2. Ash
The coach drops us all off on the outskirts of town, and I shoulder my pack before starting the long, slow trudge through Starlight Ridge. It’s a hot, hazy evening, the sky pink and the birds loud, and I’m already sweating from the stuffy coach ride.
It’s a good thing Rowan’s seen me covered in dirt, sweat and blood more times than I can count, because I’m a mess right now. Tired, rumpled, and in sore need of a shower.
The streets are busy in this small town, bustling with tourists and locals alike. Keep having to turn my shoulders sideways to squeeze past groups of people who’ve stopped to chat, and it’s nice seeing folks enjoy themselves on a rosy Friday night, don’t get me wrong, but crowds also set my teeth on edge these days.
I’ve been here once before, back when Rowan and I just finished our basic training, but it feels like millennia ago. Like I was a whole different man back then.
The shops and cafes and painted buildings that I recognize, like the butcher and the florist—it doesn’t feel like I saw them once before. More like I watched them in a movie or something. There’s a line drawn across my life, one that divides the years into Before Active Service and After Active Service, and all the Before stuff feels kinda surreal.
Anyways.
“‘Scuse me. Pardon me. Just squeezing past.”
My words fall on deaf ears, but people can’t ignore me too long. Not when I stand head and shoulders above most everyone else, and I’m trudging my way up the main street at a slow but unstoppable pace, like a ferry churning through the ocean. These chit-chatters blocking the sidewalk can either dodge out of the way or get all jumbled up in my slipstream, because my throat’s dry and my skin’s hot and there’s a cold shower and colder beer waiting for me at Rowan’s cabin.
Can’t believe he’s resurfaced after all this time. My best buddy; the man I trusted with my life and who trusted me with his. Losing Rowan to the demons in his head was one of the worst things that ever happened to me, and that’s including all the flashbacks with blood and guts. Is that selfish?
“Mom, can we—woah.” A boy stops tugging on his mom’s sleeve to gape up at me as I pass, his eyes going wide. The back of my neck prickles uncomfortably, the same as it always does when folks stare, but I pretend I haven’t seen.
I’m big. I get it. Tall enough that I order my clothes from specialist stores; broad enough that I always have to book two coach seats side by side, because there’s no way on god’s green earth that I can fold my whole frame into just one.
Back in the military, my size was an asset. It made me strong, sturdy, and let’s face it: a human shield. Got the scars to prove it too. But out here in the real world, it makes me a freak show.
The little boy keeps staring, but I duck my head and walk on. No need to make a scene.
My strides carry me past a coffee shop, still open with packed tables set out in the sunshine; a rickety old hotel with a No Vacancies sign in the window; a bike shop, bakery and thrift store. The sidewalk is dusty beneath my boots, like it hasn’t rained here in weeks, and whenever the chaos of town gets to be too much for me, my eyes drift up to the mountains above and linger there for a while.
It looks calm up there. All bluish bare rock and evergreen forest. Rugged but peaceful.
So I guess I get it, even if I don’t want to. Guess I understand why Rowan fled up there all those years ago.
We all have our demons, after all. Even folks who haven’t served have plenty of battle scars.
On the north side of town, there’s some kind of rock bar with bench tables crowded in the yard. Music thrums through the air and motorbikes gleam in a line, and as I walk past, my steps slow down and then stop.
The customers laugh and chat and knock back their drinks, a few of them looking over at me, but most of them are wrapped up in their own worlds. At the nearest table, a mutt lifts its head from its paws and blinks at me.
And I should get going, but something… something inside me throbs. For some weird reason, I’m tethered to this bar—Flint’s, says the sign—like a fish caught on a line. What on earth?
As I stand there—a big, baffled statue with a backpack slung over one shoulder—a young woman ducks out of the bar’s back door, carrying a tray of drinks and a basket of fries. She weaves between tables, poking her tongue out at a giggling young kid, then sets her tray down among a small crowd of hikers. The collar of her black polo shirt has rucked up at the back, and her long, dark ponytail has gone frizzy from the heat. She’s tall and athletic, and her tan skin is flushed in the sunshine.
