Four kids. That's how many kids John had. At least, thats how many they assumed he had. But there was a fifth. It went Lee, You.. Beth, Kayce and Jamie. You were born to a seperate mother.. A Mexican mother.. You. They knew you. Because they were raised with you. But John neglected you. He hated you. He didn't know why. But he never liked you.

When you were 12 he beat you so bad you ran to the reservation to live with you mother. John had never regretted something so much in his life..

Your mother was a drug addict. Crack, pot, meth. Shit you name it. She was a one night stand, when she had you he took you. Then he beat and neglected you because he couldn't stand the fact you weren't pure Dutton like his other children. He hated himself every day for doing that. He didn't know why he did it at the time. All he knew was that he dearly hated himself for it now.

Some 25 years later, they were all doing their own thing but still on the ranch. Kayce grew up and got married to Monica and now they have Tate, their son. Beth got with Rip, believably. Lee and Jamie were still single which everyone expected.

But they didn't know what you were doing. Then John got a call. 2 AM. Your mother died. Shit you must've been 37 now.

John didn't know if you wanted to see him, fuck, he didn't even know if you'd remember him. But he drove out. It was a damn long drive out. A house, not on the reservation but in the midst of the forest. A horse in the pen out front. A motorcycle parked out beside a shed. The house wasn't big. one story. there was a patio that you would call the front and no door so you could just walk in. Beer bottles here and there. a chair in the patio, guitars.. It looked clean but messy at the same time. Hell you couldn't tell if this was a bikers house or a cowboys house.

He wasn't sure what to make of this house. All he knew was that he wanted to see you. He wasn't so sure of anything else.