***

"Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything."

~ C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

***

The Seresin Ranch sprawls over six thousand acres of Northern Texas hills covered in cypress and elm and oak, occasionally dotted with patches of pecan trees. Green fields and staggering hills trying to be dramatic but falling short of the epicness of the Sierra Nevadas.

Fields of Texas sage, Turk's cap, blackfoot daisies, red yucca, and a rainbow of colors of lantana sprawl as far as the eye can see.

Creeks and rivers twist and turn around the ranches and farms and small cities that dotted that part of the countryside.

At the beginning of the ranch road, a new gate stands, a stylized Seresin Ranch with a cutout of a cowboy on horseback, hangs and shifts in the wind, framed on each side by plots of fiery red lantana and blackfoot daisies.

They line the road all the way to the homestead.

It's all cut and measured to be as dramatic as possible when the rising sun catches it, casting the long shadow of the cowboy across the road, and the visitors make the appropriate noises of appreciation as Ren starts in on the history of the ranch.

It started from a single plot claimed by the daughter of the pilgrims that died there.

Three generations later and it was one of the first thriving family ranches in Texas.

They held out through the Commanche (Ren's blood), the US Cavalry, the Mexican Army, and run-of-the-mill bandits and outlaws.

There are Seresins buried from the Indian Wars, the Civil War, the Alamo, the war for Texas Independence, and pretty much every other conflict that's taken place in American history.

One of the first Texas Rangers was a Seresin.

One of the first Madames to run a brothel in the state was a Seresin too, an early advocate of women's rights.

They've four thousand head of longhorn cattle, two hundred horses they breed and train and sell for upwards of fifty thousand a piece, and a scattering of goats, sheep, chickens, pigs, and god knows how many dogs and cats.

They breed and train Australian Shepherds, too, the American cowboy's dogs. They sell for four thousand a piece.

They're all little psychopaths, Ren says cheerfully, don't trust the cute faces, and it serves its purpose of making them all nervous.

They have a veritable army of ATVs, pick-ups, small tractors and farm equipment, and two planes. Davey's old Cessna and a newer crop duster they use for the few acres they have dedicated to wheat and corn and Amara's vegetables.

They've got vague plans of becoming self-sufficient someday, but they've also got about fifty people, some with families, that work and live on the ranch, so it's going to take a bit.

They have a live-in Ferrier and vet, Ren's cousin and Javy's sister, respectively.

They sell beef to major corporations at twice the market average and offer deals to local businesses and restaurants.

They've had the top-rated steak in the state for the last five years running.

They do just over five million in meat sales each year. Their horses and dogs take gold in rodeo and agility competitions every year.

And legally, it's all Peter and Jake's.

The Seresin trust was designed by the only member of the family to ever become a lawyer. Written on the eve of ranching becoming a corporation thing instead of a family thing, and the brilliantly written trust locked out anyone without Seresin blood.

It requires the land and anything on it to belong to a Seresin.

The second it doesn't, the land becomes a wildlife and nature preserve that can't be developed for five hundred years from the day the last Seresin dies.

It was an insane contract then, and it's still an insane one. Ren compares it to the Guinness family's original contract with Dublin, a beast that not only guaranteed their price for centuries but also impacted how the city could grow and develop around it.

The Seresins bought the water rights for the hills around the ranch generations ago and effectively stopped any corporation or city from growing into the hills.

Even the state's best lawyers haven't found a way to break it.

They drive the long ranch road slowly, passing the longhorns and the goats and the sheep (so few in number because they're so dangerous to the ecosystem, Ren explains), and they stop to take pictures as the first horse pastures come into view.

There are a few ranch hands in pickups chucking out hay bales, and they wave as a bunch of city-born Navy pilots tentatively pet the horses friendly enough to come over to the fence.

"They're a lot bigger in person," Bradley mutters, hanging back until Jake shoves him forward.

"No shit," Harvard agrees, wide-eyed.

"They're harmless," Ren insists. Five foot nothing, and she hauls around thousand-pound animals like they're nothing.

"Until they chuck you twenty feet in the air," Javy mutters.

And then they all back up a step.

Beyond the horse pastures is the original gate, built just before the creek that circles the original homestead.

A little Texas oasis.

It must have been paradise all those decades ago when there was no one else for hundreds of miles.

It's worn from age and weather but still standing. The board from some tree on the East Coast, and the name Seresin is clearly hand carved.

There's a cattle gate over the bubbling creak now, and Bradley's breath catches when the homestead comes into view.