God damn.
Forget marching up to Rowan’s cabin for that promised shower and beer. Forget my aching muscles and dry throat and the headache pulsing in my temples. Forget the stares from this crowd, too—even the little kid pointing and asking his dad about giants.
There’s nothing and no one in this world worth thinking about except this server. Holy shit. Who knew angels came dressed in baggy polo shirts and denim shorts?
Not sure how long I stand and stare. Could be minutes; could be a geological age. All I know is I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t swallow, can’t do anything except keep my eyes glued to the server with a heat-frizzed ponytail. My boots are rooted to the ground, and my heavy backpack is long forgotten on my shoulder.
Who is she?
There’s a whole stretch of yard between us, and when she speaks to a customer, she’s too far away for me to hear. But lord, what I’d give to hear her voice—preferably husky and begging in my ear.
Bet Rowan knows who she is, because in a small town like this, everyone knows everyone. Bet he could tell me if she’s single, too.
Shit, I hope so.
My palms are damp as I scrub them against my t-shirt, and my heart slams against my ribs as I watch the server duck back inside the bar. With her gone, the sunshine dims. The light is less golden, the breeze cools, and the pounding rock music grates against my ear drums.
Still can’t move. Need to see her again, even if it means standing here for hours.
Have I lost my mind?
Then—she’s back, carrying another tray of drinks through the doorway, and suddenly everything’s bright and warm again. The music sounds good, fading unobtrusively into the background, and this is the most beautiful day. Strings of outdoor lights flicker to life around the yard, swagged above the bench tables, and the scent of pine carries on the breeze.
When she walks past a dog, it perks up and wags its tail hopefully. Most relatable thing I’ve ever seen. And after the server drops off the drinks to the bikers, she comes back to the dog on her way inside, crouching down to scratch behind its furry ears.
Well. I’ve never been jealous of a mutt before, but there’s a first time for everything.
As she stands back up, the server catches me staring. Of course she does. I’m a lumbering beast of a man, frozen in place and staring right at her, and it’s a wonder it’s taken her this long to spot me over the crowd.
Still, as her eyes round in alarm, the back of my neck prickles. A bug whines near my ear, and I swat at it, my throat dry.
She’s scared of me. Of course she is.
Because I’m acting like a creep.
Shit.
The woman’s lips part like she’s gonna say something to me, even though we’re way too far apart to hear each other speak. And I guess I could try to lip read, but let’s face it, there’s nothing good coming my way right now. Not when she’s lookin’ all electrified with shock at the sight of me.
For the millionth time in my life, I wish I was different. Normal. An average sized guy with average looks and brains—wouldn’t need to be anything special. Just normal, so I could fit in and maybe even have a shot with this girl.
Someone says something to her. The server jolts, and looks down at a middle aged woman on the nearest bench.
The second she looks away, I force my legs back into action and flee.
* * *
Rowan’s on his deck with his wife Evie when I reach their cabin, both of them sitting on a wooden bench he carved last year. It’s one of the first things we talked about back when he resurfaced—him sending me progress photos, me ribbing him for sloppy craftsmanship even though it was damn near pristine. Just like old times.
Evie’s bare feet are propped in Rowan’s lap so he can rub any soreness away. That sight calms me down as I stride up the mountain path to greet them, waving one arm over my head. My breaths are coming hard, because I charged up this mountainside like my tail was on fire after freaking out that server.
Glad to see Rowan is treating his woman right. Not that there was ever any doubt on that score—Rowan’s noble, through and through.
But still. It’s nice to see someone’s getting a happy ending around here.
“Don’t get up,” I call as Evie goes to swing her legs down. We’ve met a few times over the last few months, waving at each other over video chat, but it’s nice to finally see her in the flesh.
