They were all getting ready to go their separate ways on their different adventures. My peers were excited about being on their own and tasting freedom. I found I had way too much of it. Because of these different directions and places in life, I preferred isolation.
Instead of laughing and posing for pictures on the beach, I was now walking through the most rinky-dink airport I had ever seen. I was used to the vast expanse of Tampa International. This airport had a sign that boasted Boise as The City of Trees.
It definitely wasn't the city of major airline travel.
As I walked with my fellow travelers toward the other side of the security checkpoint where everyone was waiting, I watched the faces of the people near me light up with excitement. The lady next to me ran to a guy waiting for her. He immediately picked her up and swung her around. There were words of greeting, laughs, hugs, and handshakes all around me.
I didn’t see my dad right away. Instead of lingering hoping he would come for me, I went down to the baggage claim that was on the ground floor of the airport.
It was after I grabbed my bags off the conveyor belt, I saw him for the first time in years. He looked the same as he did in my memory, just slightly older. He wore a button-down shirt and jeans. His hair was light brown with a few more strands of gray from the last time I saw him. A mustache practically took over the bottom half of his face covering his top lip. Even with that monstrosity, I could see the tentative smile touching his lips.
I forced a smile in return, confident it came out more like a grimace. How did you greet the man who had a part in creating you, but didn’t care about you?
His smile began to falter, and the oh-so-familiar look of pity began to take over. Lips pulled back in a tight line. Well, the lip I could see anyway. His eyebrows turned up in the center as his eyes found mine. It was the same expression anyone I talked to these days had. I hated that look, was so ridiculously tired of that look.
Pity.
"How are you, kiddo?"
"I'm fine. It's fine. Can we just go?" I spat out just as he finished asking. It was rude, but I couldn't listen to that voice too. Not now. There was a unique voice that went with the look he had just given me. It was as if people forgot how to speak normally once it crossed their face.
That voice was worse than the look.
He must have seen something in my eyes because he didn't try to speak to me again as we walked out the exit doors and toward the parking garage. He produced a set of keys with his free hand to unlock his vehicle, a light green Bronco. It was a far cry from the sedan I remembered from my youth, but certainly appropriate for the West. It was exactly what one would expect to see in the middle of nowhere. It seemed the man next to me could play the part he was given when he wanted to. Frustration flared in my chest, threatening to come out in a growl, as he drove us home.
No, not home.
My new house, which was technically my old house.
I wasn't quite sure what to call it yet.
We drove out through the city, slowly making our way to two-lane roads that seemingly went to the middle of nowhere. The streets were empty, save for the occasional truck driving the opposite direction. Those were few and far between. I rested my forehead against the glass of the window; my gaze stayed solidly fixed out it.
I watched the mountains on the horizon. They were visible even in the city, and I hadn't taken my eyes off them the entire drive. They were majestic and powerful. Soon, I thought, they would be white-peaked with snow. It was a sight I hadn't seen in so long.
There was such beauty here, a beauty I hadn't realized I missed this much. I had become accustomed to flat horizons and greenery everywhere. What I saw now was foreign to me. And yet, I found it strangely comforting at the same time. The drive took less than an hour, and I was sad when it was over. It meant I'd be expected to face reality once more.
My dad pulled up the driveway to a one-story ranch style home. The giant maple trees on either side were still there. I could hear the sound of horses neighing from the neighbor's property. I didn’t stay outside to take it all in though. Instead, I went straight to the house and walked to my old room.
Setting my bag on the floor next to the bed, I laid down, not bothering to pull the bedspread down. I stared at the ceiling, thinking how much my life had changed in the last few months. Not sure of how long I lay there, I finally fell asleep. I hadn't even eaten dinner.
This room, this bed, is where I stayed the remainder of the summer.
My pillow regularly soaked with tears.
I mourned the death of my mother, the loss of my home, and the old life I couldn't go back to.
I wasn't sure how I would make it back to normal.
Chapter 2
Julian
"Julian Alvarado, do not walk away from me while I'm talking to you!" My mom's voice carried through the hall of our house.
