5. Briggs
brIGGS
“What the hell are you doing here?”
I’d recognize his deep, authoritative voice anywhere.
Ben Melrose despises me with everything he has, which is crazy coming from him because he goes to church every Sunday with Layla, and I’m sure Pastor Denis wouldn’t like catching wind of that.
To him, I am the epitome of Satan, especially when it comes to his niece. In his imagination, I would corrupt her, and apparently, it’s still a fear of his that eats at anything good he could’ve possibly seen.
And maybe I am.
I’ve never had pure thoughts about Layla.
She was this picture-perfect fantasy that I drew up and dreamed about in my head.
Everything about her screamed sunshine and happiness.
From her curly brown hair to the path of freckles lining her nose, to the softness of her skin and her ordinary hazel eyes, but they were extraordinary when she lined them up with mine.
She was everything I’ve never had.
And a dream I’ve always kept chasing.
But I need to get through to Ben first because he’s a problem. He’s a roadblock that will prevent Layla from fully seeing this through with me if he still doesn’t approve.
Discarding two cards in my hand, I purposely crashed his Wednesday night card game at the Hardy’s Hardware Store, showing up before he did so he couldn’t kick me out.
“Mr. Melrose,” I greet flatly, before casually glancing up. “How are you, sir?”
It’s been years since I’ve asked him that question.
His last answer was that he’d be better if I never showed my face in town again, and that’s too bad.
I’m here for eight days, and I don’t plan on playing nice and complacent while I’m here.
Which shouldn’t be a huge surprise since I’ve never been quiet in this town. I’m going to force him to play nice with me to make her happy.
“Horrible,” he answers, placing a cheese platter and a pie in the middle of the circular table, and alluding to the fact that he’s still going to be a lot of work for me to pull over to my side. “Ya get suspended, and now ya wanna come home to terrorize us all?”
“Oh, Ben,” Henry Abbott drones, the town’s sheriff deputy, as he sends him a withering and annoyed expression. “He ain’t gonna terrorize nothing. Because Cruz Weston ain’t here.”
Oh, but he may be.
He still has family here. He knew after the comment he made about Layla being his first and how sweet she tasted that I’d come back to mark my claim.
I’m transparent as fuck when it comes to Layla. There is no doubt that, when it comes to her, I’m going to make it abundantly clear she belongs to no one other than me.
I have eight days of suspension, and he’s done for the whole season due to his newly broken arm. His next commentary will probably be that he’s going to stay in Magnolia Ridge since he can’t play anymore, but the season’s not over yet.
His team—the Charleston Otters—will want him to support the team while they carry on with their World Series dreams.
And they’re just dreams.
Because I’ll be sure to send him and the rest of his teammates floating down the river in shambles by the end of the season.
The Charleston Otters.
The hell?
The MLB should’ve rejected that name because it sounds like a Little League T-ball team.
“It don’t matter,” Ben retorts, pulling out a wooden chair across from me. “He’ll think of a way.”
Probably.
“Just don’t be lettin’ my chickens out again, boy,” Tom says at my right, one of the farmers in town whom I may have done a few dozen things to in the past. “I ain’t chasin’ ’em around all week. And since ya got the money, now, I’ll make ya buy me new ones.”
I’d buy them for him now, if he wanted me to.
I think some of those chickens I let out got eaten up by coyotes, and he never did get them all back.
“Then don’t skip out on Halloween, Redding,” Henry retorts, tossing three white chips in the middle of the table. A whopping additional three dollars to the pot. “And he won’t get all into his feelings about not gettin’ his candy.”
Aw, shit.
Now, I remember why I did that.
Cheap ass.
Henry—AKA Dodger, is what we used to call him—ran with me to do half the things I’ve ever done in Magnolia Ridge.
We weren’t super close; I really wasn’t with anyone growing up, but he still tagged along. Probably to make sure I didn’t do something too extreme.
He’s always had this goodness about it, mixed with a little bit of restlessness as a kid, so I’m not surprised he stayed and serves Magnolia Ridge.
“These kids don’t trick-or-treat anymore. They’re too busy on their damn phones.”
“Your chickens are safe,” I reassure him. “No need to lose any sleep about it.”
“What about my niece?” Ben grills me, still not getting over how my presence here has mentally disrupted everything for him. “Are you gonna leave her alone, too?”
“Ben,” William Drake, the owner of the town’s Feed and Seed, drones. “We’re just tryin’ to play a game of poker here, alright? Interrogate the boy later when we’re not around to have to hear your gripin’.”