The woman who coaxed Rowan back into society—the woman who kick-started his healing process. I owe her so much for doing what I never could. She’s smaller than I imagined, even with that baby bump stretching the front of her sundress, and her hair is fiery red.
Evie beams at me, seemingly thrilled to meet me too, and some of the tightness in my chest loosens. If my best buddy’s wife was freaked out by me too, I might have taken to that cave myself.
“You made it!” Evie says, right as Rowan calls, “About damn time.” But he’s grinning too, sliding out from under Evie’s feet and placing them tenderly on the bench.
Then my brother in all but blood thunders down the deck steps and meets me on the mountain path, our bodies slamming together in a vicious hug. A bird bursts out of a nearby tree, flapping toward the pink, cloudless sky.
I squeeze my buddy hard, a wave of cool relief washing over me. Rowan really is here, looking happy and calm. He’s solid and real, hugging me tight enough to squeeze the air out of me, and for the first time in years, I feel anchored again.
“Missed you,” I mutter, my voice gruff. We’re not usually ones for banging on about our feelings, but it needs to be said.
Rowan laughs and punches my shoulder as he steps back. “Missed you too, man. Want a drink?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
The steps groan beneath my weight, but the deck is sturdy beneath my boots. Thank god. Unlike Evie, whose hand feels delicate as hell when I lean down to shake it, and I make a mental note to be extra careful not to accidentally barge into this woman.
“He’s been so excited to see you,” she confides as Rowan ducks into the cabin in search of more drinks. A pleased flush spreads over my cheeks, but I’m pretty sure my sunburn covers it, so that’s fine.
Never did get used to having a close buddy like Rowan. After being the freak show all through school, it always felt too good to be true. And for a while, once he went AWOL in his cave, that seemed to be the final punchline: I could have a friend like that in my life, I could belong like that, but only for a short while.
But Rowan’s back, and I’m here on his deck—choked up with a surprising well of emotion. Is there something in the air around here? I’m acting unhinged tonight.
“Saw a girl on my way up here,” I say, changing the subject to the main thing on my mind. Every step up this mountainside, I’ve been dwelling on that server. “Working in that bar, Flint’s. She was tall with a long dark ponytail—the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my damn life. D’you know her?”
Evie’s spluttered laugh makes me blink. “You mean Tess? Rowan’s sister?”
No. That’s not…
No.
I shake my head slowly, even though now Evie’s said it, I can kind of see the resemblance. The tan skin; the dark hair; the tall, athletic frame.
But no. There are plenty of tall people in the world with dark hair, damn it.
“Not her,” I say with a confidence I don’t feel. “Must’ve been someone else.”
“Well, Jana works Friday nights—”
“Jana,” I say, my shoulders dropping with relief. “That’s her, then.” Jana. The woman who called to me like a siren in a polo shirt is called Jana. Nice.
“But Jana has short hair, not a ponytail.” Evie’s grin is sly. “Are you sure it’s not Rowan’s sister you saw? Here, I’ve got photos of them both on my phone.”
Fuck fuck fuck.
“What are we talking about?” Rowan asks, stepping back out onto the deck with two beers and a ginger ale all in sweating glass bottles. I wave Evie’s phone away before snatching my drink and knocking back half of it in two desperate gulps.
“Nothing,” his wife says sweetly, winking at me as Rowan settles next to her on the bench again. “Just talking about Ash’s journey here. He walked past Flint’s.”
“Oh yeah? Tess is working there tonight.”
I settle in a wooden chair, my insides swooping. It’s really her, isn’t it? The first time I’ve ever wanted a woman in my whole life, and it’s my best friend’s little sister. The one person I can’t have.
Never mind that I scared the crap out of her by staring like a creep. Never mind that she’s a thousand miles out of my league—she’s off limits anyway.
I chug down the rest of my beer, glaring up at the trees.