by Casey Winter
“It is,” she agrees, with passion in her voice. She springs to her feet. “But Mom is strong. She’s gonna beat it. She has a great support system and she’s been getting a lot of help. All in all, we’re not in a bad situation.”
I respect her fire, her positivity … I respect a whole lot about her, truth be told. Which is so dangerous I could roar. I bury the axe in the stump once all the logs have been split, and then nod shortly, making for the house. She puts out her hand, brushing my shoulder. The contact makes both of us tense up. Her breath catches.
“I want to repay you, for the logs,” she mutters. “Maybe—maybe I could help with the rink or something?”
I snap reflexively, “I don’t need help. That’s my business.”
She flinches, gawping at me. “Wow, frogman,” she hisses. “Just when I thought you weren’t a complete douche, you go and prove me wrong.”
“Do you know how to dry and store those?” I growl, nodding at the logs. When she mentioned the rink, it reminded me of Noah, of his letter, of the reason I’m back in Little Fall to begin with. My anger flares: at myself, mostly, but also at her for being so damn magnetic. “You need to—”
“Don’t worry,” she interrupts, turning away. “I don’t need your help. Or any Nelson help. So just … just don’t worry, kay?” Her voice wavers slightly. I wonder if she’s turned away so I can’t see her face. Sadness, rage, a mixture? I’m stunned by how curious I am.
I open my mouth, but no words come. As I walk back toward the house, I can’t help but think I didn’t handle that well, even though it resulted in Hannah being angry at me, which is what I want. Isn’t it? If she’s angry with me, that will stop us getting close. And we can’t get close, no matter what.
—
When I return to the living room, Dad is at the window again, but now he turns toward me, glaring. “What do you think you’re doing?” he snarls. His face is twisted in anger. “Having a nice little date, were you? Have you forgotten who that is?”
“Of course not,” I grunt, dropping onto the couch. “I just didn’t want her to lose a damn foot. That’s all.”
Dad isn’t in the mood for an armistice, though. He stands over me, chest heaving. He looks every inch the grizzled soldier. “Looked like it was more than that, Luke. Looked like you were having a whale of a time out there. Now, you listen to me, boy. And you listen good. You’re to stay away from that girl and her family. After what she did to your brother, the way she broke his heart. And don’t get me started about her mother—”
“What about her mother?” I ask, trying to keep my cool by redirecting the conversation. I don’t like the way he’s talking about Hannah one bit.
Dad flinches. “Just the whole family,” he snarls. “She pushed her husband away, she—she’s her mother. Isn’t that enough? Don’t you remember how devastated Noah was? Or maybe you don’t care? Is that it?”
“You know that’s not true,” I mutter. “Don’t stay stupid things, Dad. You know I care. I wouldn’t be back here if I didn’t care. And what’s with this goddamn anger? You don’t show a single shred of—of emotion about anything all month long. And now … look at you.”
He’s heaving, chest rising and falling, fists clenched. He looks fierce, capable. “I just told you,” he yells. “That family’s poison. Stay clear. You should be good at that, anyway. Staying clear.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I whisper darkly.
Dad laughs, gruff and savage. “You didn’t even come home for your brother’s funeral, Luke. Do you really have to ask me what I’m talking about? We’re both men. We don’t need to pussyfoot around it.”
I stand up slowly, looking him dead in the eye. He stares back coldly.
“I was wondering how long it’d take you to throw that in my face,” I tell him. “I’m surprised you waited this long, old man.”
“Your brother died in service of this country,” Dad glowers. “And you were too busy cashing in mercenary checks to care. Too busy gallivanting around the world to give a damn about your own little brother, the kid who looked up to you his whole life.”
I could tell him that I was in Mexico stopping innocent civilians from being stabbed and shot and decapitated by the Cartel, but I don’t. Instead, I just shake my head and head for the door.
“Nothing to say now, Luke?” Dad snaps. “I thought you SEALs never ran from a fight.”
I spin on him, something white-hot and vicious gripping me. “Don’t talk about the teams,” I snap. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about my service, old man, so you keep the SEALs outta your mouth.”