The original homestead is still standing, Jake explains. They strengthened it, built on it, and expanded it, and now it's a sprawling ten-bedroom, eight-bath with three stories, wrap-around porches, and a huge kitchen that manages to feed the whole the ranch if someone who knows how to cook is in a good mood.

There's a huge five-tractor garage across the front yard and a short airstrip and hanger behind it.

There's a couple of bunkhouses and a huge covered training arena, and two heated barns, and between them, they can fit all the ranch hands and the horses inside in the hard winters.

There are three flag poles in the center of the front drive, the American flag, the Texas State flag, and the POW/MIA flag, of course.

Everything's well maintained but not perfect. There's care put into it, but it's still a working ranch, and there's a whole pack of icy-eyed, fluffy dogs lined up on the front porch.

Waiting.

"It's okay," Lily Grace says, "They're friendly."

Right.

They're fifty pounds of muscle with teeth and claws that case around animals fifty times their size.

Bradley's not falling for that.

They get a few minutes just to look around and gawk before the front door opens, and the most intimidating woman Bradley's ever met walks out.

Prowls out.

Because Amara Machado moves like a panther. Sleek, graceful, strong the way the world and Juan Cole made her.

He regrets that strength now.

As he should.

Bradley unconsciously straightens, falls to attention, and he can tell from the corner of his eye that he's not the only one.

"Best get settled then. It's going to be busy." Is all she says.

Eyes roving, searching, and not looking all that impressed.

She sends them to the second bunk house, with beds for all of them and a communal kitchen and bathroom.

Just like the Navy, but better quality.

There's an awkward beat where Bradley's not sure where to go or what to admit to since they haven't actually said anything about their relationship to anyone, including themselves.

But then he catches the look in Javy's eyes and follows Jake into the main house.

One of these days, he's going to have to thank Javy for all the borrowed courage.

And then they're going to have a long, detailed talk about boundaries.

There's barely time to breathe after that.

The homestead is beautiful, the walls lined with pictures and newspaper clippings and medals.

Lots and lots of medals.

Bradley tries to stop and look at them, but something always pulls him away.

Jake, to unpack.

Amara, for a short this is where everything is tour.

Lily Grace, to show him the heart of the homestead and the Sharps rifle, one of the first ever made, it still works, mounted over the fireplace that's older than all of their cohort combined.

Javy, to rescue him from Lily Grace and introduce him properly to Celia.

Another one that fits Jake's taste in women. Beautiful, intelligent, dangerous, and not just because she's clearly got Javy wrapped around her finger.

He remembers to ask about the pictures, but Celia and Javy just look sad and say it's something he should hear from Jake.

Which isn't comforting at all.

Bradley's not stupid.

He knows there's something he's missing.

Something in the way Jake broke at losing his brother, but everything was already prepared and ready to go.

Like it wasn't a surprise.

If Jordan had been in his eighties, the lack of surprise might have made sense, but he wasn't even forty.

And of all the pictures on the walls, there isn't a single fair-haired, green-eyed person with wrinkles or sunspots.

Either the Seresins discovered the Fountain of Youth, or they really don't handle aging well.

It's a toss-up over which is closer, given the skincare regime he's seen Jake use.

Javy gives him an intense look in the hall, though, after Amara sat them all down and fed them more food than they'd ever seen all at once before (and it was all fucking delicious) and then sent them off to bed with strict instructions to be ready for the funeral by eleven am, dress uniforms or all black and there will be no fainting from the heat, so prepare accordingly.

Javy, Bradley's come to realize, is much more intense than Jake.

Which seems....kind of impossible, given how intense Jake gets about flying.

But still, intense.

Maybe it has something to do with what the rest of their cohort was clearly trying not to say at the dinner table.

Bradley's pretty sure people were getting kicked left and right under the table.

Talk to Jake is all Javy will say.

And Bradley knows better than to have a relationship talk before a funeral, but Javy waves him off.

There's always going to be a funeral, Bradshaw. Talk to him.

So Bradley takes a few wrong turns finding his way back to Jake's room, and tries to wait patiently.

Jake shows up sooner than Bradley was expecting, so maybe Javy was right.

And he makes a point of closing and locking the door.

"So...."

"Are you okay?"

"Kind of a stupid question at this point, Bradshaw."

"Fair enough. Is there something...else?"

"What did Javy tell you?"

"To talk to you."

"That's it?"

"That's it. He seems to think I should hear whatever it is from you."

"I guess that's fair."

"Is it bad news?"

"Not for you."

"What does that mean?"

"No one in my family lives past forty."

".....What?"

"No one-"

"I heard you. What the fuck does that mean?"

