Call Me Michigan

by Sam Destiny

  CALL ME MICHIGAN

  AMAZON EDITION

  First published in Germany in 2016

  Copyright © 2016 by Sam Destiny

  Cover Artwork by MGbookcovers (https://www.facebook.com/groups/1011716275555896/)

  Formatting by Ready, Set, Edit

  Editing by Jenny Sims of Editing4Indies (http://www.editing4indies.com)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Also available in paperback.

  All rights reserved. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

  www.samdestiny.com

  Sometimes your first love is your only love.

  Hold onto it.

  More by Sam Destiny

  Morningstar Series

  Set In Flames

  Set To Start

  Set In Sparks

  Set In Burns

  Contemporary Romance

  Tagged For Life

  AJ’s Salvation

  Call Me Michigan

  Mason Stiles watched as his best friend pulled up in a truck and parked it right next to his black pickup. Though no one could see inside the darkened windows of the bar, Mason could clearly see the apprehension on his best friend’s youthful face. Brad pushed the Stetson off his black hair, scratching his forehead before lowering the hat back into place. Mason downed his shot of whiskey and then signaled the bartender for another, adding a beer to mix up the flavor.

  The run-down bar was really a hole in the wall with mirrored windows from the outside, a door with peeling moss-green-colored paint, and a brass handle. Inside, the oak bar, some tables, and a run-down pool table in the back had seen better days. The floor was imitation wood, but the excessive foot traffic had made the original color indistinguishable. The chairs were simple oak, no padding, and the barstools were leather-covered, even though not one was still intact. The walls were painted a muddy brown, making Mason think that bars often were designed to put you down even more. It was probably a tactic to get you to buy more alcohol. Left of the bar was a hardware store and to the right, a hairdresser. The only windows were the ones across from the bar, on each side of the door. It made the whole room even gloomier; especially since the green glass-covered lamps didn’t do shit for lighting up the room.

  “Gimme your car keys, Mase,” Brad demanded the moment he stood next to his barstool. He held out a calloused hand, showing traces of hard work.

  “Nope,” Mason replied, making the ‘p’ pop. With surprise, he noticed that his words had lost their edge. How many of those honey-colored shots had vanished behind his lips?

  “Yes! And then you’ll pay your tab and get in the truck with me. You need to see Taylor before she leaves,” Brad ordered, already patting him down.

  “I didn’t know you swung that way, buddy. I could’ve made ya happy a long time ago.” Mason grinned, chuckling as Brad rolled his eyes while pulling the keys from his best friend’s pocket.

  “Taylor. Now,” he repeated, and Mason shook his head.

  “No. Collins made sure I knew she didn’t want to see me anymore,” Mason protested, his heart hurting with the truth behind those words.

  “That girl just turned eighteen and finished high school. She doesn’t know what she’s saying,” Brad insisted, waving over the bartender. “How much does his drunken ass owe you?” he wanted to know, and Mason saw the old man smile in sympathy.

  “There ain’t no way to pay for a broken heart,” he rasped out, his voice hoarse from too many cigarettes and whiskey. His gnarly hands moved a rag over the polished top in an easy rhythm of habit. Especially since he didn’t need to look down in order to wipe around glasses or bowls that adorned the wood.

  Mason stumbled off his barstool, snorting. “I ain’t got no broken heart,” he slurred, seeing Brad and the bartender exchange a glance.

  “It’s two o’clock in the afternoon, son, and you’re done. Totally and absolutely drunk. A woman is the only reason a man gets that wasted. And young Taylor is a pretty reason, too,” the bartender remarked, going from cleaning the bar to polishing some glasses.

  “But –”

  “No ‘buts’ or ‘maybes,’ Mason. We are gonna go and see your girl now. In your current state, you might be brave enough to actually open that stubborn mouth of yours,” Brad announced, reaching for him. It was a hard feat to get back to Brad’s truck since the world kept tilting on its axis and sometimes even moved in waves just to spite Mason. Additionally, the falling rain made him think the ground had holes where there was none.

  “I really love her.” That statement didn’t surprise him or Brad, but still, it cut deep. God, it was so true. He loved everything about Taylor Collins and had since the first day she entered high school, bringing the sunshine with her.

  “I know.” Brad’s tone was somber, clearly stating how bad he felt for his friend.

  “I’m twenty-one. I feel like my life’s over. I don’t know where to go from here. I could see it, Brad. Me and Collins on the farm, our children running around while I kiss her nose and tell her she’s still as beautiful as she was when she was sixteen.” Shaking his head, he wondered why the world hated him so much.

  Brad started his truck, staying silent. Then again, what was there to say? The drive to the Greyhound station didn’t take longer than five minutes, but the weather had taken a turn for the worse; black clouds rolled in and brought thunder and heavy rain. Still, Mason spotted Taylor as if she were a beacon in the darkness. Standing between two silver buses, she had just handed her one suitcase to a bus driver to be stored and therefore start her new adventure.

