Chapter 5
Hayes
Thick paws hit my chest as I enter the side gate of my house. It’s the same greeting I receive every day, but today, the wetness of mud bleeds into my cotton shirt.
“Get down, Kota,” I say as I push his paws back toward the ground and step back, staring at the beast that accosted me.
He’s Langston’s dog. I took him in because I couldn’t stand the thought of something happening to him, too. But—oh, does the dog test my patience.
I can admit I’m probably not a patient man to begin with, but when I look around and see a minimum of five new holes in my yard, I’m afraid I might lose it.
My nose aches, and puffiness is spreading into my eyes. I have over fifteen missed calls from my mother, who I’m sure has heard the news by now, and, on top of everything, I’ll be spending my day off cleaning up holes so I don’t break my ankle the next time I mow.
Irritation does not come close to describing what I’m feeling.
“If you weren’t Langston’s dog, I’d take you to the pound,” I say, squinting my eyes to glare at him.
He’s unbothered by my grumpiness and merely cocks his head as he stares at me with his tongue hanging out.
Heaving a sigh, I reach out to scratch behind his ears before going inside.
I’ve been waiting all day to get these clothes off. The collar of my uniform is stiff with my blood, and I can still smell MJ’s perfume on my shirt, where I held her while she had a panic attack. Images of her face turning pale as she fought to catch her breath swirl through my head, causing a knot to form in my stomach.
How long has she been having those? Has she dealt with them alone the whole time she’s been gone?
Shaking my head to clear the images, I grab a water bottle from the refrigerator and head toward the hall that leads to my bedroom, untucking my shirt from my pants as I go.
The hardwood floor in the hallway squeaks under my weight, and the light flickers overhead—another thing I need to get around to looking at.
I bought this house a year ago. It’s too big for one person, but I didn’t think twice about buying it when it came up for auction. I’ve passed it every day for years, appreciating its colonial beauty, and at one point, I dreamed about a family living here with me—a wife sitting on the sun porch as I chased around our babies, but that dream faded. Now, I’m content to listen to the solitude these halls offer, even if it is just one big money pit, always needing updates.
I strip off my undershirt inside my bedroom, throwing it at the laundry basket in my closet. The doorbell rings as I walk towards the en-suite to turn on the shower.
“That lasted long,” I huff as I spin back to the closet and grab a clean t-shirt, pulling it over my head before returning down the hallway to the front door.
I should have been expecting this. There’s no way anyone in this town would let go of the biggest piece of gossip that’s happened all year—though it’s anyone’s guess who’s at my front door. Heck, I wouldn’t be surprised if it is the whole town at this point.
I’m waging war with myself on whether I should open the door or pretend I’m not home when an incessant banging comes from the other side. At that, the possibility of who is standing on the other side narrows to one—only one person can be that annoying.
Wrenching open the door, I leave my hand on the knob and block the entrance with my body. In front of me stands Campbell, with a grin that is nothing less than mischievous. His hands are hidden behind his back as he stands there, grinning at me like I’m the funniest thing in the world.
“What do you want?”
“Well, hello to you too, sunshine,” he beams. My gruffness does nothing to deter his cheer—unfortunately, because I’m in no kind of mood.
Stepping back, I move to shut the door in his face, but he’s quicker and places his foot in the jamb, pulling his hands out from behind his back as he does. In one hand he has an ice pack, and in the other, there’s a bag of take-out from the diner downtown.
He shakes the bag, and the smell of the food wafts toward me. My stomach growls, and Campbell’s grin grows wider.
“Ditch the ice pack and bring in the food,” I say, rolling my eyes at his antics but still opening the door wider and stepping back for him to slip in.
He darts in, faking a punch to my stomach before rushing into the kitchen. I swear, the man has the brain of a teenager in the body of a twenty-eight year old.
“We aren’t talking about it while you’re here either,” I call after him.
“Oh yes, we are,” he calls back. At the same time, a bang resounds in the kitchen.
Looking towards the ceiling, I pray for patience.