"Jordan was thirty-eight. Lily only made it to fourteen. Brian, Jessie, and Michael only made it to their early thirties. My mom was thirty-seven. My dad was thirty-five. My grandfather was thirty-six, my grandmother thirty-seven. My cousin died at twenty-five. I think we had another cousin that died on his fortieth birthday. My uncles died at twenty-one and twenty-eight."

"Jesus, just, stop. What, what about before that?"

"No one, going back to the very first. You can go look if you want. They're all buried out back in the family plot."

"What?" He actually turns towards the window, but-

"All two hundred and seventy-four of them."

"What?"

"All Seresins come home in the end. I'll be the two hundred and seventy-seventh buried. Long as lily Grace and Dustin don't go before me. Or I don't go before Peter."

"I need to sit down."

"You are sitting down, Bradshaw."

"You're thirty."

"Yep."

"Going to be thirty-one this year."

"In a few months."

"You're saying you only have nine years left?"

"At the most."

And Bradley's actually speechless for the first time in his life.

"Lily Grace and Dustin-"

"Will mostly likely die before they're forty. Nobody makes it."

"Why the fuck not?"

"We don't know. There's been Seresins that tried to avoid it, lived safe lives, and took no risks, and they still died. Hell, there's been Seresins that went full tilt the other way and should have died a dozen times before they finally went. But they all went before forty."

"But what is it?"

"A fucking curse."

"Thre's no such thing."

"Well, it's not a disease. We're all perfectly healthy. It's not self-induced, and it's not like we're the Hatfields or the McCoys. There's no other family trying to wipe us out."

"But, a curse isn't...it's not supposed to be real!"

"Take it up with whoever you fucking worship. Ours has been real since before Texas was a state."

And then there's just silence.

Jake, frustrated and angry.

Bradley, stunned beyond speech.

Jake goes to take a shower and leaves Bradley to stare blankly at the wall, all of it bouncing around his head like nothing ever has before.

All Seresins die young.

They die bloody, because Bradley's already started to see that pattern.

They die fighting.

He stumbles over the window and peers out.

Gravestones as far as the eye can see.

They cover the gentle slopping hill behind the house, spilling down to the creek and down the other side out of sight.

There's an old fence running around the lot, as old as the homestead.

Somehow, seeing the graves drives home everything Jake said.

All Seresins die by forty.

Violently.

Jake has scars, he notices now, for the first time, despite all those nights he spent mapping Jake's body.

They seemed so insignificant then.

He comes out of the shower fresh and clean and pink and smelling like his fancy skincare products, and all Bradley can notice is the scar on his abdomen, the one on his thigh.

There are a lot of small ones all over his hands and arms.

A life of work leaving its marks.

There's one on his forehead, hidden by his hair.

There's one on his shoulder blade that's almost three inches in length and definitely required stitches.

Jake looks a little cautious as he lays down, but he doesn't say anything as Bradley searches them all out.

He's done the right thing by telling Bradley, though Bradley wouldn't have held any ill will if he'd waited a bit, either.

But he's very aware that the proverbial ball is now in his court.

So the question is....

Is it worth it?

That's what Jake is really asking. Why he's telling Bradley.

If Jake really will die by forty, then they have less than ten years together.

Neither of them have even hit the ten-year mark in their military careers. Jake won't make it to Squadron Commander, which Bradley knows he wants.

He might make it to Lily Grace's high school graduation but not her college graduation.

He definitely won't make Dustin's.

Bradley always wanted kids, but Jake already has two that are growing. Is he going to want another when he won't be around?

Bradley always thought he'd retire to San Diego, where his parents grew up, where Mav and Ice are settled, but one look at the ranch tells him Jake would never retire anywhere else.

Although, if Jake's dead by forty, Bradley won't even be retired by then, so it wouldn't matter.

Bradley always figured his wedding would be small and intimate, he doesn't like the fuss, but he's pretty sure no one on the ranch would forgive him if it wasn't here and big.

Which, small thing; it's just one day.

But Mav and Ice would be back in California.

The last of Bradley's family.

The only people in his life that remember his father and his childhood before the loss took over.

Would they even like visiting Texas?

His parents are buried together in San Diego....

He and Jake haven't even gone on an actual date yet.

Bradley might love him, but that doesn't mean Jake loves him back.

Doesn't mean a relationship will actually work out.

They could be amazing together for a few years, and then it just fizzles out like it sometimes does.

Do you stop loving someone just because you realize you don't get to keep them as long as you want?

***

Jordan Seresin was a middle child through and through. Bright and outgoing and always ready for attention.

Brian Seresin was born a middle child but became the oldest in middle school when he helped carry his big sister's casket up the long ranch road.

