The Barrett Brothers Collection

by K B Cinder

  I was ready to face the new horizon alone. No more lies. No more secrets. I was starting over, where I belonged all along.

  Jason

  Loss was an interesting journey. The five stages don’t have a set pacing. You don’t trickle through them in order, or in perfect chunks of time with alarm informing you the next one is due. Sometimes you bounce around. You go from denying reality to enraged, smashing everything around you until you’re left in a pile of what-ifs. I hadn’t reached the final stage, and I wouldn’t. I would never accept that Elena was stolen from me.

  I spent the first few nights without her working through bottles of Bowmore, racking my brain for hints of where her father lived. That’s where she had to be. I retraced every conversation, every memory for a spark. All I knew was he lived in Vermont in a small town on a mountain. I searched the internet, but everywhere in the state fit the fucking description. I knew it took seven hours to get there. But a lot of places fit that description too.

  She hadn’t mentioned her father’s name, so I put my detective hat on and searched online for any link to her past. A family member. A school announcement. Anything. But I found nothing.

  Next, I went broad, researching the last name Julian. There were over seventeen-thousand people in the United States with the surname, over a hundred in Vermont. I narrowed it down by description, finding seven people that fit the demographic, all scattered throughout the state. No big deal. I mapped it out, and the distance between each of them was only four-hundred miles.

  But then I realized she could have a different last name than her father. That’s where Bowmore came to the rescue. I couldn’t lay in bed with the empty space beside me, the spot where she belonged.

  But if she loved me, why did she leave me? Why didn’t she give me a chance to explain? Was it because I was so distant? So hesitant about my own feelings? I was so focused on work, on Chicago. I was so preoccupied with the end game I missed what I had all along, wasting precious time that should have been spent telling her how I felt.

  I laid there in agony, a pain nothing could touch. Not even morphine could dull it. Knowing I’d be without her for an undetermined amount of time, maybe forever, was unbearable. I was cold for so long. I hadn’t tried to feel in years. Now that I could, I was desperate for it to end, the pain all-encompassing and raw, but I almost didn’t want it to stop. I needed the burn to keep going, to fuel the long road ahead.

  I laid in the fetal position in a luxury hotel bed I would leave in the morning as a new chapter started. I would be a mess in the beginning. Tired. Hungover. Emotional. But I was starting it.

  I came too far to give up. I worked so hard. I couldn’t throw it away with booze, but I didn’t have the self-control not to. She was taken from me because someone lied. Someone stole my word and shredded it, robbing me of the woman I loved.

  I sacrificed a lot of things and was weak so many times, but I never thought I’d walk away from my first true love. Yet I was doing just that come morning.

  * * *

  As expected, the morning was brutal, compounded by moving all my shit out of the hotel and into the back of my Rover. A bottle of soda from a vending machine helped, but something told me I’d be vomiting on the side of the road in a few hours.

  I needed to regroup before I hit the road, however, so I drove across town to a coffee shop, ready to pour over my business plan. I had more work to do than I wanted to think about, the days out of the office hitting me hard. I also had some phone calls to make. Knowing people in high places always came in handy.

  I strolled inside with my laptop in hand, ready to veg out with a 24-ounce coffee and a muffin. Elena taught me to appreciate the finer things in life, like carbs. I hadn’t had one until she shoved a bite of blueberry in my mouth one morning. I always considered them gross breakfast cupcakes with sugar, sugar, and more sugar. I wasn’t wrong, but they were delicious.

  Once I had a steaming cup of Cuban Roast and a berry-packed baked good, I wandered over to a table by the window, flipping my laptop on.

  It was Friday, at least I thought it was, and people pining for their caffeine fix were in full swing. A few joined me to lounge around with laptops too, though many wore headphones to tune out the sounds of the cafe, dribbling coffee pots and the violent bubbling of cappuccino makers too much for their precious ears. Those were the gentle types, the hippie freelancers who came to write yoga articles before heading to the studio to stretch in pricey sessions with ASMR backdrops.

