12. Gus
Chapter 12
Gus
“ Y ou wanna go for a hike, girl?” I stood and stretched.
Clementine jumped off the couch and stretched as well.
“Okay. Lemme make the coffee, then we can get going.”
Once the pot was brewing, I grabbed my phone and shot Sam a text. Then I sent one to Jude. They were both usually willing to meet me. The last twenty-four hours had thrown me, and I needed to clear my head.
Sam met me by the trail, a massive tumbler of coffee in his hand. He kept his hair short and had a thick beard peppered with gray.
“You and your early morning texts.” He shook his head, but he was grinning. “When you’re old like me—”
“Forty-seven is not old.”
“Sometimes I feel eighty-seven.”
We’d been through just about all of life’s ups and downs together. He was the steady, helpful guy who was always willing to listen. Particularly back when I was young and stupid.
He had the things I’d wanted. The loving wife, the kids, and the house in town where he worked on projects on the weekends. One summer, I’d spent all kinds of time over there, helping him build a treehouse.
“How’s Em?”
He smiled. He was always bursting with pride. “Excellent. Dean’s list again this semester. Doing research for one of her professors and volunteering at the animal shelter for the summer.”
“Sophomore?”
A single nod. “Going into her junior year. Already talking about graduate school.” He scratched his neck. “Gotta figure out how to pay for it, but I’ll make it happen.”
“And Luc?”
He rolled his eyes. “Still figuring it out. But he’s working hard. I wish he’d go back to school. Hoping he will when he’s ready. Staying with his mom in Florida.”
I nodded. “You ever think about dating?” It had been almost five years since his wife left. She was his first love, and I supposed I was wondering if he’d ever really felt like he could move on.
He laughed. “Sure. Once in a while. But I don’t have much to offer a woman. I finally got the job I spent years gunning for, so for now, I’m good with just enjoying the challenge. And with my baby girl home from college for the summer, I want to spend every minute I can with her.”
“Maybe someday,” I said.
“I’ve tried in the past, but it’s never felt right. I’m a marriage guy. I like commitment, and I’m a sucker for the little joys in life. Snuggling on the porch on a summer night, picking up her favorite ice cream on the way home from work. Dating is like having one creepy job interview after another. And don’t get me started on apps.”
Agreed. Dating was a shit show, especially in rural Maine, where most of us had known one another since childhood. I’d done okay, mainly because I was willing to travel to meet women, but I understood his perspective.
“I’ve got all kinds of shit to do today,” he said, “so how about you tell me what you want to talk about?”
With a deep breath in, then back out, I considered how best to explain myself. Finally, I just put it out there in simple terms. “I want Chloe back. We were married a long time ago. It was a mess, and I didn’t fight for her. Because of that, I lost her.”
He ducked his head, surveying the path as we continued. “I suspected something was going on.”
Although he was my closest confidant, Sam didn’t know everything.
“For years, I thought I’d done the right thing by letting her go, that we would have never worked. But now, every time I see her, it guts me that we could have been together all this time, that I fucked everything up.”
He ground to a halt and crossed his arms. “Stop right there. I get the urge to look backward too. But it won’t help you now. And I think you’re jumping to some big conclusions about what happened in the past.”
He kept walking. “Ashley and I married at twenty-one. We had Luc at twenty-two. And we did our best, day in and day out, for a long time. Maybe we didn’t last because we took on so much so young. I couldn’t tell you. Now that I’m older, I have so many regrets. Back then, we didn’t know better. We got locked into this life really early. And while I loved it, and my children are the greatest thing to happen to me, she struggled up here. And, ultimately, we didn’t fit anymore.”
“So you can do this one of two ways,” he said, heading back down the path. “You can choose to believe that life would have been amazing and mourn the loss of the last twenty years, or you can get your head on straight, realize that you had a lot of growing to do, and get yourself together. Take a real shot at this. Don’t wallow in what-ifs.”
