by R. K. Ryals
I fell into a walk, my breathing labored as he pulled up alongside me.
“Figures,” I heard Ginger hiss.
“It’s a small town after all,” Brayden teased.
Glancing askew at the truck, I threw them a small wave, and then started to jog again. The pickup kept following, the truck so close they might as well have been running with me.
“When did you start running?” Heathcliff asked.
On an exhale, I answered, “Two years ago.”
It was getting embarrassing jogging while they followed, my tank top soaked with sweat, my face red from the heat, and I slowed to a walk before stopping completely. The truck stopped with me.
“I’m okay,” I said. “You don’t have to follow me.”
Heathcliff stared, his gaze falling to my legs, to the muscles I’d earned there over the past couple of years. “What made you start running?”
“What does it matter?” Ginger breathed from the back seat. I don’t think she knew I could hear her, but with the windows down and the wind blowing, it was hard to miss.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I got talked into it by a friend and discovered I really liked it. He talked me into a few 5K’s after that, and it’s sort of become a side hobby I guess.”
“He?” Heathcliff asked.
If my cheeks weren’t already flushed, I would have blushed, and for the first time, I appreciated the heat. Motioning at the road, I took a step back. “Actually, I think I’m going to turn around now. I’ve got some work I need to do.”
Heathcliff patted the side of his truck. “Need a ride?”
“No,” I hastened to say, clearing my throat when I realized how harsh it came out. “My favorite part is the walk back.”
Next to Heathcliff, Brayden leaned forward in the passenger seat. “Walk back? You don’t run both ways? Why?”
My gaze met Heathcliff’s friend, noting the genuine curiosity there, and I shrugged again. “I like running because it lets everything go. I like walking back because it reminds me why I ran in the first place.” My feet backed up on the road, throwing up red dirt. “Thanks for the offer, but I’d best be going now.”
Turning, I walked away, my breathing slower but my pulse quick. Every step I took felt weighted, dragged down by the gazes I knew followed me.
“Come on,” I heard Ginger call.
Tires crunched over dirt and gravel, driving away from me. Our town was too small, and with Heathcliff in it, it felt like it was choking me. I was trapped between the girl who’d once loved a boy and the woman who wanted to know what he’d become.
I’d run to rid myself of the conversation I’d had with Heathcliff the night before. On the walk back, I kept recalling it, my mind playing the scene at the creek over and over again.
Something told me Heathcliff was leaving again, and I couldn’t risk getting close enough to let it hurt. Uncle Gregor was right. I’d learned a lot from my first broken heart. Weirdly, it had even healed me, but something told me the man Heathcliff had become wouldn’t be as gentle as the boy he’d left behind.
Chapter 27
Two days passed with no Heathcliff sightings, my work at home filling most of my days and Rebecca’s rambling filling the nights. When I’d first moved back, I’d taken to going with her to town in the evenings, helping out with another business venture of hers, a small coffee shop that sold coffee, tea, and books in the morning before crossing over to beer, appetizers, and karaoke at night. It was an artsy kind of place during the day, a college hangout. But at night, the adults ruled, calling out orders to the bartender before belting out old tunes in terrible, slurred voices.
Most of the time, it was half empty, but on weekends, it was full. It was also my second job. When catering was slow and there were no orders coming in, I worked at Caffeine’s—I’d had no say in the name—using the money I earned for the plantation’s upkeep. I stayed in the kitchen, away from the crowds, cooking whatever order came in, mostly loaded nachos and potato skins with the occasional stuffed mushrooms or pepper wraps. It wasn’t an ideal job, but the people were nice. Rebecca had a knack for hiring folks who were down on their luck, giving them a place to stay until things got better.
Kathy was one of those people. She was a merry soul, an older woman with a shock of white hair and thick, large glasses. She’d lost her home to a fire, and with her husband gone and no children, she’d needed the job to pay the rent on a small house on the edge of town. She was a good cook in her own right, and a quick waitress. She also did mean karaoke.
