Jesus, what kind of man am I becoming, appreciating his quietness? I’m no longer sure I recognize myself these days. I shake my head, pushing the thought away. Right now isn’t about you. Dad needs the help. That’s the only thing I need to be focusing on, and if it means I can’t be the same fun guy I used to be, then so be it.

I finish cutting down another tree, then throw it into the pile. Maybe I use a little too much force as I do so because Finn, who’s coming back from a trip to the truck, looks at me with wide eyes and says, “What did this tree do to you, man?”

I throw him a look, then get back to work.

“Hey, everything okay?” he asks, stopping next to me.

“Course,” I lie. It’s not like I can’t talk to Finn. I just don’t see the use in it.

“Uh-huh, sure.”

I guess that’s the biggest disadvantage—or advantage, depending on how you see it—of having a best friend who you’ve known forever: they always know when you’re bullshitting.

“It’s complicated,” I add.

“Yeah, I get it.” The sad smile he gives me tells me he truly does. Shelli, his mom and Ma’s best friend, must’ve filled in the blanks of things I haven’t shared with him. They met when Mom moved to the States and Shelli became her next-door neighbor, and they’ve been inseparable ever since. I’m thankful for it. Ma needs her support, and it’s good to have Finn around. Having someone who understands is worth a lot.

We both do a few hauls to the truck in silence before Finn asks, “So, how long are you planning on staying here?”

“Not sure yet.” It’s not exactly the truth, but I’m not ready to talk about what will happen in the future. Although with the way he’s looking at me, he probably knows what I’m thinking. This place is Dad’s most precious possession. It has to continue being run by someone in the family.

“And what does your boss say about that?” the sneaky ass asks.

I shrug. “I can do some work from here. I brought all I need from the office.” No need to mention that I barely have had the time to sleep more than five hours a night since I got here, much less work forty hours a week on my designs on top of the work I do on the land.

“And is that a viable option for you?” Finn asks, seeing straight through me.

“Sure.”

We both know it’s not. At least he’s a good enough friend not to call me out on it.

“What about you?” I ask. “You know what you’re gonna do next?”

“Nice deflection.”

I narrow my eyes.