Shit, he was right.
I roughed a hand down my face. “She hates me.”
“I don’t know what happened between you, but from what I’ve seen of her so far, she’s smart and fair. You’ve been stuck in a rut for a long time. Maybe it’s time to make a change.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that maybe you’re the problem. You’re marching around the woods, dwelling on shit that happened decades ago instead of focusing on what you can control.”
The look he gave me made it clear the conversation was over. It was time for me to shut up and let his words marinate in my brain. I had spent a lot of my life looking backward. Especially since my dad’s involvement in drug trafficking had come to light. But maybe it was time to look forward.
After five miles of hiking and a shower, I was feeling better.
I should have been sore and exhausted from our all-night sex-a-thon. I should have been frustrated by her coldness and the way she brushed me off.
Instead, I was feeling downright hopeful.
Because though she hid behind thick, protective armor, I’d seen the ache in those deep brown eyes when I shut the car door, and I’d seen all her internal conflicts play out on her face. She was feeling things. Complicated things. I had to let her walk away and process. But among all the swirling emotions was hope, along with a connection deeper than anything I’d ever felt before.
I stood on my back porch, coffee in hand, and surveyed the trees and the mountains surrounding me, letting the fresh air fill my lungs. This was my chance. But I had no idea how to seize it.
I’d been set in my ways for decades. Making the same unfulfilling choices over and over. Dreaming the same dreams until they no longer even mattered. Living my life on autopilot.
But what if there was another option? What if I could wake up tomorrow and do it all differently?
Because Sam was right. I was the problem here.
I was forty years old and arguably at a low point.
My father was in prison.
The family business I’d devoted my entire life to had just been sold.
And my family was fractured and split.
Twenty-four hours ago, I’d felt nothing but anger, but now my mission was becoming clear.
Last night, my heart had remembered how it felt to hold her. Her laugh had calmed me, and the warmth of her smile had lit me up inside.
We were older, sure, and she’d just purchased my family’s company, but what did that matter? I had been planning a cross-country move for months, but suddenly, all I could think about was feeling the way I felt when she was in my arms. I needed that again.
The muscle memory of being with her was still so strong.
In her proximity, I was happier than I ever remembered being. I felt like myself. When I was with her, I was the complete version of Gus Hebert. The way I was supposed to be.
Not the closed-off grump. Not the oldest child, the caretaker, or the workaholic who’d sacrificed everything for his family’s business.
Just Gus.
The Gus who hated fancy coffee drinks but drank them without complaint because she’d made them.
The Gus who’d checked out a book about constellations from the library so he could impress her with his knowledge of the night sky.
The Gus who woke up every morning knowing he’d found his purpose.
I didn’t need distance from Lovewell to get unstuck. I had to do that myself. Change was hard, but it was time. For so long, I’d assumed I only had one setting—the closed-off, grumpy workaholic who always put the company first.
I leaned back. I’d been telling myself lies. Evolution was possible, if only I could get over my own shit.
The thought of talking to her, getting to know who she’d become, just being in her orbit, was enough to shake loose all the hurt and anger and pain I’d been collecting over the years.
I wasn’t a genius like Owen or an athlete like Cole. Hell, I wasn’t confident like Finn.
But I worked hard. I put in the effort. And this would be no different.
I could let our confrontation this morning pull me farther down. I could sink into the sadness and hurt and shame of losing the business and our ill-advised hookup.
Or I could choose to live for myself and go after what I wanted.
But first, I had a lot to do, starting with a TED Talk.
I needed a plan.
Gus Hebert dealt in certainties. He had total conviction in all things. He managed his days deliberately and productively.
But spending the night with her had thrown my mind into disarray. Suddenly, so many concerns and ideals I’d held on to were no longer important. Like one kiss had demolished the invisible walls that had been holding me hostage for years.