Campbell is the funny guy of our trio…well, duo now. I was always the serious one of our group, the perpetual grump. Langston was the bridge between my personality and Campbell’s. With that bridge gone, Campbell and I constantly grate upon the other’s nerves. Despite that, though, I would be there for him in a heartbeat if he needed me, and I know the same goes for him.
Walking into the kitchen, I find him already set up at my bar, pulling out container after container of food. When they are all set up, he lifts the lid of each one before taking a fork and digging in.
“Well,” he urges around a mouth full of food, “you gonna tell me about that shiner you have?”
He picks up some fries, and I steal them out of his hand, shoving them in my mouth to buy me time.
“Dangers of the job. You know that as well as I do.”
“Do I, though? Because it seems to me this was more personal than that.”
“I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Campbell,” I say, shrugging and grabbing another fry.
“Maybe the truth,” he says.
He lays his fork down, face turning serious. There’s no judgment in his voice, but I feel guilty anyway. I know he, of all people, is here out of concern. He’s the only person who knows what happened between MJ and me six years ago, so his visit isn’t merely to feed the grapevine. His concern is just hidden behind snide jokes and the way he keeps glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.
“Fine,” I growl, sitting on the bar stool across from him so I can look him dead in the eye. “We’ll do this girly banter and talk about our feelings if you answer one question honestly. Did you know she was coming back?”
I don’t take my eyes off him when I ask. I want to see his reaction. His shoulders tense, hands freezing mid-air, food halfway to his mouth. I have my answer but still wait for him to say it.
“I—uh—might have heard that around town somewhere,” he says, glancing down at the food in front of him. The knife of betrayal is stuck solidly in my back. My hands tighten into a fist, itching to punch something, and white-hot anger burns through my chest.
“Well, then, I guess you can find out the rest of the story around town, too. I’m going for a run. Feel free to stick around and eat the rest of the food. I won’t be back for a while,” I spit out as I stand and head for my bedroom to finish changing.
“Dude, wait. It wasn’t like that,” he calls after me.
I freeze in the doorway, trying to reign in my temper so I don’t give him a broken nose to match mine. Slowly, I gain control and turn to face him.
“Then tell me, Campbell, what was it like?”
He rubs his hand against the back of his neck, having the nerve to look sheepish, before answering, “I thought I was protecting you, man. You’ve been through a lot. We all have.”
A humorless laugh escapes me. It’s funny how this conversation mirrors one we had six years ago, except now the roles are reversed. I was the one who was protecting the people I cared about back then, and it led to the biggest regret of my life.
“Next time you think I need your protection, how about you remember what my nose looks like right now.”
It’s a low blow, and I will probably regret it later, but there’s too much tension in me right now. So, instead of apologizing, I leave the room, throw on my running gear, and head out the door to run off the anger vibrating through my body.
______________________
Air enters my lungs in short spurts as I push my body to the brink of exhaustion. It’s impossible to outrun a memory, but that hasn’t stopped me from trying the last six years. Especially now, when fragments of that night play like a slideshow in my head, each time my feet find the pavement, a memory comes with it.
Thud.
Sirens dulled against the thundering rain.
Thud.
Rivulets of rain dripped through ringlets of red hair.
Thud.
The paleness of the faces surrounding me.
Fire burns in my calf muscles, but I keep pushing myself harder each time a new image flashes through my mind. One more step, and I collapse on the grass, unable to keep going.
My chest heaves up and down as I fight to even out my breathing. It’s stupid to push myself this hard, especially when the nightmares are worse with exhaustion. But—I can’t seem to escape them during my waking hours anymore, either. A swarm of regret constantly buzzes around in my head—asleep or awake.
It’s no surprise that the memories are more persistent today after coming face to face with the star of them.
My phone vibrates in my pocket as I lie in the grass. I’m tempted to ignore it, but not many people call me. The ones who do will keep calling again and again until I answer.