“Well, at least your chickens will be safe,” Ben shoots back. “Meanwhile, my niece is going to be harassed by this boy.”
Harassed?
Shit, if anyone showed up out of nowhere over the other, it was Layla. She would sneak off to my high school baseball games, show up at my house with baked goods, and randomly run into me at school when her classes were the opposite way.
Then, when I left Magnolia Ridge, Layla came to Tennessee when I was playing for the Tennessee Bootleggers, the Tornadoes’ Low-A team, and she just locked it in for me. I could never let her go; it didn’t matter what I thought I saw or what was going on, Layla Jean Melrose was mine.
And, don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. I loved it.
I just wish she’d fucking do it again.
“Ben,” Tom drawls again. “You didn’t make Romeo in grade school. Actin’ ain’t your thing, shut up.”
“And quiet down,” William tacks on. “We’re tryin’ to focus here.”
“Call,” Tom announces, laying down his two cards and coming out with nothing. “Crap hand.”
“Two pair,” William announces, laying down his threes.
“Straight,” Dodger quips, almost sounding proud as hell.
Until I lay down my hand.
“Flush.”
All five hearts.
I can feel Ben seething from across the table, but it doesn’t stop me from looking up.
It can’t be from the thirty bucks I won because, at this point in my life, that’s chump change. But money has never meant shit to me.
The game and Layla have.
“Are you gonna stew all night over there, Mr. Melrose, until I answer the question?”
His dark eyes stay clipped and narrowed on me when he clips out, “Yes.”
Not gonna like the answer.
The thing is, Layla may have listened to him most of the time, in terms of staying away from me full-time.
But she still came.
And came and came and came because any opportunity I could, I had my hands on Layla Melrose, and I couldn’t keep them off.
Still can’t and won’t.
It’s been two years since I have. However, that hasn’t swayed me in any particular way but toward feral.
“Nothing’s changed,” I manage easily. “I’m still in love with Layla Jean.”
A collected mixture of groans and scoffs emits from around the table because I fucked up the vibe, and Ben is going to throw a temper tantrum.
Dodger invited me to this game, or so he thought. I stopped by the Sheriff’s office, out of nowhere, to say hi to him, when I had never done it before.
Sure, if I saw him, I wouldn’t ignore him.
However, we haven’t kept in touch that much. I think he flew him up a few years ago to see a game, but that’s because he asked for a girl he was dating at the time, and he wanted awesome seats.
It was cool with me.
“You’re still an idiot, kid,” Tom mutters under his breath when Ben suddenly shoves his chair back, making it screech against the hardwood floors.
“Out!” He points to the front door. “Go on, now, this is a private game. No outsiders allowed.”
“I invited him,” Dodger drones. “He’s a guest.”
“And I wanna win my forty bucks back,” William chimes. “That’s my lunch money for the week.”
“I’ll pay you forty bucks,” Ben quickly promises. “But the boy needs to go.”
The boy needs to go.
Any other time, he wouldn’t need to worry about me showing up and being here because, back in the day, I’d sneak into Layla’s room and hang out while he was out winning twenty bucks. He’s been doing Wednesday card nights for as long as I can remember.
Which means he’s not by Layla right now.
Rising from my chair, I hear Dodger sigh and mumble, “Sorry, man.”
“It’s not a problem. I’ll take a walk around town. See if there’s anyone I can find.”
AKA Layla.
And I really need to stop taunting this man like Adeline said, because it truly doesn’t do me any favors in his eyes. However, I’m not going to impress the man overnight.
Or ever, if I’m being totally honest with myself.
“Head out front,” Ben commands one more time. “And go find a bird to chase or something.”
Right.
I say my goodbyes to the men and get toward the front in the lobby, when Ben’s words hit me again.
Head out front.
Well, what happens if I head out back?
I’ve already shocked a few people today, getting widened looks and jaws almost dropping to the sidewalk.
I haven’t been to Magnolia Ridge in a while.
I may own a home, fully furnished and beautiful, but in the off-season, I don’t stray far from Tennessee.
I practice and train. I busy myself with charities, endorsements, and things that would make Layla proud.
My manager has me on a tight schedule—probably to keep me grounded and out of trouble—but, this time, it was imminent that I come back.
Magnolia Ridge is full of memories—good and bad. The good mostly comes from Layla. The bad came from a missing mother and a dad who couldn’t handle her death. Who couldn’t look me in the face without glaring at me like he wished I were dead instead of her.
Detouring, I take the hallway leading toward the back of the VFW hall to get out. The exit door opens then, exposing a short woman with an oversized white T-shirt tucked into jean shorts.