Mirrored rage flares in Dad’s expression. “Or what?” he growls, pacing across the room. Again, we’re face to face. “You think I’m old and slow, is that it? You don’t think I’ve got what it takes to give you one hell of a hiding?”
Something drops in my chest. Suddenly, I feel sad. I could dismantle him, of course. But I’m not about to beat the hell out of my own father. “I’m going for a walk,” I tell him. “We both need to cool off.”
“Maybe you do,” Dad says. “But there’s nothing wrong with me, except you spitting on your brother’s—”
“Don’t,” I murmur coldly. A violent impulse runs through me. I feel my emotions shutting down like they do before a fight. “Don’t say that, old man.”
My fists are clenched. Instincts honed over years infuse me. If gunmen were to storm our house right now, I would leap into frantic action on autopilot. That’s a dangerous feeling to have in civilian life. It never ends well. Regret enters Dad’s expression. I think he knows he was about to go too far. His head sags, and he sighs, turning away.
“Go for your walk,” he says quietly. “Maybe you’re right, boy. Maybe we do both need to cool off.”
I leave the house and walk quickly from the Mini ’Burbs toward Memorial Park, which leads to Main Street. But I linger in the park, walking slowly, the sun almost completely set now. There are a few people out, couples holding hands, folks walking dogs, but I stick to myself. I find myself glancing over my shoulder, my instincts battle-keen. It’s like I’m expecting the nice-looking lady with the frizzy grey hair to pull an assault rifle on me, the way I watch her reach into her jacket pocket for a dog-waste bag.
I stop at the statue of William Jackson Henry, grimacing in his eyepatch. Little Fall was built up around this park after the Civil War, William Jackson Henry being a Union soldier who came back to be its first mayor. He lost his eye in the war, hence the patch. As I stare into the face of a fellow soldier, I force my fists to unclench, force my breath to slow.
I’m not at war now.
I’m home.
My brothers are already dead: both those in the teams and my brother by blood. The only brother-in-arms I have left is Morgan, my friend and Sun-Disk Security colleague, and he can take care of himself. And my own life? I stopped caring about that a long time ago.
I close my eyes, I count silently to ten. I breathe.
Slowly, I calm down.
—
It’s lucky that Jock and Will Hanlon choose now, and not a few minutes ago, to swagger over to me at Henry’s statue. It’s lucky—for them—that I’m calm. I regard them coolly as they stop a few feet shy of me, Will looking around, obviously checking for witnesses. He’s dressed in workout gear, showing well-trained tattooed arms. Jock is in a plaid shirt and big chunky boots, looking like a solid unit. Both of them are clearly ready for violent work.
“Did you follow me into the park,” I say, “or is this just a happy coincidence?”
“You and your old man have disrespected me too many times, Nelson,” Jock growls.
“All this over a hardware store,” I mutter, subtly bringing my leg back into a boxing stance.
Jock doesn’t see it, but Will does. His eyes flicker to it and he swallows. Jock might be out of practice, but fighting men recognize other fighting men.
“You know Will’s undefeated in the cage?” Jock growls. “He’
s been wrestling and boxing since he was ten years old. Kickboxing since he was eleven. Brazilian Jujitsu since he was thirteen.”
I address Jock, but look at Will meaningfully. “Then he knows just how dangerous a man with those skills is. He knows he shouldn’t take violence lightly.”
Jock snorts. “Alright, Nelson, since when did you become Buddha? All I’m saying is you better give me a reason not to set him on you.”
“Set him on me?” I laugh, getting pissed now. My hard-earned calm evaporates. “You always were a coward, Jock. Hiding behind your little brother now, is that how it is?”
Jock puffs his chest up. “You’re gonna pay for that.”
“If we’re fighting, let’s fight,” I growl. “Enough posturing. If not, fine, then leave me the hell alone.”
“You see?” Jock turns to Will. “See how arrogant he is?”
Will nods, clearly not wanting to disappoint his big brother. I know two things by looking at him: Will doesn’t want to fight me and Will is going to fight me, for Jock.