  The moment Mason had heard that she planned to leave Sunburn, his whole life had been turned upside down. He had watched her for two years, being only her friend. He decided to give her time, make her experiences, always telling himself to give her just one more year until he told her that he loved her. She was sweet, charming, smart, and beautiful; so naturally, guys had swarmed her, but she still hung with him and his friends if she had the choice. A million and one parties had happened, yet he never had found the courage to take it one step further. His plan had been to watch her kiss a lot of frogs until sweeping in and making her see that he was her one and only prince.

  “Get her to stay,” Brad urged, almost pushing him out of the parked truck, and Mason moved, still having a hard time keeping himself upright.

  The rain was soaking through his jeans and button-down as he approached Taylor. She was perfect in his eyes: brown leather boots that complemented her long legs, a yellow dress that ended mid-thigh, long blonde waves spilling down her shoulders, wild as the girl who wore them. She had her denim jacket in her hand, just pulling it over as he reached her side.

  Her eyes had widened in surprise before they narrowed in fury. He deserved that look, too, and he knew it. At the news of her leaving, he had felt as if it had been a personal decision against him, so he wanted to hurt her back, having thrown a private party for him and Patricia, the girl Taylor hated most in the entire county. Of course, a small town had no secrets, and Taylor had basically found out the second Patricia walked out of his door.

  “I don’t need a good-bye from you, Stiles,” she spat, her voice dripping with anger. She wanted to turn away from him, but he grabbed her arm, breathing in the rainy air to clear his drunken haze. Facing her buzzed was the worst idea Brad and he had ever had, and their track record of stupid ideas was long.

  “Stay,” he pleaded, keeping his voice low to maybe hi
de his physical state.

  “Are you drunk?” she asked in utter disbelief, catching on to him instantly. After all, she knew him inside out.

  “Stay,” Mason simply repeated, and she stepped forward. He knew she was going to smell his breath, but that wasn’t what he had in mind. Instead, he grabbed her shoulders, and then he was kissing her. His lips pressed against hers until she opened them with a gasp and he invaded her mouth with his tongue. She was soft, warm, and tasted of strawberry chewing gum. He knew it was a comfort thing for her, and she chewed it when she needed mental strength. He had always loved the scent on her breath, and now, he loved the taste of her on his tongue even more. For a few seconds, he even imagined she was kissing him back, her lips moving against his, almost compliant, but then …

  “Fuck, Mason,” she cursed, pushing away from him. “Fuck you thirty ways to hell!” She stepped back, her eyes on his face, pain twisting her features.

  “Taylor, wait,” he called after her, but she just shook her head, turning away. He took a step to follow her, but his own foot got caught on his jeans, and he stumbled to the ground. Closing his eyes, he wondered if getting up would change anything. He felt as if his world had come crashing down and he was sitting in the ruins with no way to ever rebuild it.

  The bus passed him, and he looked up, letting the rain pelt down on him until eventually Brad pulled him back toward his truck. Mason didn’t care; his heart had just left this town on a damn Greyhound bus.

  Mason Stiles loved nothing more than the solitude and peacefulness his truck provided. He adored his family, his work, and his house, but sometimes, things just were too much, and he needed a break.

  The day had started out sunny, and Mason had decided to head over after finishing work in Freedom, the next big town, to get the parts he needed to repair the leaking faucet at home and the broken fence at the end of his driveway.

  He had just passed the Greyhound station that twelve years prior had taken his life away from him, and he figured in about another sixty minutes, life would swamp him again, chasing away the calm he had felt in the cab of his truck. Turning on the radio, he found his favorite country station, singing along to the familiar tunes while trying to avoid overthinking things. His thirty-third birthday was coming up in a couple of months, and as much as Brad had insisted they needed a barn party, Mason hoped he’d be able to get drunk all by himself. He wanted to nurse his broken, lonely heart in the sanctuary of his home, without anyone bearing witness to his pity party. In front of him, the sun was shining brightly, but his mood more fit the black clouds rolling in behind him.

  Sighing, he suddenly spotted someone walking up ahead on the road. Between their location and the next farm or town, there were miles and miles of fields and more fields, meaning hours of solitary walking until that person even met another soul.

  Judging by the stature, Mason guessed it was a girl, and looking at her clothes, he decided pretty quickly that she wasn’t from around here. Her curves, if you even could call them that, were barely concealed by a white blouse and hugged tightly by a pair of damn skinny jeans those urban folks loved so much. Mason preferred his girls the typical country style: boot cut jeans, plaid shirt, and real cowboy boots instead of those flimsy ballerina shoes this girl was sporting.

  Her hair was in one of those fancy updos with not a single hair out of place. That wouldn’t be the case much longer because, before long, the storm rolling in behind them would catch up with her.

  She carried a sea sack, one Mason knew people owned if they once had been in the Army like he had been. Frankly, the luggage made her appear even smaller.

  Slowing his truck to a crawl, he rolled down his window and saw huge and ugly sunglasses covered half of her face. Her cheeks were hollow, and he could see the bones at the base of her neck standing out more than he thought was healthy.