  I couldn’t get work done that way, needing the constant buzz to keep the mojo flowing. I needed the rush, the energy. With the current crowd, I was almost hoping some kids would wander in to liven the place up. Were cafe field trips a thing?

  I avoided email, knowing it was a mess, deciding to focus on some good old-fashioned analysis. I charted out the next month with targets, keying in a few appointments on my schedule. It would only get worse with the move.

  I ran a few calculations that I didn’t like the result of, grabbing a sip of coffee for a shot of clarity. As I did, an oaf elbowed my chair, jerking my head forward, plummeting my nose straight into dark roast. I swallowed the initial rage as I wiped my face before turning to face the idiot.

  “I’m so sorry, bro!” a familiar voice exclaimed.

  My eyes fell on Justin, who went white at the sight of me. “I am so sorry!” he repeated, louder. He panicked, the two of us not seeing each other since he apologized for sending my girl flowers.

  I flashed a smile. Maybe luck was on my side.

  Elena

  Pumpkin-spiced pancakes were a new obsession, thanks to Dad. He stocked the cabin with the instant mix in anticipation for Thanksgiving, knowing I’d love them. He was right. In the two weeks since I was home, I consumed roughly a metric shit-ton.

  That morning was no different, the two of us dining on pumpkiny heaven and bacon. Vermont maple-glazed, of course.

  “Are you headed back down soon?” Dad asked, eyeing me over the book in his hand, Moby Dick. As a teenager, it was my nickname for him when he was strict, much to his chagrin.

  I smirked, pushing a slice of bacon around my plate. The piece had both Hank and Bruce’s undivided attention. “Trying to kick me out?”

  He frowned, sliding his empty plate forward. “No, I’m worried about you driving back down with all these storms coming through.”

  “What do you think if I buy a place in town?” I asked, tearing a corner off the bacon for Hank and tossing the rest to Bruce.

  I received an offer letter from Commons Electrical the day before, crying in the coffee shop when I read it was for a product manager position. It paid more than enough to buy a place once I polished off the wedding bills.

  “Like a vacation home?” he asked, raising a bushy brow. “You don’t have a need. You’re welcome here anytime, El.”

  “No, a house to live in... permanently.”

  He set down the book, studying me instead. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes,” I replied, smiling.

  His eyes didn’t leave my face, looking for any hints of a prank. “Right in Willits Bend?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  He crossed his arms, still not buying it. “You're serious?”

  “You don't believe me?” I laughed.

  He shook his head, his beard scraping against the collar of his flannel. “You've been dead set on New York since you were a cricket, El.”

  “What if I told you New York wasn't for me?”

  He chuckled. “Well, the parent in me would tell you I told you so.”

  I grinned. He always warned me I'd hate city life, just like Mom. There was a reason she fled to be up north with him.

  “You really want to stay up here?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

  “I closed the lease on my apartment. You’re kinda stuck with me till I find a place, Pops.”

  He clenched a fist over his mouth, tears pricking his eyes, breaking my heart clean in two. I hurried over,
hugging him close, offering what support I could to the old ox.

  “That’s the best damn news I’ve heard in a while,” he muttered, hugging me back.

  * * *

  After breakfast, I headed out on my daily jog, a routine I started a few days after arrival. I walked the first few times, but once the snow melted enough from the storm, I could hustle like I used to.

  It was a bitter, the bite of the air more than uncomfortable, robbing me of momentum as I trudged along. I quickened my pace, adding an extra oomph to each step, hoping to get my blood pumping enough to warm up.

  I made it two miles down the trail before hearing the crunch of snow and gravel in the distance. I thought it was my footsteps echoing off the trees, but once I stopped moving, the sound continued. I whirled around, confused.