“Put him in his place, Will. Show him what happens when he messes with the Hanlons.”
“This isn’t a good idea,” I snarl.
Already, my body is itching to do vicious, effective things. Years of training pulse through me. I find my hand twitching as though wanting to go to my hip, to my firearm. Which is exactly why I never carry a firearm in civilian life.
“Back off, Will. Seriously, kid. This isn’t worth it.”
Jock sniggers. “And people talk like you’re some Hollywood badass. Seriously, Lukey boy. You should’ve heard the little crack in your voice just now. Sound like a scared ickle lamb.”
He’s right, there was a crack in my voice. But not for the reason he thinks. I’m trying to restrain the Hades-like rage moving through me. War is gripping me, my time as a SEAL, my time in Sun-Disk, all the men I’ve fought, the stab and bullet wounds I’ve taken … all of it rising to the surface, here in Little Fall, Memorial Park, the last place it should be.
“Will,” I bark. “Don’t do it, kid.”
But Will is already moving toward me, hands raised in a fighting stance. He inches forward, front leg out, looking like he’s ready to kick. Jock recedes into the background, watching eagerly. I have no choice but to raise my own hands and circle, since I can’t back up with the statue behind me.
“Come on,” Will glowers. “Are we fighting or not?”
“We can still stop this—”
“Get him,” Jock roars.
Will launches himself at me, ducking as he jabs. With two stiff left hands, he forces me back. His fist moves in a flurry. It blurs, it’s so fast. I act on instinct, not having to think. Slipping to the side, I spin around and bring my elbow toward his face. He blocks, and then I duck under with a right hook to the body.
“Uh,” Will grunts, clearly not expecting it.
I throw myself back. All emotions have gone now. Even my anger has faded to a dull throb. There is nothing but the fight.
Will feints low with a kick, wanting me to focus my attention on my legs, but I can tell what he’s really doing. It’s in the twitch of his body. It’s in where his eyes aim. He’s really going to try and kick me in the head. And he does, spinning violently. I raise my arm and take the blow on my bicep, and then, before he can lash his leg back down, I grab his ankle and pull.
“Ah,” he yelps, bouncing around on one leg.
I kick out his other leg and leap on him in one movement, pinning him to the ground. I spare a quick glance at Jock to make sure he’s not sneaking up on me, but he’s just standing there, frowning as though disappointed in his little brother. But he shouldn’t be, because even on the ground, Will Hanlon puts up one hell of a fight. Brazilian Jujitsu is the art of grappling on the ground, and Will is clearly well-versed in it. But there’s a difference between being well-versed and being a black belt.
He goes for a choke, but I rear up, breaking his hold. Then he’s wide open to me. I could pound his face into the concrete. But, suddenly, I snap to my senses. Instead, I grab his wrists and pin them to the ground, glancing at Jock.
“Are we done?” I snap.
“Will, what the hell?” Jock yells. He spits on the ground. “Undefeated, my ass.”
“Are we done?” I repeat.
Jock shakes his head.
“No, tough guy, we’re not done.”
He ducks down low in a wrestling stance. Even with his beer gut, he looks dangerous. But then Coach comes running down the path, shouting over to us.
“What do you idiots think you’re doing?” He stops just short of us, glancing in disbelief at the scene. “Nelson, get the hell off of him. And Will, stop all that goddamn bucking around. You couldn’t be in a worse position if you tried. Jock, you don’t stand up straight you’re gonna be in a cell tonight. I know what happens when a man crouches down like that.”
Something about Coach being here, not letting it show how much running over here must’ve hurt his busted hip, causes us all to silently agree that this is over. I glance at Will, and he nods slightly, meaning he’s not going to fight me if I stand up. Even so, I get up and back away, wary, just in case.
“Now, who’s going to explain what happened here?” Coach snaps.
Jock shrugs. “Just a friendly spar, Coach,” he says. It was the same way in wrestling practice when a fight broke out. We’d never sell out our teammates, even if we hated them. “Ain’t that right, Will?”
Will nods quickly, wincing slightly at the gut shot I gave him. “Yep, that’s right.”
