Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
LOXLEY
Miles was taking me up the hill to a house that sat perfectly in the open field.
The trees looked like they grew exactly where God had intended, just to make the house look that much prettier.
The old barn off to the side, with its faded red paint peeling away, had seen better days, but it still added to an image that I thought only existed on postcards or jigsaw puzzles.
As we got even closer, an unsettling stillness seeped into the air. For all its beauty, the house felt lifeless, as though it was holding its breath, waiting. The hairs on my arms stood on end, and an ache settled in my chest. Somehow, I instantly knew that Miles’ parents weren’t physically there.
“They died when I was ten,” he said softly as he put the Jeep in park. “But I told you they’d keep your secret.”
The weight of his words settled heavily between us. Despite his attempt at keeping it light, I could see the tension in his jaw and the way his hands lingered on the steering wheel, gripping it like an anchor
“I’m so sorry,” I offered, reaching across the console and grabbing one of his hands. His skin was warm, his fingers strong, but trembling slightly under my touch.
“It’s okay,” he said, managing a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
He glanced up at me, and in that moment, I could see the depth of his sincerity, the years of grief tempered by acceptance.
He squeezed my hand, then raised it slightly, pointing toward a sprawling oak tree that stood near the house.
“I usually mow the property, do a little edging, then lay there under that tree and chat with them.”
I nodded, my throat tight. The thought of him lying beneath that tree, speaking to the heavens, struck a chord deep within me. It must have been such a personal experience, and being there with him now felt like an honor.
“That swing looks kind of new,” I said, motioning toward the thick rope swing hanging from one of the oak’s massive branches.
“My middle brother, Easton. He met someone a while back and she has a son. He brings them out here on his days to mow.”
“So you three take turns keeping this place looking nice?”
“Sorta,” he said with a short laugh. “West doesn’t step foot on this property.
He hires someone to do his share. We hated it at first because this is Mom and Dad’s house but he’s had a rough time, being the oldest and all.
So we just let him deal with things his way.
It’s been so long now, though, that I don’t mind. He’s doing the best he can.”
I let my eyes wander back to the house, taking in its weathered charm.
It wasn’t ostentatious, but its setting and character were everything one could want in a small-town home.
I could almost hear the echoes of laughter that must have once filled the air, footsteps on the porch, and the warmth of a family.
“Come on,” Miles said, giving my hand a gentle tug. “Let me show you something before I get started.”
We climbed out of the Jeep, and he kept hold of my hand as he led me toward the house. Just when I thought we were going to step inside, he veered to the right, guiding me down a rocky path that skirted the edge of the wide porch and led to the backyard.
As we rounded the corner, the sight stopped me in my tracks. My breath caught in my throat, and my free hand flew to my chest as I staggered back a step. The entire back of the house was charred and crumbling, a stark contrast to the pristine facade.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, my voice trembling.
My eyes darted around the ruins, noticing the sagging stairs leading to nowhere, a half-burned couch slumped in the rubble, and a rusted metal statue of a chicken lying amid the debris, as if frozen in time.
“It was a fire,” I breathed, then turned to Miles. “They died in a fire.”
“Not before they got Easton and me out safely,” he said, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “They went back in to look for West—”
“But West is okay?” I cut him off, desperate for reassurance, my chest tightening with fear for someone I hadn’t even met.
“Yeah, he’s fine,” Miles said, meeting my gaze.
“West wasn’t home and he’s never spoken anymore about it.
But I do know he was the best, biggest brother and took care of us.
We had our grandparents, but West took everything on as if he were our father.
Especially with me since I’m the youngest. We had a really good life, but sometimes it's hard knowing my parents didn’t get to see it. ”
“They did, though,” I tried assuring him. “They’re here.”
The morning was heavier than I thought it would be.
Miles seemed to take it all in stride. He wasn’t sad, but I guess he wasn’t the one in shock, either.
I was heartbroken for him, but he had already lived it and grown up, never moving on from the loss, just learning to live with it.
It made me think that leaving my life because I was “tired” was petty and insignificant.
If he could live and thrive after such a loss, how come I couldn’t tough it out on stage for another few months?
Miles hadn’t given me too much time to go down that rabbit hole, though.
He lightened the mood by telling me funny stories and showing me his old treehouse.
He pointed to the room that had been his, telling me if I looked closely, I could see his first guitar.
He’d been nine when his dad got it for him.
Then he showed me where his handprints were stamped into a piece of concrete near the back door. His dad had built his mom a planter, and though the structure was no longer there, the concrete he’d helped lay was still proof of the love they put into it for her.
By the time we got back to the oak tree, I was smiling, still holding hands with Miles, and feeling lighter than when we showed up.
He shared so much of himself with me, and though it started off being a sad story, Miles reminded me that there was still a lot of happiness surrounding the house that built who he was.
I wanted to be like Miles. I wanted to rise from my own sad story and let the world that had surrounded me shape me into who I could be in the future.
As Miles got on the lawn mower, I grabbed the guitar from the Jeep and leaned against the oak tree.
Looking around, I strummed a few chords and hummed whatever came to my heart at that moment.
I took a few glances at Miles, especially when I saw him lift his shirt off and throw it over his shoulder while continuing with the mower across the huge patch of land.
Then I started singing, a song that I’d need to eventually thank Miles for inspiring. Or no, better yet…
“Thank you,” I whispered to Miles’ parents, as if they were there listening. “Not just for the inspiration and the song, but for Miles. He’s been my hero.”
As soon as I said it, I wanted to laugh at myself, but Miles looked my way as if he could sense that I was talking about him, and waved.
His smile was bright and he rubbed his tummy, then pointed to the Jeep.
If he was trying to tell me to grab the food, it worked, and I did, laughing as I laid everything out in a picnic.
Just as I was finishing, the lawn mower turned off and Miles started walking toward me from the old barn. His jeans were dirty, his chest was bare, with sweat dripping down, and his hat had been turned backward. He looked like he belonged on the cover of an album or a magazine.
He caught me staring and winked, turning his hat back forward and then squatting down in front of me.
“You keep looking at me like that and we may not need to worry about fixing the tile in the shower, Lox.” My face turned red and I tried to look away, but he grabbed my chin and finished his thought, looking deep into my eyes.
“Because those eyes make me want to tear the wall down.”
He let his words sink in before sitting down on the blanket across from me. He grabbed a peanut butter sandwich and a bottle of water, then quietly ate while I jotted down a few new lyrics. Then he laid back and looked at the sky between the large branches that were creating our shade.
“The yard looks good, Dad. But I may need to tell West’s yard guys to get the fence-line better.
” My breath hitched when I realized he was talking to his parents.
It felt like I had intruded on an intimate moment, and I had to remind myself that not only had I been invited, but he knew I was there and listening.
He looked over at me and smiled, then back up to the sky.
“And Mom? I know you’re partial to Sammi Smith, but Loxley is incredible, right? Voice of an angel.”