Page 34 of Up in Smoke (The Bunkhouse #3)

TRIPP

I breathe through the sharp pangs in my chest. For a beat, we both narrow our eyes, like his words didn’t really feel right to either of us. I lean on the door. He places his hands in his pockets.

I’m not sure there’s any need for a formal introduction. I inherited the strong set to my nose and jaw from him like copy and paste, that much is clear. The resemblance makes me light-headed.

“No hotels in Westridge, can you believe that?” He shakes his head and laughs while still wearing a full grin. “Wasn’t sure this was really where you lived. Impressive place.”

He’s smaller than I imagined. Not shorter, just—worn out?

“Wow, just look at you. I always wondered if you took after me.”

So far, he’s filled the awkward gaps three times, and I have yet to say anything. I step to the side, and he takes it as his cue to walk in. The bunkhouse feels quieter now than it ever has as he drops to the recliner and I take a seat on the sectional in the living room.

Even though my heart is pounding, I keep my face neutral. He leans forward, elbows on his knees like we’re just two dudes catching up instead of two strangers linked by blood and a lifetime of radio silence.

“I wasn’t expecting . . .” I trail off with a hand in my hair.

“Thought maybe if I called beforehand, you’d talk yourself out of it. Out of seeing me.”

He’s not wrong.

“If you’re anything like me, you might have been content to wait forever.”

I glance down at my hands, rubbing my thumb over a callous that wasn’t there a year ago. He’s not wrong about that, either.

“Truett—”

“No one calls me that,” I blurt out. “It’s Tripp.”

He nods. “Okay, Tripp. I don’t go by Montgomery, either. It’s Monty to anyone who knows me.”

My left leg bounces like it used to when I had to take a pop quiz at school.

Instead of replying, I study him. The dark scruff on his face is peppered with gray.

His long legs are slender and slightly bowed.

His smile lines are as deep as any I’ve ever seen, like he’s laughed his way through a lot.

The patch of skin between his eyes is aged with intense lines too, like pain still lingers and has left evidence on his face.

He scratches his chin and lets out a breath that is more resigned than relieved. “Would it be okay if I ask you some questions?”

I nod.

“I just wondered if maybe I had any grandkids running around.”

“I don’t have any kids.”

“Oh, okay. What about a wife? Girlfriend? Sorry, I guess you could have a boyfriend instead. No problem. I’d never?—”

“No,” I cut him off. Then, I think better of it and, for the first time in my life, answer that question differently. “I have a girlfriend.”

“I hope I didn’t ruin your evening if she’s…” He trails off nervously and looks down the hallway.

“She doesn’t live here, and she’s out of town anyway.”

He nods too many times and leans forward with a smile. “That’s not so bad. A little quiet time with no women around, am I right?”

What the hell? I quirk an eyebrow and don’t bother agreeing with him just to make the conversation less awkward.

“Never mind. I’m terrible with women and never wasted much time on relationships myself. Good for you.” He slaps his hands on his thighs and continues to scan the room. “Well, maybe it’d be easier if you asked me the questions instead. Seems right. If you want to, I mean.”

“If I knew you were coming, I would have thought of some,” I say. “I guess I’ve had plenty of years to do that, though. More than thirty, to be exact.”

We stare at each other for longer than a minute this time.

His breaths are heavy, and the uncomfortable strain is evident in his expression.

I didn’t mean to be a dick to the guy. I think I’m angry that he randomly chose this moment in time to sweep onto the ranch and surprise me.

Up till now, it’d been one of the best weeks of my life.

The day I finally met him was supposed to be significant for me. Thought out. I should have been excited. For whatever reason, my intuition is telling me to keep my guard up instead. Maybe I’ve got it all wrong and should give him a chance.

“What was my mom like?”

He inhales deeply through his nose, raises his eyebrows, and looks to the floor. “She was, uh—well, she was a beauty. Sharp. It’s funny that you’re out here on this ranch. She dreamed of that kind of life and always wanted to move this way. She had a real talent with animals, too.”

Without thinking, I scoot to the edge of my seat and lean forward as he continues.

