She walks over and looks me up and down. “You sure about that, cowboy?” She arches one of her brows.
I laugh. “Cowboy?” I lean closer. “You like cowboys?” I shoot her a wink.
She rolls her eyes. “I live here, don’t I?” she says, placing her hands on the bar and leaning in just enough to give me a peek down her top. “What’s your name? I ain’t ever seen ya here before.”
“Wyatt. Wyatt Slade. What’s yours?” I set my glass down as she grabs the bottle of whiskey and pours.
A knowing look forms on her face. “You’re Wyatt Slade?” She points in my direction.
“Ah, I see my reputation precedes me.” I smirk.
“You just sit on back and enjoy your drink, cowboy. I’m going to call you a ride home.” She starts to walk away.
“Oh, come on, I thought you liked cowboys,” I tease, laughing and shaking my head. I pick up my glass and take a sip.
Moments later, the bartender is standing in front of me once again. “I called you a ride.”
I frown. “I didn’t know this podunk town even had a taxi service.”
She smiles sweetly. “It doesn’t. I called Drake.”
Oh fuck. “What? You called my brother?”
She nods, smile still in place. “Mm-hmm.”
“What’d you go and do something like that for? I thought you liked cowboys.” I offer up the best flirty smile I can muster given how drunk I am.
“I do like cowboys; just not drunk ones.” She turns and looks toward the door. “Look who’s here. Your usual, Drake?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, sitting down on the barstool next to me. He gives me a disapproving look. “What brought you back to town?”
“I thought you’d be happier to see me, brother.” I tip up the glass and swallow the rest of the liquid.
He chuckles. “I am. I just didn’t expect to get this call. Lucky for you, I was just leaving the brewery—you know, the place that funds all your vacations. The place you work. In theory.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be in tomorrow,” I promise, but even as I say the words, I don’t even know if they’re true.
He lifts his beer and takes a sip. “You need a ride home?”
“He’s had almost that whole bottle of whiskey to himself. Yes, he needs a ride home,” the bartender says.
I push my glass closer and she picks it up and takes it, refusing to fill it again.
“How’d you get here?” Drake asks.
“I hopped a plane then hitched a ride with someone who was passing through,” I answer.
“The tour’s over?”
For the last six months, I’d been working as a roadie on The Screaming Elephants’ nationwide tour. I didn’t need the money, but the parties were epic. “Yeah, they got signed by a major record label, and they’re planning their worldwide tour now.”
“You going back out on the road with them?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, man. I’m tired, you know?”
He nods as he picks up his beer and takes another drink. “I know we’d all like to have you home for a while. Clay just had a baby boy, and Celeste and Brennan are both pregnant now. You have a lot of family to meet.”
I laugh. “How the hell did you and Colton manage to knock both your wives up at the same time?”
He chuckles. “Probably has something to do with the four of us always drinking together.” He pats me on the back. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
I stand up and sway on my feet.
“Whoa,” he says, righting me.
I brush off his hands and head for the door with him chasing after me. I grab my bag off the floor near the door and throw it over my shoulder. When we make it out to his truck, I toss it in the bed and climb into the passenger seat. He gets behind the wheel and twists the key as the truck roars to life.
“I’ve been keeping an eye on your place while you’ve been gone,” he says, driving through the darkness.
“Thanks,” I mumble. “There’s a cleaning service that comes and cleans the place once a week. The brewery accountant makes sure the bills stay paid. I worked it all out before I left.”
He chuckles, probably surprised I didn’t up and leave without a thought or care in the world. “You really coming into the office tomorrow?”
I lean my head back against the seat. “That’s the plan.” My eyes flutter closed but dizziness takes over, so I force them open once again at the worst possible time. We’re passing by the high school. Memories flood my head.
“Destiny, please just talk to me,” I plead as I chase her out the front doors of the school. It’s been one week since prom and she’s still angry.
“No, Wyatt. I’m done.” She doesn’t stop.
I reach out and catch her wrist in my hand, spinning her around to face me. “I thought she was you!”
She scoffs. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, Wyatt. I mean, we look completely different. I knew you two always had a thing for each another. You were always flirting, even when I told you it made me uncomfortable. I guess this is what I get for not breaking up with you years ago.” She tries to turn and walk away, but I won’t let her.
“Can’t you just admit, or even entertain the possibility, that I thought she was you? I mean, you were both wearing the same type of dress. With the lighting in the gym, her blue dress looked white. You both had your hair done up and you weren’t wearing your normal perfume. I was drunk. It was a mistake, baby.”
I start drawing closer to her, and her usual perfume washes over me and makes me long to feel her against me. “Please, just listen to me. I’ve never done anything like this before. You really think I could do something like that to you? I love you.” My hand cups her cheek and my mouth moves in toward hers. Her eyes are locked on mine, slightly glazed over.
At the last second, she pulls away and laughs. “You’re a smooth talker, Wyatt Slade. You almost got me there.” She pulls her hand away and I let her go to avoid hurting her. I can’t do anything but stand back and watch her walk away.