Jerry was the bartender. He was just as merry as Kathy, but his friendly nature was often lost in his massive, bull-like appearance. Bald and thick, he had a constant grimace on his face that didn’t welcome conversation, but if you attempted talking to him, it became quickly apparent that his nature opposed his looks. He was terrible at karaoke but could make some mean mixed drinks and was a natural with darts.
I simply made appetizers.
It was at Caffeine’s that my non-Heathcliff luck ran out. Strange, really. In high school, it was Sylvia Plath who did me in. Now, after a college education that I was still paying for, it was karaoke and whiskey.
On Friday night, two days after the morning run that brought me to the creek, the door to Caffeine’s opened, bringing in Ginger’s loud laughter and Heathcliff’s brother’s answering, “I told you we had places here other than the creek.”
Heathcliff followed, his gaze roaming the room. It was an hour till closing, well past midnight, and the place was mostly empty.
“This is new,” Heathcliff said.
Brayden squeezed in behind him. “I’m still laughing at the name.”
Chris, Heathcliff’s older brother, grinned. “Rebecca Martin runs it. It does pretty well here. Especially during the winter when no one wants to circle the trucks down at the creek, even with the bonfires.”
From my place in the kitchen, I heard their voices and my back bristled with awareness. Kathy, who’d been pulling a batch of jalapeno poppers from the grease, glanced at me.
“You okay, honey?”
Nodding, I left the stove, marching to the kitchen door where Rebecca stood, her eyes narrowed on the room beyond.
“Caffeine’s is a good name,” she hissed at me.
I ignored her. “I think I’m pretty much through for the night. If you don’t mind, I’m sneaking out the back.”
She threw me a look. “Coward.”
“You betcha,” I replied.
Beyond the door, Heathcliff ordered a beer, Brayden ordered a whiskey, and Ginger asked for a Bloody Mary. Chris searched the café, his eyes honing in on the kitchen door. A bad feeling settled in my gut.
“Hey, Jerry, is Rebecca or Hawthorne here tonight? I have something from Mams I was supposed to deliver to the plantation, and it’ll save me the trip.”
Jerry threw a towel over his shoulder. “Is this something for Rebecca or Hawthorne?”
“Hawthorne,” Chris answered, “but I’m sure Rebecca could deliver it, too.”
“I’m out,” I hissed in Rebecca’s ear.
“Something from Mams?” Heathcliff asked suddenly. “I just saw her this morning. Why didn’t she say anything?”
There was a pause followed by Chris’ uncertain reply. “Because she wasn’t sure you’d be okay with it.”
Heathcliff grunted. “I’ll take it to the plantation.”
Rebecca’s fingers curled in my shirt. “You’re back in, missy. Unless you want lover boy out at your place.”
“It’s not the plantation she thought you’d have trouble with,” Chris’ voice broke in. “It’s what she wanted delivered.”
The silence that followed was full of tension, Rebecca’s gaze flying to my face. Curiosity was a living, breathing being for Rebecca, her nosy nature a naughty child I’d never be rid of.
Jerry’s loud bellow broke the tension, his barked, “Hawthorne!” filling the café’s interior.
Blowing my cheeks out, I s
wore under my breath, counting to three in my head before pushing the kitchen door open. Rebecca followed, her curiosity like a fire against my back. At the bar, Heathcliff’s head shot up, his gaze passing from his brother to me.
Chris ignored him, a smile transforming his features. He was as thin and tall as he’d been when we were in high school, his goatee a blemish on his chin.
“Hey, Hawthorne, I’ve got something for you.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out an envelope and offered it to me.
I stared at it as if it were a snake ready to strike. Mams didn’t give me things. Unless you counted the money she’d collected to help with college.
Rebecca stood over my shoulder. “What is it?” she asked.
Accepting the envelope, I glanced at Chris, my gaze troubled. “Thank you.”
Rebecca bumped me with her hip. “You don’t want to know what’s in there?”
My fingers tightened on the paper. “Not here.”
“It’s okay,” Chris said suddenly, causing everyone to freeze. There was something about the way he looked at me that caught me off guard. “You can open it now.”
