Page 27 of Mud & Moxie
***
By noon, the whole town is buzzing. At the diner, conversations drop to silence when Madison walks in. At the hardware store, customers whisper behind displays. Online, the comments turncruel:She’s using him.Poor Dylan.Knew she wasn’t cut out for this.
At the farmers’ co-op, a woman I’ve known since childhood pats my arm and whispers, “Don’t worry, Dylan. We’ll forgive you for being fooled.” As if Madison is nothing more than a scam artist and I’m some naive farm boy who never saw it coming. The words cut, but the worst part is Madison hearing them too. I see her jaw tighten, the light dim in her eyes, and I know it’s hitting harder than she’ll admit.
I should speak up, shut this down, but every time I open my mouth, the words die in my throat. The Carter name carries weight in this county, and a part of me—ashamed as it is—hesitates to throw fuel on the fire. My silence tastes like betrayal even as I tell myself I’m protecting the farm.
That evening at the church potluck, whispers follow us into the fellowship hall. Madison stands beside me, balancing a plate of fried chicken and biscuits, while people glance her way like she’s carrying contagion. Mrs. Latham, never one to keep quiet, mutters loudly to her neighbor, “She won’t last a season. City girls never do.” Madison pretends not to hear. I do, and shame burns hot in my gut.
Even Matthew notices, jaw tight as he shoulders his way through the crowd. He leans close and mutters, “Say something, Dylan. For her.” But the words stick, cemented by years of training myself to stay quiet in storms.
***
That evening I find her back in the farmhouse, suitcase open at her feet, hands shaking as she shoves clothes inside. My gut twists. “Madison—”
She spins on me, eyes blazing, cheeks streaked from tears she probably swore she wouldn’t cry. “Don’t. You had the chance to say something. To defend me. And you stayed silent.”
“I didn’t want to give Carrie more ammunition—”
“Bull.” Her voice cracks, and the sound wrecks me more than the words. “You were protecting yourself. Protecting your name, your family. And you left me to burn.”
“I was trying to protect both of us,” I argue, but it’s weak even to my own ears. “This town—they’d believe her lies before they’d believe the truth. I thought it was better not to stoke the flames.”
Her laugh is bitter. “You don’t fight fire by pretending it isn’t burning, Dylan.” She shoves another handful of clothes into the suitcase. “You don’t get it. Every time you stayed quiet, you told them they were right about me.”
Her words are fire, and I take every hit. Because she’s right. And because I don’t know how to tell her that silence was the only weapon I’ve ever known.
Then she lowers her voice, trembling but steady enough to slice: “Uncle Ray trusted me. He saw me for what I could do. And today you showed me you never will.”
The accusation lodges deep, a wound I don’t know how to mend.
***
She zips the suitcase with finality, the sound like a door slamming shut. “I’m done, Dylan. I won’t be the joke this town tells over pie and coffee.”
I reach for her, but she sidesteps, chin high, dignity her last shield. My chest aches with all the things I should have said sooner, but the moment’s gone.
The screen door bangs behind her as she steps into the fading light.
And then Matthew is there, striding up the steps, eyes dark as the storm rolling in.
“What the hell did you do?” His voice is low, dangerous, the kind that used to stop me cold when we were kids. Only this time, it’s not a warning—it’s a verdict.
“She’s walking away because of you,” he snaps. “You were supposed to protect her, Dylan. Not let the whole damn town tear her apart.”
I have no defense. None that matters. The sound of her suitcase rattling down the steps haunts me. All I could do was stand there, guilty under Matthew’s furious stare.
His voice drops, rougher, personal. “You break her, and you lose me too.”
The words land heavier than the thunder in the distance. Because losing Madison is one thing. Losing Matthew, the brother I chose, would finish me.
***
MADISON
The slam of the farmhouse door still echoes in my ears as I stumble down the porch steps into the rain, suitcase banging against my leg. My breath comes ragged, half sob, half relief, because all I know is I can’t stand another second in that house with Dylan. Not after his silence, not after the whole town turned on me and he let them.
Headlights cut through the storm, sweeping across the lane. Matthew’s truck. Relief buckles my chest. I drop the suitcase handle and jog the last few steps, yanking open the passenger door before he’s even killed the engine.