This has been the longest week of my life. I tried to explain that night, and again the next morning, but she wouldn’t even listen. I thought giving her some time would help, but she’s still not letting this go. I have one week left—only one week to convince her to forgive me. If she doesn’t, my life is wrecked. I’ll never get the chance to give her that ring. I’ll never get the chance to be happy again.
I shake that memory from my head and massage my temples as a headache starts to form. Being back here hurts. There’s a physical pain in my chest that I can’t push away, and whiskey doesn’t seem to dull it. Running away is the only thing that’s ever worked, but getting that call from my dad’s nurse put an end to that.
“How’s Dad doing?” I ask, hoping to distract myself.
“You know about that?” he asks.
I nod. “His nurse called.”
He shakes his head and curses under his breath. “I told her not to bother you.”
My head jerks in his direction. “Why the hell did you do that? You didn’t think I deserved to know the man had a heart attack?”
“If it had been serious, then I would’ve called. But his doctor thinks he’ll make a full recovery if he stops drinking and starts eating right.”
I snort. “Yeah, like that’s going to happen.”
“His nurse is living with him. She doesn’t allow any alcohol in the house and she cooks three healthy meals a day. He’s doing better now than he has in years.”
“You still should’ve called.”
“Is that why you came home?” he asks, his voice suddenly taking on a softer tone.
“I just felt like . . . it was time,” I say, eyes fluttering closed again.
There’s a long silence between us as we drive through the darkness. I’m jolted awake when the truck stops and he says, “Okay, we’re here.”
I sit up and look out the windshield at the two-story pole-barn-style home I built when
I started working at the brewery. Everything looks perfect and just as I left it—maybe even a little better. It looks as though the cleaning company I hired has been doing some decorating.
Drake laughs. “Been that long? You don’t even recognize your own home?”
I roll my eyes. “Of course I do.” I open the door and nearly fall out. I grab my bag from the back. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” I slam the door closed and head for the house.
Two
Destiny
I can’t believe I’m pulling back into this town. I swore the day I left for college that I wouldn’t come back. However, I didn’t realize my dad would have a stroke and that my mom would be too old and weak to care for him fully. Giving up my life in the city was the hardest thing I’d had to do since . . . well, walking away from Wyatt while he was down on his knees, begging me to forgive him.
I can’t believe I’ve only made it one mile into this town and I’m already thinking about him. Who am I kidding? I’m always thinking about him. Every guy I date, I compare with him. Every memory I have has him in it. When my friends would talk about their high school boyfriends and what losers they are now, I couldn’t even join in, because Wyatt’s social media accounts are filled with nothing but pictures of gorgeous beaches, beautiful women, and famous musicians. He’s living the life most people dream of—me included. I often wonder where he is in the world, what he’s doing, and if he’s also thinking of me. Then I laugh at myself, because of course he’s not caught up in thinking about his high school girlfriend. How could he be when he’s surrounded by beautiful model-like women every day?
At least one thing’s for sure: I won’t have to worry about seeing him here. Unlike most of my high school peers, he left this town long ago and doesn’t seem to have any plans of returning. Pulling into the driveway, I park my car and climb out, stretching. It’s been a long drive and I can’t wait to just relax and unwind for a little while. I grab my bag out of the back seat and let myself into the old two-story farmhouse.
My mom’s little dog, Rat, barks the moment I step inside. I bend down to pet him, knowing it’s the only way to silence him.
Mama screams with excitement. “You’re home! You’re finally home!” She rushes over for a long hug.
“I missed you, Mama.”
“I missed you too. Look how thin you’ve gotten.” She pulls away to study me. “Are you hungry? Of course you’re hungry. Sit down and I’ll make you something.”
“I’m fine, Mama. I ate this morning.”
She looks at her watch. “It’s going on two. You need lunch. Now, have a seat. No back talk.”
I laugh but do as I’m told. “How’s Daddy?”
“He’s about the same. His health is stable, but he has a lot of work to do. That stroke took his ability to talk correctly. He has a slur that makes him hard to understand. He’s also having trouble swallowing. He’s getting around okay with a walker now. No more wheelchair.”
I offer a sad smile but can’t help but feel sad. I’m happy that he’s recovering, but it’s devastating to watch a man who’s always been so strong become so frail and weak. “Can I see him?” I ask.
“He’s taking his afternoon nap right now. He’s usually up by three. You have just enough time to eat. You need your strength too, you know.” She places a plate in front of me with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, carrot sticks, and sliced apples. I pick up a carrot and take a bite while she pours me a glass of iced tea.
Finally, she sits across from me. “I’m here to help take care of Daddy, but also to help you, Mama,” I tell her. “You don’t have to wait on me. I’m a grown woman now.” I pick up my PB&J and take a bite.
She laughs. “Was that hard to say while eating a child’s meal?”
I roll my eyes. “It’s still my favorite, I don’t care if it’s meant for children.” I stick my tongue out at her and she laughs, a sound I’ve missed.
I sit, eat my late lunch, and talk with my mom for the next hour. When three rolls around, my dad calls out.
“Sounds like he’s up.” She stands and heads for the bedroom. I get up and follow along behind her, almost scared to see the condition he’s in. She walks into the bedroom and flips on the bedside lamp. She picks up the remote and turns on the TV for him.