By the way Rebecca tensed, it was taking everything she had not to squeal.
“I don’t know,” I said slowly. “I’m not sure—”
“Just open it, Hawthorne,” Heathcliff suddenly interrupted, his voice full of irritation.
My startled gaze shot to his, a blush blooming across my cheeks. Without another word, I lifted the envelope and ripped over the top. There was something heavy resting within, and I turned it over. A key fell into my palm.
I knew even before I heard the café’s door slamming behind Heathcliff’s retreating back what the key belonged to.
I’d visited the hooch in the woods quite a few times since returning home, but I’d been unable to enter it, the padlock impenetrable.
Now, I held the key.
Chapter 28
Like the day Heathcliff followed me home from school, I chased him out of the café. He was climbing into his new truck, a scowl on his face, and I ran to the passenger side, my fingers gripping the handle before he could lock it.
“Wait,” I called.
Pulling open the door, I stared into the cab, my gaze finding Heathcliff’s, his scowl deepened by an overhanging street light.
“I don’t want it,” I told him, holding out the key. “I don’t even know why she’d want me to have it.”
Heathcliff’s hands gripped the steering wheel, his jaw tense as he gazed out the front windshield. “Don’t you?” he asked.
My eyes fell to the truck’s leather interior. It still had that new car smell. “Stop,” I breathed. “Just stop.” My gaze lifted to find Heathcliff’s startled eyes staring back at me. “I’m not here to mess your life up. All I did was come home.” Climbing up into the truck, I placed the key Mams had given me in his cup holder. “This,” I pointed at the two of us, “isn’t up to them. If you want me to be a part of your life, you’ll invite me in.”
I started to retreat, my descent stopped suddenly by Heathcliff’s fingers around my wrist. “Hawthorne …” He glanced out the window again, his jaw tensing and relaxing before tugging on my arm. “Take a ride with me.”
It wasn’t a question, but it wasn’t a demand either. It was an invitation. I should have walked away. I should have said no, but I didn’t.
Instead, I glanced at Caffeine’s. “Your friends?”
“They can ride with Chris. He’s parked on the side.”
My gaze searched Heathcliff’s face, the turmoil there hurting me more than I wanted to admit. There’d been a lot of things between Heathcliff and me in the past, but turmoil wasn’t one of them.
My decision made, I settled into the passenger seat and slammed the door behind me, pulling the seatbelt across my chest.
Heathcliff started the truck, his arm going to the back of my seat as he backed out of the parking lot. The proximity filled my body with heat, and I fought not to squirm.
Darkness sped past the window, trees becoming headlight-induced ghosts that sneered at me as Heathcliff drove. Headlights from other vehicles stared at me like angry monsters warning me to turn back.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked.
The surroundings were familiar, and yet they weren’t. We passed the city limit sign, driving until we entered the next county.
“Are you scared?” Heathcliff shot back.
My fingers found the door, and I gripped it, my doubts growing with each mile. Lights sparkled as Heathcliff took the exit to the town next to ours. It was bigger than our town, with a shopping mall, restaurants, and entertaining venues that weren’t available in our community.
The pickup pulled into a hotel parking lot. It was a nice hotel, the nicest one near our hometown, and I glanced at Heathcliff.
Putting the truck in park, he pulled the keys out of the ignition.
“I’ve got a room here,” he explained.
“What are you saying?”
His gaze rose, meeting mine. “Let’s be honest. There isn’t a place back home where we don’t share some kind of connection.” Snatching the key from the cup holder, he waved it around, before throwing it back down. “My family isn’t known for its subtlety.”
My gaze slid to the hotel, to the lighted lobby just beyond the door. “So, you’re bringing me here because no one would expect it?”
He laughed, the sound short. “No, I brought you here because here I don’t know you.”
His words caught me off guard, and I stared at him. “Don’t know me?”
“Back home, I know Hawthorne. I know the troubled young girl I met in high school. Her shadow is everywhere, her ghost chasing me from my house to the hooch to the creek. Here, that girl is gone. It’s just you and me. You’re not that Hawthorne any more, and I’m certainly not that boy. Here, there are no memories, no shadows of what we left behind.”