  I listened closely and heard more crunching in the distance. I scanned the forest, seeing nothing, but continued to hear the ever-encroaching sound. I spun, searching every direction in a panic. The pounding of my heart and heavy breathing only made it harder to pinpoint.

  I remembered the bears who frequented the area. What if they hadn’t gone into hibernation yet? What if one needed a last meal before turning in for the winter? What if it was a bobcat? Neither were good adversaries to have. I couldn’t outrun them, and I sure as hell wouldn’t fare well fighting one.

  I hurried to the edge of the trees, eyes peeled for movement as I grabbed a branch that twisted like a candy cane. It wasn’t much, but it would work in a pinch.

  As I made my way back to the center of the road, something caught my eye in the distance, the likely source of the sounds. It was a trio of deer, strolling across the road. I burst into laughter, startling their tails into the air. The group froze and looked over in a panic, the classic deer-in-headlights formation in full swing before springing into the woods.

  City life made me a paranoid fool. I was ready to beat poor Bambi and his friends to death with a makeshift club. I tossed it to the side, still grinning. Dad would have a field day if he saw me ready to take on the harmless hoofed critters.

  I returned to my run, hitting my old pace. My goal was to make it to the main road and back, totaling five miles. It wasn’t anything near what I did in the past, but it was a healthy marker to hit, even if I threw in a lot of walking. I had to start somewhere.

  All around the snow trickled down, the afternoon’s eight to twelve inches arriving early. Unlike the powdery coating that fell the night before, it was heavy and wet, sticking everywhere it touched. I tilted my head down and carried on, shielding my face.

  I rounded the bend into the final stretch and heard the crunching again. “Fuck off, Bambi!” Shouting at deer was a new low, but the sound was rattling my nerves.

  When the crunching didn’t stop, I looked ahead, surprised to see an SUV further up the trail. I slowed, eyeing it as I tried to make out the driver. No one else lived off the road. Whoever it was, was a quarter-mile down, so they hadn’t pulled in to turn around.

  There was also a good chance it was a local coming to check on Dad. He had a bunch of old hunting buddies and guys from the highway department he still talked to.

  Then again, if someone made a wrong turn, they’d end up lost. Beyond the cabin, the road snaked over twenty miles before ending at an old logging site. It had dozens of dead-end turnoffs where machinery was stored over the years. With the storm coming, it could be dangerous.

  Through the snowfall, I made out a large figure driving and someone in the passenger seat. It was probably a family. Extra karma points were headed my way.

  As the vehicle rolled to a stop, they didn’t honk. They didn’t move to drive around me either, not that they could. I was in the center of the road.

  When the driver’s side door flew open, and a man jumped out, my heart dropped. I hadn’t considered a wayward murderer until that second.

  As the door slammed, I realized how wrong the assumption of a deranged man was, though I was close. It was Jason. A thick stubble darkened his jaw, his eyes shadowed by dark circles. “Elena?” he called, voice ragged. His hands covered his eyes to block the snow.

  He looked exhausted like he went to hell and back a thousand times over. Sympathy flooded my heart, but I quickly plugged the leak. The son of a bitch lied. He was a cheater.

  I did what I did best: I ran.

  “Elena, stop!” His voice boomed off the trees, shattering the silence of the forest.

  I continued running, ignoring his calls, but once I heard the SUV, I realized how pointless it was. I made a beeline for the trees since he couldn’t drive through the damn forest. Sure, I was leaving tracks, but once I got far enough, I could disappear. Then I’d sneak in the back door of the cabin and have Dad turn him away.

  I leaped over fallen limbs and weaved through trees, trying to muddy my trail. In the distance, the engine cut, and I could hear footsteps. I pushed ahead, no clue where I was going but away. I grew up in the woods, but it was years since I was in them. Hopefully, my instincts would serve me well. I knew I’d hit the creek eventually that led to the cabin.

  “Elena!” It was a haunting bellow that seemed to bounce off every tree.