Whether my strategy was a good one was debatable, but planning was what I did best. Chloe LeBlanc wasn’t the kind of woman to be won over by some half-assed attempts, so I was in it to win it. It would take time to get through to the strong-willed, stubborn, headstrong woman who’d always had my heart. But I was a patient man. I’d play the long game. Get all my chess pieces arranged on the board.
“Why are you pacing outside my place of business?” Becca quipped from the doorway of her salon, one hand on her hip, the other wrapped around a coffee mug.
I gave her a sheepish smile. I hadn’t been social these last few months.
“It’s been a while.” Lips quirked on one side, she waved her hand at me. “You’ve gone full Unabomber.”
Ouch. “That’s why you’re my first stop today.”
She arched a brow. “I don’t open for another thirty minutes.”
I pushed my hands into my pockets. “I’ll wait.”
With a scoff, she stepped back and held the door to her shop open. “Just get in here.” As I crossed the threshold, she thrust her mug at me. “Get me a refill while I set up.”
Becca was a widow from Philadelphia who’d moved up to Lovewell with her young daughter a couple of years ago. She was cool and gave a better haircut than Lou down at the barbershop.
We’d become friends.
Okay, more than friends. There’d been some flirtation, a few dates, and a few hookups along the way. But it had been a casual thing.
I handed her the refill, then took a mug that said I run on heavy metal and caffeine and filled it up for myself.
Stomach twisting, I cleared my throat. “There’s something I should tell you.”
She crossed her arms over her slay the patriarchy T-shirt and waited.
“Uh…” I scratched at the back of my neck, lowering my head. “I know that you and I have danced around things for a while.”
She raised one pierced eyebrow but remained silent.
Fuck, this was awkward. Despite how cool it was inside the salon, I’d broken into a sweat. “But I wanted to, uh, tell you that I can’t see you anymore, you know.” I faltered, keeping my focus fixed on the floor. “Romantically.”
She said nothing. God, this was painful. “She’s back. The love of my life. I probably have no shot, but I just wanted you to know.”
Finally forcing myself to look up at her, I gulped the scalding hot coffee. Burning my esophagus was preferable to this conversation.
A smile spread across her face, and she took a step closer. “So that’s why you’re here bright and early?”
Confused by her reaction, I hedged. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”
She put her arm around me and squeezed. “Gus, you’re an awesome guy. I value you as a friend. But I’m sure as hell not gonna stand in the way of the love of your life. Even if Gail over at the bank swears she came back to town just to murder you.”
Instantly, the tension eating at me released, and a rough laugh escaped me. She may have a punk-rock exterior with her tattoos and piercings, but she was sweeter than she let on.
“It was more of an involuntary manslaughter situation,” I joked.
She shook her head and took a step back. “I’m thrilled for you.”
I smiled. One night, we’d had a few drinks and spilled our past romantic traumas. Until my ex’s return, she was one of very few people who knew about Chloe.
“I’m making some changes,” I explained. “Therapy, a haircut, and some soul searching. I’ve got to be worthy of her. It’s time to fix my shit and make up for what I did when we were kids.”
She rubbed her hands together, her eyes flashing. “Then I’ve got my work cut out for me. We’re tackling that beard first,” she said, grabbing a cape. “Need to shape that up so she can see your handsome face.”
I closed my eyes, beyond grateful for her friendship and grace in this situation.
She waved me into the chair. “But don’t think for one second that you’re getting out of telling me every single detail.”
As she raised the seat, I winced. I definitely preferred listening over talking.
She brandished the clippers at me. “I’ll give you a tragic goatee if you cross me.”
Shit. No one had seen my cheeks since high school. I sure as hell wasn’t starting now. “Okay, okay.” I held my hands up in surrender. “What do you want to know?”
Becca put the clippers down and pulled out a pair of scissors, then got to work. “Is she single?”
“Yes.”
“She interested?”
My throat went tight. “I don’t know. But I think there might be a chance.”
“How badly did you fuck it up last time? Should I be rooting for her to murder you?”