For a long moment, I sat there, my gaze traveling to his side view mirror, my reflection gazing back at me. He was right. I wasn’t that girl any more, and he wasn’t that boy. We didn’t know these new people. We didn’t even know if we’d like them.
My hand fell to the door handle. “Show me your room.”
Jumping free of the truck, Heathcliff rounded the cab, pulled open my door, and offered me his hand. My fingers met his palm, and for the first time since laying eyes on him, it felt like being with the old Heathcliff.
In silence, we walked through the lobby and into the elevators, the doors closing behind us. Heathcliff pressed the button to the fifth floor, the metal throwing back our distorted reflections as we rode upward, my stomach dropping with each new number.
The door dinged open, and Heathcliff stepped free of the elevator, his hand on the frame to keep it from closing.
“You don’t have to come, Hawthorne,” he said.
Again, I caught a glimpse of the old Heathcliff, and it was the vulnerability in his eyes that pushed me forward.
“I think … I think I need to,” I responded.
My gaze dropped to the floor, my eyes following his feet as we walked. Shoes. They told a lot about a person, and Heathcliff’s shoes, while different from the ones he’d worn in high school, represented him well. Worn, well used, and repaired.
His boots paused in front of a door, his hand sinking into his back pocket to pull out a key card. One swipe, and we were inside. The room was a big one, a king-sized bed in the middle of the space surrounded by a desk, a flat screen TV, and two chairs flanking a table. A suitcase sat at the end of the bed, unzipped but closed. It was a neat room, nothing out of place.
Throwing his key card onto the table, Heathcliff turned to face me, his hands out to the side. “This is Max Vincent. A lot of hotel rooms, and a million demons.”
Shifting awkwardly, I forced myself to meet his gaze. “I vaguely remember a guy who enjoyed creating things, who spent his life making people happy.”
He snorted. “Now I just kill them.”
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br /> “I beat you to that one, Heathcliff,” I breathed. “You’re not going to find pity here. Sympathy maybe, but not pity. There hasn’t been a person who’s entered my life who hasn’t either left or passed away, and yet I wouldn’t want it any different. Because each person who came into my world changed it.”
My gaze dropped to Heathcliff’s T-shirt. “Take it off,” I ordered.
His hands fell to the hem, his eyes meeting mine. “Déjà vu, Hawthorne. We’ve done this before.”
I threw him a look. “Not this we haven’t.”
Gripping the hem of his shirt, he pulled it over his head, and threw it onto the floor. I stepped forward, my gaze on the scars and tattoos marring his flesh.
“It’s like road a map,” I murmured, my arm rising, my finger dragging down the scar on his forearm.
Heathcliff answered my silent question. “Knife wound.” My fingers dropped farther to the raised scar tissue on his stomach. “Stupidity,” he murmured. “A welding lesson learned.” Finally, my fingers dropped to his hip. “Shrapnel. I was lucky. I was far enough away, I only walked away with a mark.”
“Be brave,” I whispered, my fingers leaving his scars to brush the thorns tattooed on his chest.
Heathcliff’s hand came up to cover mine. “I’ve lost some of my patience over the last few years. I appreciate the curiosity, but …” His words trailed off, fire burning in his gaze.
I pulled away from him, taking several steps back. “You’re not that different, you know. Just … dirtier. Like a truck that’s been rode too hard in the mud.”
Heathcliff’s brows arched. “Dirtier? Rode too hard? Honey, you need some better adjectives.”
I fought not to smile and lost the battle. “I was trying to be serious.”
His expression fell, his gaze roaming my face. “My family talks. A lot. I heard about your four years of college. Your year in France. Why come back? All that education. You’re good at what you do.”
“Because,” I told him, “my heart was here. No matter how far I went or what I did, I couldn’t escape this place.”
He shook his head. “So you’d rather be catering birthday parties and making greasy appetizers than working in a five star restaurant somewhere?”