  “Hey, lady,” he called and then watched how she swallowed before looking at him. He couldn’t make out much besides her pursed lips, but something about her heart-shaped mouth triggered a memory in the back of his mind.

  “You need a ride? It’ll rain soon,” he continued, and her face turned from him to the clouds behind his truck.

  “Crap,” she muttered, her voice soft and warm.

  “Wanna hop in?” Great job, Mason, he scolded himself silently. It’s not at all weird to invite a city girl into your truck since they were suspicious of everyone and everything. Unlike the women he knew, those damn girls from the big towns didn’t know the typical country friendliness; at least, that was what the TV always portrayed.

  “If you don’t mind,” she replied without an ounce of hesitation, and Mason stopped the truck. She threw her bag in the backseat as if she had been riding in trucks all her life.

  “Where are you from?” he inquired as she settled down in the seat next to him.

  “Michigan,” she replied, and Mason noticed that instead of looking at him, she stared straight ahead.

  “Where to, Michigan?”

  She lowered her head, her shoulders slumping, giving her an air of defeat. The truth was Mason had never seen a girl who looked as unhappy as she did. Her skin was pale, her body was way too slim, and what he saw of her face held no traces of a smile. In fact, she looked as if no happiness had grazed her features in way too long.

  “The Collins’ farm,” she eventually announced, and he shifted gears, making the truck finally move again.

  “They’re nice folks,” he observed, avoiding the last name. Twelve years later and his heart still hadn’t forgotten the one who got away. The memories of the day Taylor had left were hazy at best, at least when it came to everything that had transpired after him entering the bar, and basically non-existent when it came to how he had left it again. “They just had tough luck with the dad runnin’ away. The middle child, Tamara, is takin’ care of the smallest one now, but I guess you know that. You’re heading there to help?” He really liked that since Tammy was way too young to be burdened with something like that. While she never once had complained, Mason couldn’t imagine it to be easy at all. The girl in the seat next to him simply shrugged.

  “Something like that, yes.” She trailed one bright red fingernail along his dashboard while studying the pictures Mason had long ago meant to take down.

  Rain started pelting down hard, and he turned on the windshield wipers, but they barely made a dent as the heavy drops kept falling.

  “It’s a long way on foot to reach the Collins’ house,” he remarked, curious why she didn’t take the glasses off even though it was now dark. She kept her face hid.

  “I know,” she gave back, and then added, “Ashley is a beautiful girl.” Mason had a hard time not slamming his foot down on the brakes.

  “What?” he asked, disbelief coloring his voice, wondering how she knew that name.

  “It says ‘love, Ash’ on this one, so I just wanted to comment … forget it.” She waved it off, resting her chin on her palm after placing her elbow against the door, staring outside again.

  “I’m sorry, that wasn’t what I meant, Michigan. Ashley and I haven’t been a couple in two years. I wanted to take down those pictures quite often, but …” He rolled his shoulder as if that said it all.

  “You’re having a hard time letting go?” She helped out, and he gritted his teeth as it got harder to see and even harder to concentrate.

  “Funny fact … when I kissed her the first time, I knew she wasn’t it for me. The one, you know?” It was weird putting it out there like that, but it was the truth. He only held onto the thing with Ashley for so long because, besides it being the wrong woman, the rest had been close to everything he’d ever wanted.

  ***

  Taylor’s heart was bleeding all over Mason’s truck, and he didn’t even see it.

  “First kisses are a crucial thing,” she stated, wondering if she was hurting so badly because he hadn’t recognized her, or because in the pictures with Ash he looked so happy; she wished she could
put that expression on his face just to bathe in the warmth his smile was radiating.

  “You’re absolutely right, Michigan.”

  For a short moment, she debated telling him who was in the truck with him, but then she decided against it. Coming home had not been her choice. When the lawyer had called in her mother’s and father’s name, she hadn’t hesitated and sold everything that had defined her up in Michigan.

  Life on the Collins’ farm had always been tough. Her parents had loved her unconditionally, even after the farm had hit rough times, and while she didn’t mind helping out every now and then, Taylor knew that it wasn’t going to be her life. So once her mother had announced that Taylor was now old enough to take over the bookkeeping and help run the farm alongside her dad, she had grabbed everything she valued and had fled the sheltered life she knew. Five years later, her sister, Tamara, had called her in tears, delivering the news about them getting a baby brother. Add two more years and their mother had left the family hanging.

  Tammy had never asked her to return, and Taylor had never offered. But now, with her father gone and Tammy left to raise an eight-year-old, Taylor hadn’t thought twice. She left her party-planning business to help her sister and take on the responsibility that should’ve been hers in the first place. Neither of them had deserved that life, yet Taylor at least had gotten twelve years of more or less freedom away from North Carolina.

  When planning her future, she had always thought that she’d be married by now, but three years into her new life, she knew she couldn’t give her heart away because that day, in the rain at a North Carolina bus station, she had left it with a drunken boy.