I cringed, doing my best not to move while she trimmed my beard. “Badly. And it depends on how forgiving you are.” I’d spent years with regret, sure, but it wasn’t until I saw the fire in her eyes that I realized how deeply I’d hurt Chloe. That she carried the same deep scars that I did.
With a nod, she spun her scissors with one finger. “You’re one of the good ones. I hope she sees that.”
I scoffed. “I’m sure she’s met a hell of a lot better out there. But a guy’s gotta hope.”
She made a low growling noise I’d never heard and glared at me through the mirror. “Gus Hebert, don’t you dare talk about yourself like that. You are the best catch in Northern Maine. She will never find anyone better.”
I shrugged. I didn’t agree, but I was too terrified by her intensity to argue.
“You don’t believe me? Take today, for example. You walked into my shop bright and early to honestly explain that you were spoken for.”
“My mama raised a gentleman,” I said. “And I wanted to avoid any confusion or awkwardness or hurt feelings.” Straightforward was my style, and Becca was a good person. She’d been through hell and deserved to be treated with respect.
Once she’d stepped in front of me and surveyed my beard, she started on my hair, clipping and shaping and cursing me out for waiting so long. “If you’re gonna let down all your admirers, then you may have a few more stops.”
“What do you mean?” I frowned at her reflection. I hadn’t dated in years.
She laughed. “Um, Emma Polansky?”
Emma? “We went to prom together.”
“Yes, and since her divorce, her parents talk constantly about setting you two up. They own the only grocery store in town. You can’t burn that bridge.”
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, I’ll stop in and mention my affections are spoken for.”
“And Laurie, the bartender at the Ape Hangar.”
Oh. Shit, that would be a weird one.
“And Lacy Miller.”
My face was red and sweat beaded along my hairline as she continued to work. Becca had my number. This was why it was impossible to date in a small town. Every person I’d ever dated, kissed, or even looked at had expectations.
“Lovewell’s most eligible bachelor can’t just declare himself off the market.”
Most eligible bachelor? That was laughable. I was the grump. The guy who worked nonstop and preferred the solitude of the forest to conversation.
“That’s Jude,” I said, itching to move on from talk of my apparently lengthy list of paramours. “He plays the guitar. Automatically top of the bachelor pyramid.”
She laughed. “I heard he fell madly in love with some mystery woman who blew into town last month. Rumor is she’s some kind of disgraced heiress. Or maybe in the witness protection program.”
Poor Jude. The guy meets a cool woman and has some fun, and now it’s officially town lore, an embellished, invented story to be told over and over again for generations to come.
“Lay off Jude,” I grunted. He was even less social than I was, despite the frequent gigs he played with his band. He’d taken the situation with Dad hard, so I was glad he was having a little fun.
When she was finished, my beard felt great. Becca had done some fancy moisturizing treatment and trimmed it short and neat.
“This hair,” she said, running her hands through it. It was medium brown and had a slight wave. I’d always worn it on the longer side, usually tucked behind my ears or under a hat. “People would kill for it.” She’d trimmed it and used product to tame it, making it look sophisticated instead of messy.
She unsnapped the cape, shook it out, and bent down to kiss me on the cheek.
“Makeover is on the house. Now go get your girl.”
I finished up there just in time to make it to my appointment at the clinic, then I had to hit the bookstore, and finally, I needed clothes.
My patience was wearing thin by the time I made it to Wilson’s Outdoor Outfitters. A man could only do so much peopling in one day, and I’d completed at least a month’s worth this morning. I still had several books to read, and I’d promised Clementine a hike to her favorite stream as a thank-you for being so hospitable to our guest.
I hadn’t even fully crossed the threshold of the store when the shouts started.
“Patrick, get in here,” Mrs. Wilson hollered. “Gus Hebert is here.”
Mr. Wilson, a thin man with graying hair and wire-rimmed glasses, came out of the back room. “Damn, son, it’s been ages since we’ve seen you.”
