Chapter 6
Theo
Every morning, I run a five-mile loop through Fern River. Rain or shine. I wake up early, restless and jittery, and if I stay still too long, give my brain too much time to think, I’ll spiral.
So, I run, music blasting, until my muscles are tired and it’s time for work.
My path leads through the small neighborhood where I’m renting a house on the edge of town and then down Main Street.
I’m usually there in time to wave to Hal while he opens the market, say hi to his husband, Omar, as he unlocks the door to Coffee Cottage, and Mrs. LaGrande waits by the window to call out which scones they’re baking up that day.
It’s lemon poppyseed this morning—Mom’s favorite.
Once I get through town, I take a left down the road where Mom, Fable, and the Oakses live.
Fable’s cabin is hidden in a grove of trees and only visible for a moment, but I always look.
I can’t help it. A few weeks ago, I glanced over and spotted her standing on the front porch with a mug in her hands, dressed only in a long T-shirt and tall green socks, her thighs and knees on display, hair in a messy bun atop her head, early-morning sunlight playing over her frame.
She looked sleep rumpled and soft, so unlike how I normally get to see her.
I haven’t been able to get the image out of my head.
Now, as I pass, I peer over in time to see the porch and dark wood A-frame—but no Fable today. Another drop of disappointment joins the deep well in my chest from yesterday.
I had a secret, last-ditch-effort hope that she’d say yes. The stars would align. Pigs would fly. I’d catch her on a good day where she might want to do me a favor.
But I don’t blame her. It was a wild idea.
So, it’s time to move on to the rest of the plan: Project Settle Down in Fern River.
First thing this morning, I’m calling Cathy, who (despite her full-time job busybodying) happens to be the best Realtor in town.
I want to trade my rent for a mortgage, and hopefully she can help me.
Then I’m contacting Maddox, who’s been trying to convince me to rejoin the Volunteer Fire Department since I moved back.
Finally, I’m going to get in touch with the man who runs Fern River’s Little League program, to find out if they’re looking for coaches this spring.
Maybe I can put those years of baseball to good use.
The music fades out of my earbuds as a call comes through. I slow myself to a walk and tap my AirPod. “Hello?”
My panting breaths fill the silence before Mia squeals, “Ew. What is wrong with you? Do not answer the phone in the middle of whatever you and Fable are doing!”
“Running,” I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “I’m running, Mia.”
“Oh god, okay, please never answer if you’re . . . busy.”
On that note, my mind betrays me with an image of how Fable and I could be busy. Her hair fanned out on my bed. Her flushed cheeks. Those hazel eyes bright with lust—
“You still there?” Mia asks.
I turn around and squint into the rising sun, hoping the glare will burn away the image. “Yeah. I’m here,” I grit out. “Why are you awake so early?”
“Bree had to be up for court. She has to go put the bad guys in jail, you know?”
“Superhero shit.” I walk until the road curves, and Mom’s property comes into view.
“We love her for it.” She yawns. “Might go back to bed in a minute though.”
“Don’t let me stop you.” I laugh, turning down Mom’s driveway.
Her little house is nestled between the woods on one side and her garden on the other, and if I know her, she’s already out there, tending to it with her second cup of coffee.
“Wanted to check on you,” Mia says. “I tried calling Fable all day yesterday, and it went straight to voicemail every time. Figured I could call you to check on her now.”
My face pinches. I’m going to have to admit the truth. I managed to avoid Arthur the rest of yesterday, but I can’t keep lying to my own family. “First of all, she mentioned her phone was dead.”
“Ohhh. And second of all?”
My tongue presses into my cheek. “Hold on. I just got to Mom’s. Let me put you on speaker so I can tell both of you.”
“No,” Mia groans. “Do not tell me there’s already trouble in paradise.”
I find Mom kneeling beside the ferns lining her patio. “Oh, Theo!” She brushes back a few strands of her long gray hair and leaves behind a streak of dirt on her cheek.
“Morning, Mom.”
“You on your run?” She reaches out a hand and I help her up. “I’ve got coffee going. Let me get you some.”
“No, no. You sit down.” I wave toward her patio table. “I’ll get some coffee; you say hi to Mia.” I shift the call to speaker and shove my earbuds in my pocket.
“Oh, hi, baby!” Mom says when I hand her the phone.
The kitchen door squeals as I pull it open and duck inside.
Mom bought this house after her divorce was final.
It’s small, just big enough for the three of us back then, but she got to turn it into her personal oasis over the years.
I’m obviously much older now than I was when she bought it, but I still feel like a kid inside these walls—safe, cozy, and warm.
It was exactly what we needed after years of our home feeling unstable.
Mr. Maxwell, mom’s old pit bull mix, groans from his spot on the couch, stretching out his legs, and trying to decide if he should get worked up about whoever has come into the house.
Mom rescued him from the shelter about a year ago.
He had an awful injury to his eyes, and after a few surgeries to help his pain, he’s doing much better, despite having lost his vision.
“It’s me, Mr. Maxwell,” I assure him, letting him sniff my hand before I pet him. Mom says he prefers his full name, so we’re not allowed to shorten it to Max. His tail thumps against the couch and he rolls over to let me rub his belly. “Not the early morning gardening type, I see.”
After a kiss to his muzzle, I pour coffee into my favorite mug (which has a picture of Mr. Maxwell with sunglasses on the side), pour another mugful for Mom, and step back outside.