Coach turns to me. “Luke?”
“Nothing happened, Coach,” I growl. “Nothing that needs to get taken to the station, anyway.”
Because if this carries on, I’ll handle it myself. Hopefully they’ve learnt their goddamn lesson.
—
Once the Hanlons have scurried off, Coach and I sit on the bench opposite the statue. Coach rubs at his hip, cringing, and I just let my head fall back and listen to the sound of the light wind in the trees, to music coming off Main Street.
“A party tonight?” I ask after a long pause.
“Jenkins is moving to Alaska to be with his mother. She’s sick. You remember Jenkins? Won that spelling bee back in ’99? The whole town was talking about that. Well, he’s a deputy now, and a damn fine one. It’s going to be a shame to lose him.” He sighs, turning to me. “You and Jock need to stop this, Luke, before it gets out of hand.”
“I understand, Coach, but he was the one who confronted me. It’s this goddamn Hardware War. It seems to me that the Hanlons are winning it, anyway. With their online business, they’re making a killing. Truth be told, I don’t even know if Dad’s heart is in Nelson’s Nails. I’ve spent just as much time fixing his messes as I have at the rink.”
I let this all come out in a frantic rush, since talking to Coach is easier than anybody else in town.
“It’s not just the hardware stores,” Coach says after a pause.
“No?”
“You really don’t know?” Coach mutters. “Nobody ever told you?”
I shift uncomfortably. “Told me what?”
“You never had plans to go to college. It was always the Navy and the SEALs for you. But Jock wanted to go to college on a wrestling scholarship.”
“I remember him saying that a couple of times,” I mutter.
“Well, it was looking like he had a real good shot. You both could have gone onto to the Olympics, in my opinion, you were so talented. But one day Jock comes to me in my office, looking like he was in the worst pain of his life. I ask him what’s wrong, and he tells me it’s something with his knee. To cut a long story short, he’d torn the ligament. He could barely walk. It really showed how tough he was, walking around like that, you’ve got to give him that.”
He pauses. I say nothing. But I sense something important is coming. Coach looks serious.
“The ligament tore when you two were training together, Luke. He said you got o
verly aggressive and dumped him on the mat. He didn’t let it show, because he’s not that sort of boy—man. He never got a scholarship. He said he was going to take a year out and try again. But the injury got worse. But the time it recovered, he already had his responsibilities at Hanlon Hardware.”
“Damn,” I mutter, sighing heavily. “I never knew that.”
“I expected you to say that practice is always rough, that injuries happen all the time, that it’s not your fault. Because that’s all true, Luke. It’s just not how he sees it.”
“In my experience, Coach, a man believes what he believes. Only something drastic will change it. If Jock thinks I stole his future from him, nothing I can say will make him see sense. But thank you for telling me.”
Coach nods, but he’s frowning, too. “So you see. He’s had a long time to let this anger fester, to hear stories about Luke Nelson off in the SEALs, off doing God knows what with this security firm. People have built up quite a legend around you, almost more than that mountain man in the forest.”
“Mountain man?”
Coach grins. “You haven’t heard? Fella called Zakary … something-or-other. He’s just pitched up in the forest, somehow bought a plot of land there. Mysterious one, him.”
“This town,” I mutter, shaking my head. “When I was gone, it seemed like the smallest place imaginable. But now I’m back, it’s like there’s nothing in the world but Little Fall and its Little Fallers.”
“That’s life for you, son,” Coach says. “Everything seems smaller from the outside.”
—
I take my time walking home, stewing on what Coach told me about Jock. It doesn’t excuse his behavior, and there are other factors at play—injuries are routine in wrestling, he could’ve still followed his dreams instead of going into business with his old man—but it still doesn’t feel good. Jock and I were teammates, once.
I pause outside my childhood home. Now that the sun has set, it looks shadowy, somehow foreboding. It’s too easy to imagine Noah with his face pressed against the downstairs window, grinning as he waits for me to come home, like he used to do when he was really young. Or Mom singing from the bedroom, her voice carrying into the still night air.