“I was quite taken with her, but we were both so young and usually butted heads, if I’m honest. She called me a son of a bitch a time or ten.

Which is fair. I was exactly that,” he adds with a fond chuckle.

Then his expression turns serious, and his voice lowers.

“She was too good for the likes of me, and we both knew it. I think it was late winter when I came back through and learned she’d left Oklahoma. Never heard from her again.”

My spine straightens. “Not once?”

He shakes his head. “No. Her family was a loony bunch and that didn’t help. Only ever met them once in my few weeks there with her. They came running at me with chants, fire-lit pitchforks, and handheld crosses.”

“Did she talk to you about me?”

He swallows hard. “No.”

I hear what he’s saying, but none of it makes any sense. Had she fled Oklahoma to come here to Texas? On her own? And he was just— fine with that? Oh well, good luck to you?

That can’t be right. I don’t think he knew the stakes. The stakes being a fucking teen pregnancy.

Bile creeps up my throat, which I know is a childish reaction. The thing is, my nervous system has taken a beating lately. With an unexpected reunion like this to top it all off, I can feel it finally shutting down as a result.

I feel childish right now, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do to pull it together and act my age. I’m sitting in the same room with my biological father, hearing things about alleged family drama. Was it because of me? Did I cause that?

“Course, I still thought about you. Hoped you were well over the years.”

“Wait. You knew about me, then? From the beginning?”

My head pounds as he avoids eye contact.

“I did,” he admits. My entire world tilts on its axis. “You’d have been doomed as a kid if my ugly mug stuck around. Saved you a few therapy bills letting your mom do the proper raisin’,” he adds with a deep laugh.

I put a fist over my mouth and lean forward until my head is nearly between my knees.

In my mind, my parents were in love all their lives. They tragically lost me somehow and cried over it together, surely. Every little detail about who I wanted my dad to be was of a man filled with regret. He’d longed for me. But Monty is making jokes.

I recognize the easy deflection. I’ve used it myself too many times to count.

Making people around me smile or laugh to avoid heavy topics is a dangerous habit. One I inherited, apparently.

The longer you do it, the more you forget how to converse normally without cracking jokes. You forget who you were before you started doing it, too. When the day ends, and you’re left with two versions of yourself, you forget which one rings true.

Hearing him do it annoys me to no end, and my anger continues to build. I sit up straight and try to collect myself before I say something I can never take back.

“She didn’t raise me, though. She died .”

“I’m real sorry to learn that. Iris was a special lady, and I wish you’d been able to have her around.

” He pauses and clears his throat. Probably to tamp down the impulse to make another joke.

“It looks like you’ve done well for yourself.

Having someone like me around would have been more than a bad example to you.

I wouldn’t have been able to set you on any sort of path to success, and I knew that. ”

“Awesome,” I mumble. “Well, this is going well.”

“I can see you’re uncomfortable, son.”

“ Son ?” I choke out with a huff.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” He stands, and I copy his movement.

We’re face-to-face again. My hands ball into fists.

The heaviness between us brings me back to my real state of adulthood for long enough to stop panicking. I sure as hell can’t go back and change the way my life turned out as someone without contact or knowledge of a single family member. Neither can he. At least he’s being upfront.

Still, fury builds in my chest. This is too much.

I look like him. I talk like him. The resemblance is maddening because the fact is, I don’t like what I see or the other similar qualities we share.

He says he’s bad with women in relationships.

He jokes about leaving me to my own devices as a literal child.

Am I supposed to accept that and just be happy that he’s finally coming around to meet me?

He just got out of rehab too, and I’m beginning to think the universe sent him here to me as an entirely too personal and hard-hitting warning.

Know your place.

“It’s—fine,” I lie. “I’m just shocked. This is a lot for me.”

“Maybe I should come back another time.”

He moves to walk past me. I start to feel guilty for pushing him away. Not long ago, I fantasized about getting this chance. Most everything he said confirmed my fears about a rough meeting, but I’m making it even worse. When he opens the door, I turn to face him.

“Just call next time.”

He presses his lips into a thin line and nods.