BEFORE:

It had all started with a road, a house, a feeling, and a fall.

If Adam had to pinpoint when exactly his unsavory feelings had arisen, or what had prompted them to overcome him, then he would have to admit there was a specific moment when the undetectable vitality of all the previously listed things had assembled, their residual energy coming together to form one perfect misstep.

The road was new; it was a freshly established off chute of the main path that spanned the distance between the ranch house the Cartwright men shared and Virginia City. The house was newer than the road and far from finished. The feeling had passed only to leave another in its wake. And the fall had changed everything.

These were things Adam did not like to think about and most days he succeeded. But there were others when they demanded to be remembered and considered. Days when everything around him felt so limited and stifling, when his anger toward his father and his frustration with himself could not be ignored.

He was good at pretending, or at least at one time he had been. He was good at new beginnings, rebuilding his life in the wake of tragedy or loss, making something out of what could be perceived as nothing. If the difficulty of his childhood had taught him anything it was to not become too attached to anything at any time. Everything was variable; it could change in the blink of an eye. Letting go of the past—the things that once were and others that would never be—though often hard was a requirement in life. You could not move forward whilst trying to look back; one's attention needed to be solely focused on what lay ahead.

But there was something about this last loss, the way it had come about and unfolded, that made it particularly difficult to overcome. Though he did not spend a lot of time considering the details that did not mean his memories and suspicions had been placated; it did not mean the hurt he felt had been mollified. These things were always there, relentlessly existing in the heaviness of his heart and the bitterness of his thoughts. They disintegrated his patience, twisted his mood, and sharpened the words. Some days he could control them and others he could not.

Sitting in the company of his father and brothers at the breakfast table, Adam was acutely aware that this was a day, like the others that had come before it, when he would not be able to control himself. He could not pretend he did not feel like he did; he did not want to be in his father's presence at all.

Finishing his cup of coffee, he left his breakfast plate untouched. Hoss and Joe were in the middle of a lively conversation, when, much to the surprise of everyone around him, Adam pushed back his chair, stood, and left the house without a word. He was not certain how his abrupt departure had affected his brothers' conversation, but he could imagine. They were bound to be as confused as his father would be angry. He knew all three of them would never understand.

Maybe it was his residual anger and building nervousness that had congregated, declaring themselves in the tightness of his chest, that served as a reminder that the argument with his father was still lurking, and perhaps that was what had given birth to his need to escape that morning. Or maybe it was something else.

Leaving his father's house, Adam went to the skeletal structure that was once meant to be his own. Staring at the soaring two-by-fours, the grain of their wood cracked and swollen, made crooked by extended exposure to the elements, he wanted to scream. He could finish this house, but there was little purpose in doing so now that everything was in such poor condition. The foundation was wrecked, the wood too damaged to be salvaged. If he wanted to live here then everything would need to be torn down and rebuilt, and he would not do that. There was little point in doing anything other than leaving things as they were. They could not be fixed now, not if he did not want to fix them.

"Do you want to fix this?" Pa had asked him. It was the fateful question that had spurred an unwanted answer that had led their bitter, ongoing fight to come to an abrupt and temporary halt.

"No," Adam had responded. It was this singular word so forcefully said that he was certain they had both longed for him to take back. But he did not retract it, because doing so and saying anything else in its place would have been a lie. Any future built upon that lie would have been as faulty as the foundation of the defunct house in front of which he now stood. He had done what he had and now it could not be fixed, because he did not want to fix it. He could not change the way he felt, no matter how much he wanted to be able to. He could not summon the desire to seek out his father and utter the apology that would put an end to the persistent disagreement that was flourishing between them.

"How long are you going to keep comin' back here?" a voice suddenly asked from behind.

Turning, Adam found Hoss appraising him from a few paces away. "I don't know," he said. "Pa tell you to follow me?"

"Nah," Hoss said. "I decided to do that on my own."

