Page 62 of Untruly With You

My words hang in the air like another thick cloud. A flash of emotions dances across Wells' face. He clenches his jaw so tightly that I can see the muscles in his neck strain. When he speaks, his voice is a low, simmering growl, “You don't know anything, Sutton. You don't know what we've been through—what I've been through—while you were living it up in New York, pursuing yourdreams.” He practically spits the last word. “Don’t speak to Dad that way. Don’t you dare say he isn’t enough.”

Wells’ anger boils over, and without warning, he lunges at me. He tackles me back against the ground, coating my back in thick, wet mud. From the corner of my eye, I see Hank try to get up, but he fails, stumbling back against the tree.

Wells has me pinned to the ground, my shirt in his tight fists. He’s no longer the teenager I would effortlessly triumph over in our playful wrestling matches. In place of his once gangly limbs, he has cords of bulking muscle, the result of endless days of physical labor.

Thunder, lightning, and torrential rain have reduced the world to a violent chaos, soaking me to the bone. Wells straddles me, his chest heaving with anger and exertion, face contorted in a mix of pain and fury. He’s a different Wells than the one I left behind six years ago. This is a Wells shaped by the unforgiving demands of the ranch. My back sinks deeper into the earth below me.

I hold back from retaliating, waiting to see how far Wells will take this. Pelting raindrops sting like needles against my skin. I struggle to break free, but Wells' grip on my shirt is unyielding.

“Your dreams,” he hisses, “left me here to pick all the pieces up on my own. But my years of work and dedication mean nothing. No, it’s stillyoueveryone wants.”

I should reason with him, to make him see my point of view, but it's like reasoning with the storm itself. “Wells, I’m not trying to take anything away from you. I just want to live my own life, make my own choices.”

A flash of lightning and a crash of thunder fuel his anger. “Your choices…they've always been about you. You walked away, leaving us to deal with everything. You don't know what it's like, what it's been like for us here.”

Wells tightens his grip on my shirt with one hand, releasing his other, and I can see the frustration etched into every line of his face. I reach out, trying to push him away, but he's too powerful. He's taken on the strength and resolve of this ranch.

“Just do it,” I grumble. “Do what you’ve been wanting to do for years. Hit me.”

Wells takes a deep, shuddering breath, and squinting my eyes in the downpour, I see his mouth curl into a smirk. He releases his grip on my shirt, and for a moment, I think the fight might be over. Then, with a defiant snarl, he aims a fist at my cheek.

The impact sends a shockwave of pain through my face, and my vision blurs for a moment. I can barely see Wells pull his arm back, ready for another hit. With all my strength, I push him in the chest, throwing my weight over and flipping us around until I’m on top.

“Feel better?” I ask through heavy, panting breaths.

“I don’t care that you abandoned the ranch,” he growls. “Ijust care that you abandoned our family.” He pulls me down into another grapple.

Hank yells something, but I can’t hear it, not over the sound of my raging pulse in my ears.

Rain and mud turned the ground treacherously slippery, making the fight a chaotic, uneven struggle. At some point, I have Wells on the ground again, but he pulls a foot back, kicking me square in the chest with his boot and sending me back against the trunk of a tree, knocking the breath out of me. When he lunges forward to hit me again, I dodge it, landing my own blow. It connects with Wells’ jaw with a sickening thud, and my hand immediately aches.

Wells' frustration and resentment find an outlet in our physical struggle. The fight is as much about emotions as it is about dominance. It's a battle between my chosen path and Wells' desired role, the heir to a legacy he was never intended for.

He bear-hugs me, pushing me out onto the trail. I land with my back on the rocks along the mountain’s edge. I twist around, my elbow connecting with his chest. He chokes a breath out, but in no time, he has me on the ground yet again, this time landing a punch right along my lip. The hot, metallic taste of blood seeps into my mouth, mixing with the mud coating my teeth. I sputter, unable to see, thanks to the rain and dirt veiling my eyes. In one last push, I rock him over, forcing his back against a rock.

Therock.

Its jagged, sharp edge cutting into the misty rain like a serrated blade. A clap of thunder sounds, the loudest yet, and the earth seems to shake under us. For a moment, our struggle pauses, and we lock eyes, both of us panting, soaked to the bone and shaking, more from anger and adrenaline than from the cold.

Wells' voice is a strained growl. “You should've never left,Sutton.” He shakes his head. “You should’ve never come back.”

With a deep sigh, I stumble back, my chest heaving. The rain continues to pour, streaking with my tears through the mud and blood on my face.

“I’m sorry, Wells,” I mutter, my voice strangled with sorrow. “I never wanted it to be like this.”

He doesn't respond, his unforgiving gaze still locked onto mine.

I extend a hand to help him up. He stares at it for a moment before accepting it. The two of us stand there, drenched, bruised, and emotionally drained, on the very ground that claimed Duke. I stare at Wells, searching for any glimmer of understanding, of relent. But his eyes remain stern, forged by the years of hardship he's endured without me.

“I’ll go, okay?” I say, my entire body aching from the inside out. “I can tell you don’t want me here for the wedding. I’ll go.”

After a pause so long I wonder if Wells is working up the energy to fight again, he sighs, the weight on his shoulders looking unbearably heavy. “You can’t.”

I blink, taken aback by the unexpected plea in his words. It's not the anger or resentment I've grown used to hearing from him, but something different, something that hints at a deeper pain.

“What do you mean?” I ask, my voice shaky.

Wells takes a step closer, his shoulders slumping under an unbearable burden. His voice is barely above a whisper. “This isn’t just about the ranch. Or Duke.” He looks away, locking his pleading eyes with our father’s. “You need to tell Sutton the truth.”

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