Page 6 of Mud & Moxie
But I hate that Dylan does. I hate that his opinion still matters at all. And I hate that some part of me still wants him to see me differently.
I swallow hard, blinking against the sting behind my eyes. The town already doubts me. I can’t let him add to it.
***
DYLAN
Madison’s heels click too fast against the sidewalk, her bag wobbling at her side like it’s ready to spill open. She always moved like that—too much energy for one place, like she had to outpace the world before it outpaced her. I should look away, but I don’t. I never really could.
The memory hits uninvited. Her leaving. No goodbye, no explanation. One day she was sprawled on Ray’s porch swing with her notebook and a soda, laughing at something I said. The next, she was gone—off chasing bright lights and magazine covers. I found out from Matthew, same as everyone else. Just packed her bags and vanished.
It confirmed what I’d always suspected. Madison Wilkes wanted more than this town, more than fields and barns and people like me. She wanted glamour, a stage big enough to hold her ego. And she didn’t think twice about the ones she left behind.
I grip the brim of my cap, tugging it lower. The rain has started again, light but steady, tapping against the brim. I welcome it. Easier to focus on the sting of rain than the sting of old memories.
Matthew was furious the week Madison left. Said if she wasn’t his sister, he would’ve cut ties completely. I told him it didn’t matter—that I was done caring. But I wasn’t. Not really. Watching her leave without a word was worse than the dismissal she threw at my life’s work. It was proof she didn’t value any of it. Any ofus.
I risk a glance at her now. She’s staring straight ahead, jaw set, shoulders tight. Whatever storm’s brewing inside her, I don’t want to know. All I know is this: she left once. And I’d be a fool to let myself forget it.
***
The rain patters harder, drumming against the awning as we duck beneath it outside the local grocery store near the public parking. Dylan shakes out his cap, sending droplets flying in every direction, one splattering against my cheek. Perfect. Just perfect.
“Careful,” I mutter, swiping at the water. “Wouldn’t want your storm cloud routine to soak anyone else.”
His head turns, slow as a freight train. “Storm cloud routine?” His voice carries that familiar edge, equal parts irritation and disbelief. “You barged in like a hurricane today, Madison. Pretty sure the town’s still drying off.”
My jaw snaps tight. “At least hurricanes make an entrance. You just brood in the corner and pretend it counts as personality.”
His mouth curves—half smirk, half challenge. “Better than selling a smile for likes.”
The words hit their mark, sharp and deliberate. My throat locks for a beat, but I refuse to let him see it. I tilt my chin, summon the sass that’s always been my armor. “Funny. For someone who doesn’t believe in my work, you seem awfully invested in bringing it up.”
A flash of something—anger, or maybe regret—flickers across his eyes before he looks away. He tugs his cap lower, muttering, “Some things never change.”
My laugh comes out brittle. “No. Some things do. You just don’t want to see it.”
The tension prickles sharp enough that Matthew shifts where he stands, eyes narrowing, protective radar fully activated. His glare at Dylan could slice steel. The warning is clear:Watch yourself.
For a long moment, it’s just the rain filling the silence between us, pounding out the things we’ll never say. Old wounds lie raw, right beneath the surface, waiting for the next careless word to split them open again.
Matthew clears his throat, cutting into the silence. “Maybe we should keep this civil. Ray wouldn’t want the two of you at each other’s throats before we’ve even started.” His voice is even, but the steel underneath it leaves no doubt—he’s watching both of us.
***
DYLAN
The rain runs in rivulets down the sidewalk, pooling around our feet. I stand there, staring at her, and something shifts. For years I told myself Ray might leave me the farm because I earned it, because the Carters had always worked his soil. But today proved he saw something else, too.
Ray sawher.
Madison Wilkes, with her bright ideas and relentless drive. She’d taken nothing but a blog and turned it into a six-figure business. Built something out of thin air, with grit Ray must’ve recognized even if I was too blind to. He trusted her to bring that same fight here, to the farm he loved. Maybe that’s why he made this arrangement—because he knew she could turn scraps into something worth keeping, just like she did in the city.
I let out a breath, slow and rough. My chest aches, and not just from grief. Seeing her again stirs up more than old grudges. It digs up the memories I buried deep—the girl with hay in her hair, laughter spilling out on summer nights, eyes shining brighter than the fireflies. The one I told myself I’d stopped caring about the moment she left.
But the truth claws its way up, undeniable: I never stopped. Not really. And that’s the part that terrifies me most.
And when my eyes flick to Matthew—standing there, jaw like stone, his gaze locked on me—I know he sees it. His silent warning is unmistakable:Don’t hurt her.
