, but semantics." Wade's eyes twinkle, making him look younger and more vibrant. A dull ache forms in my chest because I miss him so fucking much.

"I have to tell you," he drawls, looking around at the bizarre scenery. "I commend you for what you did."

I frown. "What I did?"

He nods. "Yeah… dumping Holland. Heavy as an elephant. She was no good for you and look what she did to me. I'd still be here if it weren't for her."

"No," I growl in anger. "It wasn't her fault. She had nothing to do with your death. It was all me."

"Well, look at you," he chides. "Trying to turn elephants into American cheese."

"What in the hell are you talking about?" I yell in frustration, pulling at my hair. "You said I have to make a choice, but I don't understand what my options are."

I turn to look at the two paths again, but now they're gone.

My choices are gone.

Wade starts to fade, turning translucent. "Wait. Don't go. I don't understand what you're trying to say."

He gets filmier, eyes boring into me as he disappears.

"Wait," I demand, holding out my hands. "Tell me what to do."

I can barely see him now, but he waves his hands where the two paths were. "It's too late," he says so faintly, it's a whisper on the wind. "You already made your choice."

I wake up with a start, my heart pounding, the remnants of the dream clinging to my mind like cobwebs. My bedroom is dark and silent, the only sound my ragged gasps for air. I lie there, trying to make sense of the dream, but it slips away, just out of reach until I can't really remember the details.

Was Wade telling me to honor his memory by letting go of Holland, or was he calling me an idiot for not fighting for her? And really, does it even matter? It was a stupid dream, only a figment of my tortured mind.

But what's done is done, even if I'm starting to think I've made a horrible decision.

The days that have passed since my brother's funeral have not gotten any easier. The forgiveness of my sins that I expected to come from my penance never materialized. I'm still just as hard on myself about what happened to Wade, and even worse, I think my guilt was misplaced. The thing burdening me the most these days is the hurt I caused Holland.

I lie in bed a long time, not wanting to get up. I've been sleeping like shit, and I feel it in my bones. At least I've stopped sleeping in Wade's room, trying to hang on to some connection. I even managed yesterday to go through his clothes, pulling out anything I wanted to keep and boxing the rest for donation.

Eventually, when the sunlight starts streaming in my windows, I know it's time to get going. With a sigh, I roll out of bed.

I received a missive from my mom last night that she expected me to attend a family breakfast at eight a.m. I'm not sure how I feel about that, given I've done a damn good job of avoiding my family since the funeral. Besides, I'm still mad at them because they knew Holland was leaving and no one bothered to tell me. I get I ended things, but I had the right to say goodbye to her the way the others did.

I considered boycotting to continue to voice my displeasure at being kept in the dark, but ultimately, I know my dad will come looking for me and I don't want to tangle with him. He's about reached his limit with me, and I get it. He's lost a son and probably has more reason to be mired in a funk than I do.

By the time I reach the farm, the sun is casting its light over the fields, painting the landscape with a soft golden hue. Normally, mornings on the farm bring a sense of peace, a promise of a new day, but not today. Today, everything feels heavy, muted, as if the world is still mourning with us. I wonder how long that will last. Or maybe this is the new normal.

I pull into the driveway, the familiar sight of the farmhouse bringing a lump to my throat. Wade should be here. He should be inside waiting to make sarcastic comments about my hair being a mess or how my snoring kept him up last night.

But he's not. The thought still feels unreal because I just can't accept it. It's a bad dream I can't wake up from.

I inhale deeply and step out of the truck, making my way to the house. It feels as if I'm walking through mud.

In the kitchen, everyone has gathered around the table. Mom is at the stove, flipping pancakes. Normally it would be Miranda cooking breakfast, but I know my mom needs something to do. She needs to be a mom now more than ever. Dad's sitting at the head of the table, staring at his coffee cup as if it holds all the answers. Ethan is next to him, looking tired but trying to keep up a facade of normalcy as he chats with Sylvie. Kat is sitting across from Ethan, also looking tired, but when her eyes meet mine, they sharpen with frostiness. I don't think she's going to forgive me for letting Holland go.

"Morning," I mutter, moving to my mom and kissing her cheek. Her palm comes to the side of my head to hold me there briefly before she releases me. I grab a cup of coffee and lean against the counter.