Adam nodded, turned, and continued to consider the frame of the house. Moving closer, Hoss stood beside him, and they were quiet for a while. Their eyes set on the unfinished remains that served as constant proof of a promise once made that had not been kept. It was a surprise Adam had planned and built for Laura, not knowing that during the duration of their betrothal she was quietly harboring a surprise of her own. And her feelings for Will were quite the surprise to many—although sometimes Adam thought maybe surprise was not the correct term.

There was a particular tone to the whispers traded amongst the townsfolk about Laura and Will and the circumstances of how their marriage had come to be. Much to Adam's annoyance, his name was often uttered alongside theirs. The gossip mongers did not speak kindly about any of them. They called Will a smooth-tongued woman-pilfer, Laura a vacuous trollop, and they spoke about Adam as though he had been an unassuming, helpless victim of the actions of his cousin and fiancé. They pitied him, first for suffering the intense injury to his back, then for being unable to hold on to the woman he loved whilst recovering. They asked each other what kind of woman walked away from the man she proclaimed to love when he was in such poor condition. What kind of man stole his cousin's betrothed under such conditions?

It was painful and bruising to endure such whispers. It was agonizing for Adam to have his name included in such excruciating, unkind dialogue. To never have anyone say anything to his face, but to always know that such things were being said behind his back. He knew he should not care about what was being said about him or anyone else; after all, gossip was always abundant—and cheap. Still, such enduring attention bothered him in an undefinable way. He could no more explain why he was pestered by such a thing than he could put an end to it.

"You know," Hoss said, "you really oughta tear this place down."

Adam shook his head.

"I can do it for you, if you like," Hoss added. "If'n you're still not feelin' quite up to it, I mean."

"Why wouldn't I feel up to it?"

"I just mean if your back is still botherin' you and such."

Glancing at his brother, Adam was clearly annoyed. "It's not my back that's bothering me," he said.

"Hey," Hoss said, his voice low, "if you want me to leave you alone, brother, then just say the words."

Adam shook his head. He was almost certain he did not want that. "My back doesn't bother me, not anymore."

"Then what does?"

"Pa."

"Hmm," Hoss hummed thoughtfully. "Because he told you he wanted you to tear down this house?"

Adam thought about the question. It was not his father's request that had led to their lingering disagreement; there was much more to it than that. The question itself had come and gone, serving as a moment he could look back on, knowing with complete certainty that it was the one where everything had seemed to change. Things had changed before, of course. But that change had been slower, less identifiable, and therefore more bearable somehow.

Things had changed after his fall. Laura and Peggy had left with Will; they had left Adam to struggle alone. He had not really been alone, of course. He had his family. His father, brothers, and Hop Sing who all doted on him, eagerly fulfilling his every whim. He had not wanted for anything while his body was still healing, save maybe privacy, silence, and to be someplace completely different than where he was.

There was something decidedly different about the time he had spent recovering from his back injury that felt distinctly worse than any other time period he had endured while incapacitated with injury. There was something so enervating, frustrating, and demeaning about having to depend upon his father and his family the way that he had.

"That's part of it," Adam admitted.

"And what's the rest?"

Inhaling, Adam held his breath and tilted his head. He had no intention of talking about it. Not with his younger brother, or anyone else. Exhaling, he opened his mouth. "I think I'll head over to Carson City," he said, not really understanding where the statement had come from or why he had said it aloud. "You can come with me if you like," he added, finding the thought of being in Hoss's company much more appealing than being alone.

He should not be alone, not right now. Wasn't that another part of the argument with Pa? Yet another thing his father had said. Pa had his reasons, Adam knew that, and if he were in the right mindset or mood, even he would have to admit they were neither outlandish nor outrightly unreasonable. Even so, most days Adam found them difficult to reconcile, tolerate, or accept.

Who was his father to tell him what to do? At his age?

His fall had been terrible, there was no denying that, and his recovery had been equally awful. He had needed his father and his family so much back then; he had needed much more help than he wanted to admit. But it was not that way anymore; his body had healed. It was his heart and mind that his father remained worried about.

