Chapter Twenty-Six #2
The city turned into suburbs, suburbs into open road. The rain gave up somewhere past Arlington, and the mountains came back into view, peaks dusted white, the air sharper and cleaner. The closer I got to home, the easier my lungs worked. Reckless River had that effect. It reminded you to breathe.
By the time I hit the final stretch, the familiar landmarks started rolling by: the weather-beaten billboard that still advertised the fall cider fest even though it was December, the old gas station with the hand-painted sign that said World’s Best Jerky, and the crooked mailbox that marked the turn toward the river road.
It felt like exhaling after holding your breath too long.
When I finally pulled into the gravel lot behind The Rusty Stag, it was close to four in the afternoon. The light had started to shift with the faint promise of snow clinging to the air. The tavern looked exactly as it always did, brick and wood and warmth, the strings of Christmas lights.
For the first time since I’d left, my shoulders relaxed.
Home.
I killed the engine and sat there for a second, listening to the tick of the cooling motor. Then I grabbed my jacket and stepped out into the crisp air, stretching the stiffness out of my arms. The smell of pine hit me, carried on the breeze from the woods behind the river.
Yeah. This was where I belonged.
Inside, the tavern was already half full with the usual mix of locals thawing out after errands, a few early diners, and one guy at the bar trying to convince Callum that his chili was rigged in the festival vote.
The fire was going, the lights were low, and Christmas songs crooned faintly from the old jukebox in the corner.
It was perfect. Familiar.
Exactly what I needed.
Callum looked up when the door shut behind me.
“Well, well,” he said, setting down the dish towel and giving me the kind of grin that only older brothers and devils wear. “Look what the mistletoe dragged in.”
“Don’t start,” I warned, brushing the rain off my sleeves.
“I’m not saying anything.” He folded his arms, the picture of innocence. “I’m just noting the timing. One night away, and you come back looking like a man who either found religion or lost his wallet.”
I laughed and slid onto the nearest stool. “Neither. Though I’d argue you could use a little religion around here.”
“You’re avoiding the subject,” he said, pouring me a beer before I could protest. “So. How was Seattle?”
“Busy,” I said. “Loud. Gray.”
“And Melanie?”
I took a sip before answering. “She’s good.”
“Uh-huh. That’s a loaded good. Elaborate.”
I smirked. “She’s coming up this weekend.”
That made him pause. One brow lifted. “Really?”
“Really,” I said, trying to sound sure. “She said she’d be here Friday.”
He leaned his elbows on the bar, grin spreading. “Well, I’ll be damned. Look at you, Mr. Commitment. You drive down there, sweep her off her feet, and now she’s making weekend trips. Lydia’s gonna lose her mind.”
I chuckled, shaking my head. “It’s not like that.”
“It’s exactly like that,” he said. “You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The one that says you’re pretending not to be in love when everyone can see you already are.”
I groaned, dragging a hand over my face. “Don’t start, man.”
“I’m not judging,” he said, hands raised. “I’m impressed. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
I tried to ignore the warmth creeping up my neck. “She’s not moving here, Callum.”
“Didn’t say she was.”
“She’s got her life in Seattle.”
“Didn’t say she didn’t.”
“So what are you saying?”
He gave me that calm, irritating smile that he always did when he knew something I didn’t. “I’m saying maybe you stop worrying about where she is and focus on the fact that she said yes to this weekend.”
“I’m not worried,” I said automatically.
He snorted. “You’re always worried.”
I started to protest, then stopped. Because he wasn’t wrong.
Saying the words—She’s coming up this weekend—had felt good at first. Solid. Like proof that whatever was happening between us was more than just a moment that would fade once the city noise swallowed her again. But hearing them out loud now, they sounded different.
Thinner somehow. Fragile.
Because they were so far away. She was so far away.
I swirled the beer in my glass, watching the foam cling to the sides.
“You ever get that feeling,” I said slowly, “like you’re standing on solid ground, but you can still hear the crack under your feet?”
Callum’s smile faded.
“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I have.”
“She said she’d come up,” I went on, half to myself. “And I believe her. I do. But…”
“But you’ve been here before,” he finished. “And you’re not sure if it’s the same movie playing again.”
“Something like that.”
He nodded, quiet for a moment, then said, “You’re overthinking.”
“Maybe.”
“No maybe about it. You’ve got that look—same one you had after you asked Dad if the river ever stopped moving and he said, ‘Not for us to know.’ You’ve been trying to make sense of things that don’t need explaining since you were ten.”
I smirked faintly. “You're comparing Melanie to a river?”
“I’m comparing you to an idiot.”
“That’s nice.”
He grinned again, all good humor returning. “Drink your beer, idiot. If she says she’s coming, she’s coming. You start doubting it now, you’ll only drive yourself crazy.”
I finished the rest of my beer in silence, letting the tavern’s noise wash over me with the clink of glasses, the hum of conversation, and the fire’s low crackle. The longer I sat there, the steadier I felt.
Reckless River had a way of doing that. It didn’t demand belief. It just kept existing until you remembered why you loved it.
Maybe that’s what Melanie needed. Maybe when she came back, she’d remember too.
I stood, sliding the empty glass toward Callum. “You’re right.”
“Of course I am,” he said, smirking. “About what, specifically?”
“About me overthinking.”
“Shocking.”
“And about one more thing,” I said.
He tilted his head. “What’s that?”
I grinned, heading for the kitchen door. “You’re buying next round when she shows up.”
His laugh followed me down the hall. “If she shows up, brother. If.”
“You’re awful.” I laughed and shook my head. “No wonder I’m paranoid.”
I didn’t turn around. Didn’t answer. I just smiled to myself as I pushed through the door, the smell of cedar and the river drifting in on the cold air.
Because even though I could still hear the crack under my feet, I was standing on the only ground that had ever felt like home.