Violet (Lavender Creek #1)

1. Everett

Everett

MARCH

Los Angeles always felt temporary, even when I tried to convince myself otherwise. The boxes stacked along my apartment wall say what I’ve been avoiding for months.

I’m done pretending this is home.

I’ve been in LA for almost twenty years.

I moved here when I was eighteen. Long enough that it should have felt permanent, like it was home.

But something was missing. I would try to fill that with new hobbies, advancing my career, going on dates, and settling down.

Nothing felt right; it never felt like it was enough.

I came here trying to prove something to myself and my family back in Lavender Creek, that I didn’t have to follow in my family’s plan for me to be successful and happy. I could accomplish that on my own.

My life was mapped out the second the ultrasound technician told my parents they were having a boy.

The Callahan ranch has been in our family for three generations. It’s always been understood that it would be passed down to the eldest son. Me. Unfortunately for everyone involved.

I kept it to myself for years that I never wanted the ranch. Never wanted that life. I’m not a rancher; it was certainly not my dream. Henry, my younger brother, always loved it. The early mornings, the animals, the land. It made sense for him to take it over.

I still remember the day I told my parents. It was the year before I graduated from high school. I informed them that once I had my diploma, I was moving to LA to see what life outside of Lavender Creek had to offer.

I’ll never forget the look on my dad’s face.

Pure disappointment. Like I’d failed him.

After that, things between us were strained. I stopped talking about my plans, my excitement, the hole-in-the-wall apartment that became my first real taste of independence. My mom tried to mend the gap, giving each of us updates, but my conversations with my dad stayed surface-level.

I never regretted leaving. I was happy. I built a life for myself, with no assistance from anyone. Still, maybe moving back home will help fix what I broke.

Lavender Creek always felt too small when I was growing up. Everyone knew everyone’s business. No privacy. The constant question of “is this it?”

I had to find out what was beyond Lavender Creek.

I stayed for the summer after graduation, doubt creeping up late at night, wondering if I could make it on my own without a plan already laid out for me. In the end, I left. LA became home, or at least I thought it would be my forever.

I’ve been a stage manager since I arrived. Indie films and theater productions. Long hours behind the scenes, coordinating actors, props, schedules, and rehearsals. I loved it until a couple of years ago.

Limited creative control has a way of wearing you down. Following other people’s visions when you know you are capable of so much more.

A few months ago, Henry, my younger brother, called telling me that the old theater in Lavender Creek was for sale.

The place we snuck into movies, where we took dates, where our parents threw our birthday parties. A town staple.

I took it as a sign.

Maybe life wasn’t pushing me away from home; maybe it was leading me back to it.

My last day in LA starts with a baseball game.

Riley and I met almost right after I moved here, two guys sitting alone at a dive bar with sticky floors and cheap beer. He took the seat beside me, ordered a drink, and somehow became my family.

That same year, he signed his first professional contract. Pitcher for the LA Vipers. He was unreal in his rookie season. He bounced around a few teams after that and somehow found his way back here again. Full circle moment.

He’s pitching today, so I am at the stadium sitting in a box suite full of people I don’t know. They are friendly enough, but I am just here to watch Riley.

Being in a VIP suite is a luxury. Companies will rent them out for their employees.

You have your own waitresses making sure that the food is refreshed.

Today, there are chicken wings, nachos, hot dogs, a few different dips, and a whole bunch of chips, popcorn, and almost every snack you would want.

On top of the copious amount of food, you can walk a few feet to our own bar, fully stocked with liquor, beer, wine, and soda.

I feel like royalty here. I could get used to this. Today I am here with friends and family of the LA Vipers. There are the team’s wives, kids, friends, and parents. I have met most of them over the years.

Baseball season has just started, so everyone is excited to see each other and catch up.

The wives are all in their little circle off to the side.

The kids are stuffing their faces with chips and chocolate; their parents eager to see their sons play on the field; and there I am, sitting there, supporting my friend.

Riley throws a great game. Everyone calls him “The Reaper.”

Riley ends things. Batters know that if he’s pitching, what to expect, he’s intimidating. Riley collects strikeouts like people collect sports cards; it’s his hobby.

Afterward, I wait near the locker room, leaning against the wall until he finally appears, sweaty, smiling, and riding the high from the game.

“Hell of a game,” I say, clapping him on the back. “You barely let anyone touch the ball.”

He grins. “That’s kind of the point, man.”

We climb into his car and pull out of the lot, heading toward a steakhouse the team reserved for dinner.

“So, are you still heading out tomorrow?” he says, turning down the 90’s country playing from his car stereo.

“Yeah, planning to leave early. It’s about a day’s drive if I push it,” I say, looking out the window. “I don’t know how I feel. I’m excited for a fresh start, but things with my dad are still rough. I don’t really know what to expect.”