“Danny, look who’s here. It’s Destiny. She’s finally come home.”
“D-D-Dessss,” he slurs out.
Tears fill my eyes, but I don’t allow them to fall. I don’t want him to see me upset. I sit on the edge of the bed and take his hand in mine. “Hi, Daddy. How are you feeling?”
He smiles as tears fall down his cheeks. It’s amazing how different he looks. It’s like those six weeks in the hospital and rehab wore on him like years. He was once a big, tall man who farmed his whole life. Now, he’s thin, and his skin is practically hanging from his bones. His eyes are surrounded by wrinkles, and their once-brilliant blue is now a clouded gray. My heart hurts just looking at him.
“What you doing home?” He asks the words slowly, making sure to pronounce each one correctly.
I don’t want to tell him that I’m giving up my life in the city to come help him and my mom. I know how he’ll react to that. So instead, I shrug. “I just missed home. I missed you and Mama.”
He nods. “It’sssss ti-me for myyy shooow.” He points at the TV.
My mouth drops open. “Oh, okay.” I stand up. “I guess I’ll leave you alone to watch it then.”
“Bye-byyyye.” He holds up his hand and waves.
I leave the bedroom and go back to the kitchen table. Mom joins me minutes later. “He doesn’t mean anything by it,” she says, pouring us each a cup of coffee and sitting down across from me. “He doesn’t like to talk to anyone because of the slur.”
I nod, understanding. It would be hard to talk knowing that you don’t sound the same and that you don’t have the ability to control your words the way you used to.
“Getting him on a schedule has been the best thing for him, it seems. He wakes up at 6 a.m. and takes his shower—with my help, of course. Then he sits in the kitchen and has his coffee and breakfast. Your cousin Mitchell has been coming over and taking him outside. They walk through the barn and he pets the horses and feeds them treats. Then he takes a nap, because that just really wipes him out. He gets up for lunch, watches some TV, takes another nap, then he’s up for dinner. After dinner, we’ve been playing some little games. I’ll throw a ball and he’ll catch it—it’s good for his hand-eye coordination. We’ll do puzzles, read, or just sit and talk about the good old days. All of it is great for him. I’m just so tired. Nothing’s been getting done around here. In fact, I don’t think I’ve been into town since he came home.”
“How are you guys doing when it comes to money?” I ask, knowing she’ll never mention it if I don’t ask.
She nods. “We’re fine. Between the savings and the retirement money that comes in every month, we’re surviving. But of course, it isn’t enough to hire someone to help.”
“Just tell me what you need done, Mama. I’m more than happy to help. That’s why I’m here.”
“Well, I guess you could run to the store for me so I can finally get around to taking that nap I’ve been meaning to since June of 1984,” she teases.
I laugh. “Of course. Where’s the list?”
“It’s there on the fridge.”
I stand up and grab the list. “I’ll be back in a few,” I say, practically running from the house. I know I came here to help, and I’m more than happy to, but seeing them like this is heartbreaking. Not just my father and his current health situation, but my mother too. She was always so young, beautiful, active. While my dad worked the land, she was busy cooking, sewing, and running from here to there because she was in gardening clubs, book clubs, knitting clubs. Now she doesn’t have time for anything but my father and it’s obviously taking a toll on her. Her dark hair is graying at the roots, which tells me she hasn’t had time to go to the salon.
She’s always been an avid makeup wearer, but today, there’s not a speck on her face.
I used to ask why she’d wake up early every day—even though she didn’t have any plans—and get dressed up with her hair and makeup done. She always said it was because it made her feel good to look her best. Clearly, that’s out the window now. After I get settled in and learn Daddy’s routine and how he likes things, I’m going to give her the day off. Let her have some personal time. She can get up early, dress nicely, do her makeup, get her hair done, do some shopping, and hang out with long-lost friends. She deserves that much.
Instead of going straight to the store, I opt to swing by the local coffee shop and bakery to grab a coffee and some muffins. Blueberry’s always been Daddy’s favorite, and I’m sure he would love some for breakfast in the morning. I park the car and head inside.
The shop is little and quaint. It’s exactly what you’d expect a small-town bakery to look like. The place has a long white counter in the front with little iron-legged tables, topped with rough wood. The chairs are made of the same iron and wood, and the decor is mostly framed pictures of baked goods. Walking in, I inhale the scent of fresh-baked bread, donuts, and muffins.
“Hi, can I help you?” the girl behind the counter asks.
“Yes, I’ll take a large coffee—three sugars and one cream—and a half-dozen of your blueberry muffins, please.”
She rings it all up. “That’ll be $10.49.”
I hand over my card and she swipes it before handing it back.
“It’ll be just a few minutes,” she says, going to gather the items.
“Sally, when you finish with that order, would you mind running a coffee and donut over to the Wilsons’ place? Poor Merry-Anne fell again and is back to being bedridden,” someone says. That voice sounds familiar.
I spin around and am face to face with my old best friend, Julie—the one who always flirted with Wyatt. The one he kissed on prom night.
My mouth drops open, as does hers, but she recovers quickly and puts on a smile. “Destiny, how have you been?” she asks sweetly.
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