I didn't look back as I continued to walk away, eventually leaving through the front door. I loved my mom, but it was getting to be unbearable just to be under the same roof as her. It didn't matter that I wasn't the one who brought this mess into our lives.
It didn't seem to matter at all that I was the one making honor roll and being the model freaking citizen before Marco ran off, or even that I had earned a full ride to Boise State. Even putting my dream on hold to make sure bills were paid, and food was in the fridge, didn't seem to be enough for my mom these days.
When she got worked up, there wasn't much that could calm her down. I assumed today's outburst had to do with another piece of jewelry gone missing, or maybe even some of the little cash we had lying around the house.
I wasn't the one taking it, and my mom knew it. That didn't stop her from freaking out at me.
She had become unpredictable with her moods after watching Marco fall into the group of guys he was with these days. Some days she was practically comatose on the couch. Other days she was explosive and angry. Of course, money and Marco weren't the only things that had my mom on edge.
It had all started when my dad left a couple of months ago. He said his talent went unnoticed in this small town. No one appreciated his music. Fed up with everyone in River Valley, my dad loaded up his clothes and his guitar and disappeared.
We were all stunned. He'd been a great parent until then. Coming to my wrestling matches, bringing my mom flowers on his way home from work, asking Marco and me about our days. There was no slow descent into neglect. One day he was here, the next day he was gone.
About a month after dad left, Marco started acting strangely. As his brother, I should have seen it coming. He didn't take our father's leaving very well. The two of them were always close. With dad gone, Marco started losing his temper more often. He would pick fights with me for no apparent reason. Then, one day he left too.
With both my dad and older brother gone, things were difficult. My mom wasn't working, and we were living off a small savings. I knew money was getting tight. I watched as the brand names in our cabinets were replaced with generics. Less meat graced the table. We didn't go out to eat and never bought anything beyond the necessities.
It was all right with me. I didn't need those things—not then, and definitely not now.
Now, I had the responsibility of being the sole provider for my mom and me. I didn't care if the food came from a food bank at this point. Unfortunately, there wasn't too much charity found, and I had to work hard for everything we had.
Thankfully, I had a job at the local diner and a long shift tonight. That was part of why I had stormed out of my house the way I did. The other part was just to try to escape reality for a short time.
Friday nights were some of my most profitable nights. Not because I worked as a server. I didn't have the bright and bubbly personality for it. But thankfully Mike, the guy who ran the joint, made all his waitresses pay a tip share to the back of the house. When we had a busy night and busted butt to get food out quickly, we got some extra cash. Considering The Farmhouse was t
he best place to get a burger in town, anyone who was anyone would be there tonight.
I got into my car and prayed the fumes would get me to work. It was technically early enough that I could walk. It just happened to be a long, unshaded walk through the middle of nowhere. It was still summer, and the sun would be blazing down on me the entire time. I drove any chance I was able.
When I stopped at the end of my street, I looked over at the corner house. I hadn’t been inside in years, but I couldn’t help but look at it over time I drove by. A chain-link fence surrounded the yard, and giant trees lined the yard.
Mr. Lynch had lived there alone for several years now, and he wasn't the outdoorsy type. He was some work from home computer geek or something. You definitely wouldn't catch him doing yard work. A lawn care company took care of that.
So today, when I saw him lying in the grass, I knew something was up. I didn't think he was old enough to have fallen and broken a hip. But what was he doing on the ground? Why had he been out there in the first place? I couldn't see his face clearly behind the large bushes in the front yard, but his legs weren't moving. There was no way to tell if he was unconscious from where I was. What if he spent his time indoors because he was allergic to bees or something?
I didn't have the time for this.
Looking between the gas light on my dash and the figure in the yard, I started to let off the brake. I could leave him, get to work without issue and no one would be any wiser. But my conscience wasn't having any of it. I went for the keys to turn the engine off and investigate just as he got up.
It turned out my concern had been in vain. It wasn't Mr. Lynch in the yard after all, but a girl. She was close to my age as far as I could tell. Long blond hair fell across the girl's shoulders, and the legs that had just been flat on the ground were pulled up to her chest as she wrapped her arms around them. They were curvy beneath the jeans she wore. How had I mistaken them for a man's?