Mia’s voice filters through the phone as I sit down. “We’re thinking about coming down for Fable’s birthday. I miss everybody.”
Mom pats my arm. “Do you and Fable have any plans for her birthday?”
Staring at the phone on the table between us, I admit, “Actually, I need to come clean about the whole me-and-Fable thing.”
“What do you mean?” they ask at the same time.
“I sort of lied about it. Well, not sort of. I did.” I shake my head.
“You came into the office, all excited about the photo, then Arthur followed, and there’s all this shit with him selling the practice.
And I don’t know, I got carried away, and didn’t correct it.
But Fable and I are not together. At all. ”
Stark silence. No one moves.
Then Mia croaks, “What the actual fuck, Theo?”
“Language,” Mom scolds, but her eyes stay on me, concern etching her features. “Why did you lie?”
“I’m sorry.” Guilt bleeds into me. “I panicked. Arthur had just told me he wants to sell the practice to Garrett. He’s worried I’m not settled enough here and that I’m going to leave again.
He wants it to go to someone who has roots down in the area and isn’t going anywhere.
” Cupping my hands around my mug, I sigh.
“And when you told him I was dating Fable, he looked . . . happy about it. So I didn’t correct him.
” I shrug. “Now, as I’m saying it out loud, it sounds ridiculous.
But in the moment, I didn’t have much time to think it through. ”
“So . . . the photo?” Mia asks.
“She fell. That guy, Philip, collided with her and knocked her into my lap.”
“That fucker,” Mia hisses, and Mom doesn’t scold her this time.
“What did Arthur say when you told him the truth?” Mom asks.
I wince. “I haven’t. Yet.”
Mom swats my shoulder. “Theodore Alexander Nikolaou!”
“I will today!” I add hastily. “But he did say that if I can prove that I’m sticking around here, he’ll consider Garrett and me buying the practice together. I just need to figure out how to do that without Fable.”
Mia hums thoughtfully. “That picture, though. You two have always had this . . . thing between you. I don’t know what to call it other than tension.”
My lips twitch. I know that tension well. I don’t know if it’s fueled by hatred or annoyance or chemistry, but it doesn’t matter. Fable’s her normal feisty, sarcastic self to everyone, but as soon as she looks my way, she turns up the volume. Her eyes get all fiery and her cheeks flush pink.
I love every fucking second of it.
Mom gives me a knowing look. “Mary and I did always hope you two would fall in love, and there’d be a wedding and babies in no time.”
Immediately, something clogs my throat. I can’t swallow around it. “We’ve talked about this. There’s never going to be a wedding and babies for me,” I say as gently but firmly as possible.
Sadness pinches her expression. “Theodore, just because he hurt us doesn’t mean you will.”
Pain burns in my stomach as I watch her eyes turn glassy. I shove my hands into my lap and squeeze them together.
The truth is, I have hurt people—including Fable.
Mia sighs. “You’re not him, Theo.”
I can hear their words, but they don’t make it past the barriers in my mind. They can’t get through the doubts and deep-seated fear that terrorizes my thoughts of having a real relationship one day.
My father’s rage was unpredictable. We never knew when it was coming or what caused it.
Even as a child, I could see the obvious signs—the shouting and slamming doors and throwing things across the room.
But I didn’t know what was happening when I wasn’t there.
I didn’t know he was hurting Mia. The smallest of us. The easiest target.
I’m haunted by pieces of his reflection when I stare into the mirror. We have matching eyes, the same bone structure. And that reflection distorts how I envision my future. When I picture myself years from now, every image holds him in my place, like we’re interchangeable.
As a teenager, when a flash of anger hit me, I let myself succumb to it. I was so mad all the time—at my father, yes, but mostly at myself. For not seeing it. For not protecting Mia and Mom. For not standing up to him when I should’ve.
Over the years, I’ve worked to find other ways to dissolve my anger, and I’m proud to say I haven’t been in a fight since my college days. But I’m still terrified his violence is lurking beneath the surface of my skin, waiting for me to let it out. Show my true colors.
I’ve seen the damage that man left in his wake—the pain he caused my sister and mother and the emotional tolls they still carry—and I never, ever want to subject someone to that.
So, I won’t be the one to get married and give my mom grandchildren to spoil, but I’ve mastered a different role over the years: distraction and deflection.
It’s my self-appointed job to brighten up the mood when Mom and Mia are struggling.
It can be hard to keep it going when my own thoughts creep darker, but I have to make sure they’re happy. It’s the least I can do at this point.
“Let’s go get breakfast.” I put an arm around Mom’s shoulders, forcing a grin. “Mrs. LaGrande is making lemon poppyseed scones today.”
“Theo.” Mia’s voice is soft, concerned. “Don’t push this away. Have you been going to therapy?”
Mom’s gaze warms my cheek, and I can practically feel Mia holding her breath for the answer.
“Sometimes,” I reply, even though I’ve canceled the last few months’ worth of appointments.
We all went for years when we were younger, but it doesn’t feel like a priority right now.
Besides, it was Mia who endured the worst of it. She’s the one I’m worried about.
“It might really help with all this,” Mia says.
“I’m okay. Promise.” I stand and stretch out my legs. “But I really need to move a bit after that run. I didn’t have much of a cooldown.”
“When I come to town then?” Mia asks. “We can talk about it?”
“Sure,” I mumble, knowing full well that I’ll find another way to change the subject when the time comes.