Page 109 of Wild As Her

She sits there, strong and solid, her other hand gripping her coffee like it's a weapon. Occasionally, she hums along to the country music I barely have turned up, but mostly we sit in it—the quiet, the nerves, the unspoken.

I remember the last time I saw my dad. It was about six months ago. He'd just been sentenced. I sat in that courtroom and listened to him blame everyone but himself: the judge, the neighbors, even us kids. He looked over at me and told me that I didn’t have what it took to be a real man. He said I was weak.

I knew he was a piece of shit long before that day. That day, his consequences caught up to him. Consequences that are his and his alone.

The prison looms like a ghost of everything I hate. Gray walls. Guard towers. Cold air. The smell of iron and regret clings to the place like a second skin.

I look over at her. Cami doesn’t flinch.She squeezes my hand as we go through security, like she can feel the stormraging inside of me. And the more anxious I get, the calmer she seems to get. Which feels right. Cami has always been mine.

And then we’re there. In the visiting room. Sitting at the cold metal table. Waiting.

Jack Jessop, Sr. shuffles in like he owns the place, even in his gray and white jumpsuit. His blond hair is short and thinner with more gray in it, but his green eyes are just as sharp. And just as mean.

He looks at me and smirks. "Well, well. Look who finally grew a pair."

I stare at him, not responding. Cami’s hand tightens in mine under the table.

"Didn’t think you’d come,boy," he says with a mean edge to his voice as he enunciates the word boy. "Let alone bring a Kendrick." He practically spits out that last part, clearly unhappy that she's here.

Cami bristles but stays quiet. Her gaze is neutral, and her body is calm, which calms me down. But what I really want to do is reach across the metal table and punch him. But that's what he wants. He wants anger and strife. And today I'm here for me. Not to give him what he wants.

“I bought Wilder Ranch," I tell him. "I’m rebuilding it alongside Jessop Ranch. The right way."

“Well, well, well.” He laughs. It’s harsh and cruel. "The right way? Don’t make me laugh. You don’t know the first thing about running a ranch. You were never smart enough to run it like a businessman. Always trying to play cowboy like it was some fairytale."

I feel my jaw lock. My hand curls into a fist in my lap. Cami watches him and still gives nothing away with her facial expressions.

But it dawns on me that he didn’t show an ounce of surprisewhen I told him that I bought Wilder Ranch. He already knew. Which means someone told him.

He leans forward, eyes gleaming. "You think you’re better than me? You’re not. You’ll screw it up, and you'll screw up Wilder, too. And when it happens, you'll lose everything even worse than I did."

Cami speaks then, her voice low but fierce. "Heisbetter than you."

My dad’s eyes narrow, and he bites out, "Careful, sweetheart."

"Or what?" she asks, her voice steel.

Anger surges through me. But I let him talk. Maybe he’ll slip up and say something.

I want to punch him. For all the times I was a kid bracing for a slap or a punch that never came in public, but always later. And I grew to expect it.

He keeps going. "I see the way you're looking at her. Like she fixes you. Like you're worth something. You ain't worth shit, boy. And one day, she'll realize it too. She'll be long gone."

I lean forward, elbows on the table, the air between us thick with heat and history. My teeth grit so hard I feel it in my molars. “Enough.”

My voice is low, steady but sharp enough to cut through concrete. I’ve let him talk too long. I’ve let himexistin this space too long. This meeting? It was never about hearing him out. It was about confirming what I already knew. That he hasn’t changed. That hewon’tchange.

I shift my gaze to Cami. She catches it immediately and gives me the smallest nod like we’re synced up, like she already knew the second we sat down what this would be.

But she doesn’t stand yet. Instead, she turns her full attention on my father. And the air changes.

The fire in her eyes is ice-cold. The kind of cold thatburns. Her voice, when she speaks, is calm. Controlled. But it’s laced with so much power it makes my skin prickle.

“You know,” she says, tilting her head like she’s talking to a particularly dumb child, “for a man who’s spent a lifetime burning things down, you sure do act like the ashes should still love you. Newsflash…they don’t. Nobody thinks of you anymore. They’re all better off without you.”

My father’s smug grin falters, just slightly. Not much, but enough. Enough to make my chest swell.

She leans in a little, arms crossed, unflinching. “Jack’s the best man I’ve ever known. And it’s not because of you, it’sin spiteof you. You’ll never get to take credit for the man he is or pretend your poison didn’t cost him more than most people could survive. He’s standing on the scars that you gave him.”

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