My face heated. It’d been doing that far too much lately. I’d been busy, and the whole having a criminal as a father thing had kept me away from town in recent months. Some people were downright cruel, and others judged the hell out of the rest of us.
“I need some stuff,” I said gruffly. “Boots, jeans, whatever you’ve got.”
Beaming brightly, Mrs. Wilson clapped. “Wonderful. Because I think we sold you those Levi’s ten years ago.”
Lips pursed, I fought the urge to roll my eyes. So I wasn’t into clothes. Sue me. I had way more important stuff to deal with.
“We recently got some long inseams in,” Mr. Wilson said. “Let me go find the box.”
Mrs. Wilson bustled off, getting back to work organizing racks.
While I waited, I wandered, checking out the carefully organized outdoor gear and clothing. The place had everything. The Wilsons clothed and supplied fishermen, hunters and loggers all over the region, and hopefully, once Finn’s flight tourism business got up and going, more people would be shopping here.
They were the best kind of people. The last few years had been difficult for them, but this place was a Lovewell institution. Where else could you buy a fly-fishing rod, a cashmere sweater, a cast-iron pot, and a diamond ring all in one store?
I grabbed a package of undershirts, new boxer briefs, and a thick brown leather belt. Then I perused the summer weight flannels hanging on one wall. I pulled a few down, including a light blue one I’d normally never wear. I had a distant memory of Chloe saying she liked me in that color, so I might as well give it a try.
Deploying the famous Hebert blue eyes would be required for my mission, and I was ready to take any measure necessary.
Mr. Wilson came back with several pairs of jeans.
He looked down at my scuffed boots and wordlessly went back to the stockroom. When he emerged a few minutes later, he’d added a new pair of work boots to his haul.
“Timberlands, size fourteen? Steel toes for summer?”
I nodded. In my line of work, I went through work boots pretty fast. I could always use a new pair.
“I’ll take ’em. But, uh…” I rubbed at the back of my head, remembering too late that Becca had styled my hair. “Do you have anything dressier?”
Mr. Wilson gave me a confused frown. “Dressy shoes? I got boots, son.”
What a dumb question. I wasn’t a fancy shoe guy anyway.
With a tap of his chin, he hummed thoughtfully. “Actually. We’ve got some dark brown leather boots in the back. Good quality. Probably not good for the woods.”
Without waiting for a response, he took off, and a few minutes later, he came back with a large Timberland box and proudly displayed a chocolate brown boot.
They were nicer than a regular boot but still looked sturdy. Chloe cared a lot about shoes. I needed to impress her. “Excellent. Dress Tims.”
“I’m not sure there’s such a thing,” he said, his tone dubious.
“Now there is.” I took the box and my stack of clothes to the register.
I walked out, having spent the equivalent of a mortgage payment on new duds, but confident I’d be putting my best foot forward with Chloe. She was beautiful and fashionable, so I had to step it up.
There was one more, critically important, step in the plan. I sat in my truck, staring at my phone. I knew what had to be done, so with a shaky hand, I dialed Dr. Savard. It was time to get some tests done.
As I drove home, I found myself drumming my fingers on the steering wheel to a Zach Bryan song. Last night had been full of the kind of magic that didn’t come along too often. The banter, her electric touch, and the way she curled into me and slept. I’d never known the kind of contentment I felt with her asleep in my arms even existed. And I’d do damn near anything to make it permanent.
This was fate. I’d been alive long enough to know that second chances were rare. And I’d be taking advantage of mine.
I’d been miserable for too long. But I could see now why I’d been stuck. I’d been waiting for Chloe. Desperate to find the missing piece of my life that she’d taken with her when she left.
I wasn’t twenty anymore. I wasn’t wasting any more time trying to impress my dad or hers.
I was a grown man. I had my priorities and my values.
And I knew what I wanted.
Chloe.