Last time I checked, Mr. Lynch lived alone. He had never remarried and besides, this girl was way too young for him to be dating. If it wasn't a girlfriend, wife, or step-daughter, then who could it be? His daughter?
Katie? No freaking way.
I continued to stare, kind of like a creeper if I was honest with myself. The more I looked at her, the more I recognized the features of her face. I thought of the possible reasons she would be here. After so long, did I even care? Looking back down at the gas light again, I decided it didn't matter. I needed to get this car to The Farmhouse before I ended up stranded.
I really didn't want to walk.
My shift went well and, just like I had thought, it was busy. After I had finished up for the night, I sat at one of the empty tables, drinking soda and waiting for Gwen to cash out with Mike. It had been a long evening, and I was glad it was over. The Farmhouse wasn't a huge place, only a handful of tables. One or two waitresses and the same number of cooks per shift was all it took to keep this place running.
The diner wasn't a fancy place either. The seat cushion I sat on was cracking in several places, and the corner of the tabletop was chipped pretty good. Menus adorned every table, the lamination peeling at the corners of almost every single one.
But the place was cozy, and the food was good. That was enough to keep people coming back for more. That, and the fact it was practically a requirement for the people of River Valley to eat here.
"Hey.” Gwen smiled at me as she slid into the booth. She had a soda in her hand when she sat down. The drink told me she planned to sit for a minute and wanted to talk. I was tired and not exactly in the mood, but she was one of the only people who didn't see me as the troubled teen who lost his way. I settled in, waiting for her to start.
As I looked up, she bit her bottom lip. Her eyebrows drew in toward each other. She was a sweet girl and pretty too, when she wasn't making the face she was currently. She was tiny and had short, dark hair that reminded me of a fairy. I could see the appeal. It just wasn't there for me. I was just happy to have a friend.
"Those guys are jerks, you know," she said, without clarifying who the guys were. She didn't need to. The wrestling team had been in the diner that night.
"Yeah, I know.” I lifted my eyebrows as if to say no news there.
"And I'm so sorry about the order they placed," she continued. "They wouldn't let me walk away and bring the ticket over until they saw that I wrote down all of their special instructions."
"I know," I said again, irritated. I knew Gwen didn't have a cruel bone in her body and I wasn't mad at her. Those guys, my former friends and teammates, could be real assholes. They had placed their orders and watched from the booth as I read the ticket.
All burgers, with everything on the side and on a separate plate, including all the condiments. Fresh fries without salt, with salt on the side. And the kicker was to make sure my dirty hands didn't touch anything. They had requested I wear gloves while making their food.
My face burned from the memory. I was angry the guys had turned their backs so quickly, but I think I was angrier than I had ever called them my friends. The thought of being one of those guys embarrassed me now.
They thought they were hurting me. And yeah, it pissed me off, but I stopped caring what people thought about me months ago. I had embraced being the outcast. The person it had hurt was Gwen. She was the one who had to take three trips just to bring the food out, even though she had other tables to serve. She was the one who had to bring the food back to be remade because they claimed it was overcooked. It wasn't. All that running back and forth put her in the weeds and made the other tables suffer.
"Gwen. I'm sor—”
"You know I couldn't say anything to Mike." Gwen interrupted my apology, looking toward the office.
"I know. Anything to make a buck," I said mockingly. He was a tightwad in all the wrong ways.
"Listen, I gotta go. I just wanted to say I was sorry for what happened tonight and make sure you got your cut."
She slid a few bills across the table. Instantly, I knew it was too much for the night we had. It had been busy, just not that busy. I started to push it back and tell her as much, but she was already rushing out of the booth like a bat out of hell. I briefly considered chasing after her to make her take it back, to tell her I didn't want or need her charity. As I looked back down at the money sitting on the table, I knew how much I could use it.
I begrudgingly stuffed the bills in my pocket.
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Chasing Love (Mountain Creek Drive Book 3) Page 17