The usual lively chatter is absent. Instead, the only sounds are the clinking of utensils and the occasional sigh. It's like we're all walking on eggshells, afraid that any sudden movement might shatter us completely.

Ethan clears his throat, breaking the silence. "We need to talk about the upcoming week. There's a lot to do on the farm, and we can't afford to fall behind."

Dad nods but doesn't voice his opinion. When he turned the business over to Ethan, he let go completely.

"Lessons start back up this week." Ethan looks to me, then Kat. His voice is hoarse. "I've reassigned Wade's lessons between the two of you and I'll take some as well until we can hire a replacement instructor. Dad's going to take some too."

That's a knife to the chest. Wade's being replaced by another instructor.

"You need to remember, some of these kids are going to be pretty broken up about Wade, so we need to be extra sensitive."

Join the crowd, kids. Join the crowd.

Everyone sits down at the table when Mom brings the pancakes over and although I'm not hungry, I take a spot across from Kat. We pass food around and the conversation shifts to discussions about expanding the broodmare barns, but it feels forced.

Sylvie, who's usually so full of life, sits quietly next to Dad. She picks at her food, not eating much. I glance at her, a pang of guilt knocking into me. She's too young to be dealing with all this.

I look around the table, at the faces of my family, and I can see they're all struggling in their own ways. But it's me who's the most withdrawn. I didn't even want to be here, but Mom begged, and I couldn't deny her. So here I am, a shell of my former self, going through the motions but feeling nothing.

My thoughts drift to Holland. It's been two days since she left for Zurich. I had no idea she was even planning to leave. The rest of the family knew—she said goodbye to all of them before the funeral. She already had her plan in place and was ready to jet out of here before Wade was even buried.

I saw her at the funeral, of course. I was looking for her, half expecting her to still sit with us but also not surprised she stayed near the back. I didn't think it strange Gabe went to sit with her. Grudgingly, I'll admit it was a nice thing to do.

It was only at the house later that night as people came by to drop off food and offer more condolences, I wondered out loud to my mom that it was strange Holland hadn't been by yet.

My mom looked at me with sympathy. "She left, darlin'."

"Left?"

"Back to Zurich. Right after the service."

I felt like I'd been hit with a wrecking ball. I'm not sure what I expected her to do, but leave wasn't one of them. She was turning the printshop around and I—stupidly—thought she'd stay here. If she had done that, I could see glimpses of her here and there and wouldn't fully lose her.

It was then that I learned she'd been by the house the day before to say her goodbyes. I wasn't there, of course, but rather at my house, sulking.

I try to focus on the surrounding conversation, but my mind keeps wandering back to Holland. I'm devastated she left and I have no right to be. I think deep down, I thought she wasn't going to give up. She was going to keep coming after me and then it would all be okay. But now, I don't have Wade, and I don't have her.

Ethan catches my eye, his expression a mix of concern and frustration. "Trey, you with us?"

"Yeah," I mutter, snapping back to the present. "I'm here."

He nods, but I can see the doubt in his eyes. Everyone's tired of my surly attitude, my constant withdrawal. But what can I say? The guilt of losing Wade is one thing, but the pain of losing Holland is eating me alive. I can't tell them that because I don't want to hear what an idiot I am. I most certainly can't let them know that my current attitude is due to me obsessing more about losing Holland than about Wade. I just don't want to hear the I told you so 's.

The rest of breakfast passes, the conversation stilted and awkward. No one laughs. No one shares stories. It's just business, a way to distract ourselves from the gaping hole Wade's death has left in our lives.

As we finish eating and start to clear the table, Kat catches my eye. She gives me a small, sad smile, and I feel a small flicker of connection. But then it's gone, and I'm back to feeling like an outsider in my own family.

We all head out to start the day's work, and I feel hollow, despite pancakes in my belly. As I walk toward the barn, Ethan falls into step beside me. He doesn't say anything, just gives me a look that says he understands, even if he doesn't agree.

And through it all, I keep thinking about that dream I had about Wade. It was so cryptic, so bizarre, and I still can't figure out if he was praising me for choosing his memory over Holland or calling me an idiot for letting her go. The uncertainty eats at me, making it impossible to find any peace.

The workday stretches on, each task a welcome distraction from the turmoil in my mind. But no matter how hard I try to focus, I can't escape the gnawing sense of loss. I lost my brother, and I lost the woman I love. And I don't know how to move forward from here.