  Why was he doing this? Why couldn’t he let me be? He did enough. And Lee. Why would she tell him where I was?

  “Baby, listen to me, please!” He was gaining on me. He sounded way too close.

  I summoned my inner Forrest Gump and kept going despite my lungs burning and thighs ready to tap out. I would have to drag myself back to the cabin.

  I weaved in and out, dodging underbrush and ducking branches. He continued his pursuit, somehow contorting his 6’4” frame through the tight turns too. I hated him for being in shape. I hated him even more when I heard him right behind me.

  I tensed, expecting him to grab me, but he didn’t. He maintained his pace at my heels, running at my side where he’d fit. I refused to look at him.

  After what seemed like ages, we reached the creek, and I would have crossed if it didn’t mean hypothermia and likely death if the ice broke. The trail towards the cabin was covered in fallen debris, making it impenetrable. I had no choice but to head back to where I came from. I’d have to follow my tracks too, dammit.

  As I turned, I caught a good look at him, and concern tugged at my heartstrings. He was wearing only a thin Henley and jeans. It was fifteen degrees and snowing. He had to be freezing.

  “What are you doing here?” I demanded, frustrated to hell and back.

  “I came to talk to you.” He looked worse than I realized up close, his eyes bloodshot and skin flushed from the cold. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

  “You drove all the way to Vermont to talk?”

  “Well, you wouldn’t answer calls or texts,” he shot back, barely breathing heavy. Fucker.

  “You didn’t deserve the effort,” I replied. “How did you find me?”

  He rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does. Did Lee tell you? I’ll punch her in the tit if she did.”

  “No, though I tried to get it out of her,” he admitted. “She threatened to cut my dick off.”

  “I’m holding her to that,” I muttered, crossing my arms. “Lee is the only person who knows where I went and where my father lives.”

  He shrugged. “It was obvious where you went once you weren’t at Lee’s,” he said. “And other people know where he lives.”

  “Who? I demanded.

  “Don’t worry about it. I have my ways.”

  Anger came rushing forth, replacing the sadness that struck at every glance. “Did you have someone track me down like an animal?”

  “No. Justin told me.”

  Out of all the people I knew, the last person I’d ever guess was Justin Riker. He only visited a handful of times, complaining about the cell service the entire time. Somehow that made me a thousand times angrier than the prospect of Lee telling him.

  “You reached out to my ex-fiancé? What the fuck is wrong with you?�
�� I screeched.

  He smirked. “Hey, desperate times call for desperate measures.”

  I could have punched him just for that damn grin. “He told a stranger where my father lives?”

  He groaned, throwing his head back. “He already knew we were together. Remember?”

  “I’ll still cut his balls off.”

  He looked at me, throwing his hands in the air. “You can do that later, but now you’re going to listen to me.”

  “No, fuck that!” I protested. I didn’t owe him anything.

  His smile fell, and he fumed right back, his nostrils flaring. “You didn’t give me a chance to explain. You took Monica at her word and ran with it like she wanted.”

  “Because she had official paperwork with your marital status on it, dickhead!”

  “Did you catch the date on it?” he asked, raising a brow.

  I looked at him stupidly. The date? What?

  “That was from over eight years ago when I was married to my ex-wife. My very ex-wife.” He reached into his back pocket, handing me a folded piece of paper.

  I opened it, seeing FINAL JUDGMENT AND DECREE OF DIVORCE in bold across the top. Sure enough, it read Jason Joseph Barrett vs. Bianca Ambrosio Barrett beneath and was dated four years back.

  I was going to hurl. Could you throw up from happiness? He didn’t lie. I stared at him, my visions clouded with tears. “You didn’t tell me.” If he’d only mentioned it sooner, I would have stayed to be there for him, but I ran. I ran and abandoned him when we should have been there for each other.

  “It never came up. It should have, and I’m sorry. I dumped so much on you already that I wasn’t ready to throw that on too.”