"It won't do you good to ignore how you feel about all of this," his father had warned. "You may not have truly loved Laura, but that doesn't mean losing her and Peggy to Will doesn't hurt. You lost the life you had decided upon having; at your age, in some ways that can hurt even more than losing true love. This was your chance to have a wife and a family; it's natural to wonder if it is one you will be presented with again."

Adam had been so startled by the accuracy of his father's assessment that he had not immediately known how to respond. He could not stand the thought of anyone knowing the truth of how he felt; he could not withstand the thought of anyone knowing him the way his father did. When he finally spoke, he hid his emotions behind a cloak of anger and resentment. He told Pa he was wrong; he told him his assessment could not be further from the truth. It was a retort he was certain they both immediately saw through, each knowing his denial was factitious, neither understanding where the need for voicing it had come from. Adam had spent his life not wanting to lie to Hoss and unable to lie to his father. Not about anything glaringly important, at least.

"No, sir," Hoss said. "I got too much work to do to find peace in leisurely things." He cast Adam a questioning look. "If'n Pa asks where you took off to, you want me to tell him?"

"No point in hiding it."

"How long do you think you'll be gone?"

"I'm not sure," Adam said.

Hoss nodded as though this was the answer he had expected. "I understand, and, I think, if you'd really talk to him, you'd find that Pa understands, too."

"Doubt it."

"He does," Hoss insisted. "Remember when I was courtin' Margie Owens? I had set my sights on marrying that gal and instead I had to watch Mark Conners sweep her up in his lies and deceit and take her away from me."

Adam felt a pang of sympathy for his younger brother. If Hoss kept a list of things he had resigned himself to never speak about then Margie was at the top.

"That's different," Adam said softly. "You really loved Margie; she was everything you wanted in a wife."

"It ain't that different. Remember after? The time between when Margie and Mark were betrothed and the day they got married? I had to leave home, too. I had to think about the past on my own before I could see myself wantin' a future that was different than what I had planned. Pa knew that and that's why he let me go. That's why when I tell him that you've taken yourself to Carson City, he ain't gonna be disappointed or mad, despite the recent disagreement that has become wedged between you two."

"He won't understand."

"He will."

"It's different with me, Hoss. It always has been and always will be. Pa and I, we're the same and we're different. There are pieces of one another we will always understand without having to say a word, and others we will always struggle to make peace with. It's not our differences that push us apart; it's our similarities, the ways in which we are just too damn alike. He has his mind set on one thing and I have my mind set on another; neither one of us are going to give in because we're both too stubborn to give when we've decided to stand behind what we think is right."

Face contorting warily, Hoss's expression was pinched with concern. "You're talkin' like the only way for you and Pa to get along again is for one of you to lose. I'd say you were wrong about that if I thought it'd do any good. I know it won't, so I'll tell ya something else instead. He's still your pa, Adam. He's still gonna love you no matter what you've said or done, even if he can't find the specific words to say it outright. This disagreement the two of you are havin', it don't need to be the end of anything. It's just a steep bump in the road that you're both stuck on. You'll both get over it. You'll see." Extending his arm, he clasped Adam's shoulder and tightly squeezed. "You take care of yourself in Carson," he added as he nodded at the unfinished house. "Maybe when you come back, you'll finally decide it's time to let go of this mess and focus on building something new."

Adam remained in place long after his brother left. Eyes locked on the shell of a house that had once held such joy and promise, he did his best to memorize every detail of the ruined structure. Hoss was right: if he was not going to tear the house down, then he should at least stop coming back here. It did not help anything. It did not make things easier or more difficult. It was an action without purpose, hopeless and aimless. There was no purpose coming back here, in pretending he felt different than how he did. He could not salvage what had been damaged; he could not rebuild on a foundation that had become so warped and distorted. All he could do was leave things as they were.

Silently staring at the wreckage of a house that was once meant to contain his future, Adam vowed he would never return to this place again.

TBC