He went from dreams of little responsibility to carrying the ranch and everyone who depended on it on his shoulders in one summer weak.

He'd been planning on a military career before that. He didn't want to fly, but something that let him travel the world seemed fun.

After Lily's death, he couldn't risk being away that long.

He carried her up that long drive and put her in the ground, and then he couldn't make himself go visit her again.

Gave himself panic attacks trying to force himself until his parents told him to stop, that it was okay.

Thank god for the Machados, the Coldwinds, and all the other families that called the ranch home.

Brian would never have managed it without them. Would have been crushed under the weight of the world on his scrawny shoulders.

He hadn't even had his first kiss by then.

And when his father and mother went in short order in the next few years, he still hadn't.

It was slightly easier when the Warrens arrived, then harder again when Ham died.

But they got through it.

Brian learned the laws of ranching, animals versus acres versus what the BLM wants you to do. Grass-fed versus organic. What vaccinations worked best, the most effective way to till for better crop yields.

Amara, Ted, and the other adults pressed him to go out and have fun. To hang out with kids his age after school.

But all Brian can think about is keeping the ranch going, keeping his younger siblings fed because that's what Lily would have done.

She wouldn't have struggled.

She was made to be the boss, to take care of everyone.

Brian's just a half-assed replacement, no matter what anyone says.

The only place he really feels confident is the arena.

Sawdust and sweat and blood.

He knows exactly what he has to do.

He knows exactly who his opponent is, and there's no deception or lying, or backstabbing because a two thousand-pound bull only has one goal.

He wonders if it's normal that the only time he feels normal is when he's facing one. When he's settling in and adjusting his grip and then hanging on for dear life.

Those eight seconds are peaceful, his mind blank, nothing but instinct and muscle memory.

And he's good at it.

It's so nice to be good at something.

He takes first place in his first competition and never drops below that.

He teaches Adam Machado, and the kid's almost as good as he is. They spend hours bent over bios of the bulls and the other riders, trying to predict who's going to do well and which bull will be the most difficult ride.

He doesn't bother with college, goes straight onto the pro-circuit when he graduates, and spends the rest of his time running the ranch.

The longer he does it, the easier it gets, so there's something to be said about hard work, even though he still lacks the natural touch Lily and their mother had.

He starts visiting Lily's grave in the evenings, telling her everything that happened during the day.

All the drama she'd decry but secretly be fascinated by.

Michael and Jessie go off to college, big dreams, and Brian's happy for them. Jordan and Peter are starting to get big, just Jake is the baby now, and that's more than enough.

A whole ranch full of adults can't keep up with him, but Javy seems to have more sense.

Barely.

It's heartening, though, to see them running through the pasture together, usually flanked by a few dogs and one disturbingly large barn cat.

Jake finally convinced Javy to try riding a horse, and after that, they're usually gone by sunrise, riding the fences and exploring the wild hills.

Brian doesn't think anything of the ride in Cheyanne the year he turns twenty-one.

Life has been surprisingly stable for the last couple of years. Michael and Jessie are both in uniform now, but they still live at the ranch. They can't take time off to watch him ride, but Amara is bringing the others up.

He pulls Nail 'Em Hard for the second time in his bull riding career.

The first bull he ever rode.

It seems poetic in more ways than he realizes at the time.

It's the top bull riding competition, the first time Brian's ever qualified for it, and if he wins, he'll be the first to win in his first showing.

He's coming in the heavy favorite too.

He knows Nail 'Em Hard. He's a tough bull with a big jump, but he's been around a while now, heading for retirement in the next few years.

The purse is huge.

Enough to keep the ranch safe for a while.

To get Jake that new dirt bike he's been eyeing for his birthday.

***

Nail 'Em Hard retired three years earlier than planned.

During his last appearance, Brian Seresin rode him to eight seconds, only the second rider to ever do that, but his foot was caught during the dismount, and Nail 'Em Hard's left horn went through Brian Seresin's right lung.

He knocks his body ten feet across the arena floor before they manage to run him out, but Brian Seresin was dead long before he landed in the sand.

He takes first place.

***

There's a long black train visible in the distance.

Bradley can see it from the front porch of the ranch house.

He woke to an empty bed, has some sleep-drugged awareness of Jake rolling out a few minutes before sunrise.

Bradley hasn't seen him since. Hasn't seen Javy, Celia, Lily Grace or Dustin either.

There's coffee and note to feed themselves in the kitchen, right next to a huge batch of still-warm biscuits.

Bradley's going to have to up his workout routine while he's here.

Nat's the next one up, though she looks like she found the kitchen out of sheer dumb luck.

***