Riley nods. “That’s fair. But listen, you’re a good guy. You don’t have a bad bone in your body. He might have been hurt when you left, but any dad worth a damn just wants their kids to be happy. I know that’s how I am with mine.”

Riley’s son, Cooper, is almost four. His wife passed away in a car accident two years ago.

It nearly broke him. Both sets of his parents moved to LA to help with Cooper, so Riley could keep playing without worrying about finding childcare for him.

Watching him step into the single dad role was hard at first, struggling with grieving the passing of his wife and then also having to be present and raise their child.

Riley has done an amazing job at raising Cooper.

He’s such a fun-loving, happy kid, and loves baseball as much as his dad.

“Thanks, means a lot,” I say.

“Alright, enough emotional growth for one night. Let’s eat.”

Dinner stretches late into the night. Steak, laughs, stories from the season. By the time I head out, leaving LA finally feels real. We’ll see each other again, I’ll come back for games. He’ll visit once I’m settled in Lavender Creek.

Our friendship has grown a lot over the years.

We started out as young guys in our twenties, partying and having fun without a care in the world.

Going on double dates, growing in our careers, dealing with family, and losing friends.

All the stuff that comes with growing up and becoming our own people.

We’ve gone through a lot together, and we consider ourselves brothers.

Family isn’t always the one you are born into.

It’s the one you create with people you meet along the way.

The air mattress I am sleeping on isn’t the best but it means I can make a clean break in the morning.

There are a few routes back home, but I take the one through San Francisco, staying close to the coast.

My old truck hums, familiar and worn, comforting even though it isn’t perfect.

I glance at the stacks of boxes in the back, each one a different chapter I am closing.

It’s funny how we attach our identity to places and things and then just leave them.

LA taught me independence, resilience, and a certain stubbornness I am not sure I would have learned anywhere else.

And yet, part of me wonders if all those lessons would have meant anything if I had never left home in the first place.

I pass billboards, strip malls, and the occasional palm tree. Traffic is light in the morning, and the air is crisp through the cracked window. I take a deep breath and let my thoughts drift.

Lavender Creek isn’t just a place on a map.

It’s a place of memories that is stitched into my bones.

The theater, the creek behind my parents’ property, and my mom’s garden.

Henry chasing cows like he’s been doing since he was five, and I can almost smell the hay and see the fading paint on the old barn.

I remember when the general store opened, I was eight, and Henry was six. The owner, Maggie, who is also a close friend of my mom, would always leave snacks for us in her office. After school, we would stop there on the way home.

Living in Lavender Creek as a kid was the best. Everywhere was a playground, and everyone was looking out for you.

It was around sixteen that I started to feel claustrophobic.

I always felt like I was being watched as a teenager.

I never did anything bad or got in trouble, but I was also a teenager and did stupid things like playing nicky nicky nine doors, putting the salt in the sugar shaker at the diner, or making prank phone calls.

Being away from home for so long made me homesick in a way I never thought possible. Going home feels right, like stepping into a dream I don’t really remember. There are foggy parts, like the times I had started to feel restless in the small town, but I can see my childhood clear as day.

As I drive, the ocean glistens in the distance; I can almost taste the salt in the air.

Driving along the cliffs, I think about how life is a lot like this road; some parts are predictable, some have sharp turns, and there are some stretches where you can see forever if you just keep your eyes open.

For the first time in a long time, I feel like I am steering toward something I want.

Not something expected of me. Not something convenient. Something that is mine.

I think about Dad. About all the times I left words unsaid, feelings that were swallowed, or jokes I didn’t make because I was afraid of disappointing him.

Moving back isn’t just about the theater.

It’s about making peace. About showing him I can be myself and still come home to prove that I am not running from responsibility.

That responsibility isn’t about following a plan someone else drew up for you; it’s about staying true to who you are, even when it’s messy.

I let my mind wander to Riley, thinking about how much he’s grown, how he balances life, baseball, and Cooper, with his quiet certainty.

He’s shown me what it looks like to be steady, to commit without losing yourself.

There is a lesson in that somewhere, and I don’t know if I am fully ready for that yet.

I glance down at the coffee cup in the console, steaming hot.

Funny how a small ritual like a hot cup of coffee can anchor a moment.

I sip it, thinking about the mornings to come in Lavender Creek.

The quiet, the smell of fresh bread from a local bakery, the smell of dew on grass, the sound of the creek behind the house. A life that is slower.

And then there is the thought that won’t leave me, creeping in and impossible to ignore. Maybe there is more ahead than I planned. Maybe home isn’t just about fixing a theater or mending relationships.

Maybe for the first time in twenty years, I am not just driving to a place, I am driving toward possibility. Toward a choice, a life I get to shape on my own terms.