I doubt it’s Campbell, at least not this soon after I called him out in my kitchen. He’ll give it a day or two before reaching out. That only leaves one other person—my mother, and since she’s already called multiple times today, I know there’s no avoiding this one. She’ll start to worry and then show up at my house with the other half of the police department standing behind her.
I pull the phone from my shorts and press it to my ear. “Hello.”
“Is that any way to greet your mother?” She scolds.
“What would you like me to say? Hello, Mother Dearest, how may I, your lowly son, be of assistance?”
The sigh that escapes her is long and exasperated. I can hear the eye roll from here.
“Oh, where did I go wrong?”
“It was probably that time Dad dropped me on my head.”
“Oh, hush. That did not happen.”
“It could have,” I whisper under my breath.
My dad, while my hero, isn’t known for his athletic capability. He can’t even walk and chew gum at the same time.
“I heard that. Now, to the reason I’m calling. I feel like I never hear from my own son. How has your day been?”
When she asks, her voice is laced with sugar, but I can hear the deception underneath. It’s her superpower. She pulls you in with the honey in her voice and then traps you in the conversation she really wants to have, just like now.
She spoke to me yesterday. She talks to me every day because I call her every day. If I didn’t, she would send out a swat team to find me.
“Do you want to know about all of it or just the part making its way around town right now?
I hear whispering on the other line and fight the urge to hang up. She must have me on speaker with my dad sitting right beside her. Nothing shocks me anymore when it comes to their snooping. They do it out of love—mostly. I usually humor them, but this situation with MJ is not one of those times.
They don’t know the whole story, and they never will. The only three people in this world who do are MJ, Campbell, and me. Some stories aren’t meant to be shared.
The line goes silent, waiting for me to give them a real answer.
“It was fine.”
“Hayes,” my mother scolds, “we outgrew your short-sentence answers after your teenage years.”
I push off the grass to start walking back toward my house. I ran over five miles, and it will be dark soon enough. I’ll jog most of it on the way back and make it back before it gets dangerous, but my muscles are too tight right now. I need to walk a little to stretch them out.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I grumble. “It was a regular work day.”
She huffs and lets the silence fester for a moment longer.
“Hayes, I know you’ve struggled the past six years. You’re justified in that. But you can’t keep letting it rule your life. I think you should go to therapy.”
The thought of talking to someone about what happened has me freezing in place.
“No, Mom. I’m not. I’m fine. I’m sorry you worry about me, but you don’t have to.”
“Darling boy, I’m your mother. I will always worry about you, and I worry things will only get worse now that MJ is back in town. I don’t know what happened between you two that caused the rift. You used to be such good friends, but after—that night, you both lost your way. You should have leaned on one another. You need each other.”
I kick at a stray rock on the pavement, trying not to take my frustration out on her. “I’m going to assume you already know what happened today. That should prove that we don’t need to be anywhere around each other. Things change, Mom.”
She laughs, a deep belly laugh before she responds, “I think you need to look at today’s events through a new lens. From what I hear, sparks were flying.”
This right here is why I didn’t want to talk about it. When rumors start in this town, there are always parts that didn’t happen that slip into the gossip. The only sparks between MJ and me were the flames she was throwing out of her eyes as she glared at me, hoping I might burn on the spot.
“Maybe it’s time you get your hearing checked then because you heard wrong.”
“Fine, be stubborn, but think about the therapist, okay?”
“Yeah, Mom, I’ll think about it.”
“Good. Now that that’s settled let’s talk about why I really called.”
“You mean flaming the fuel of the gossip wasn’t the actual reason you called? How many points are there to this sermon?” I growl.
“I have two more. Now hush, and let me talk.”
I chuckle, feeling a little of the pressure that’s been on my chest all day start to ease.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That’s better. Now to the first point. I’ve missed you in church and want to see your face beside me in a pew. I know your schedule is released monthly. Can you ask to be off one Sunday next month and come to church with your dear old mom?” She lays the guilt on thick but doesn’t realize I’ve intentionally asked to be scheduled every Sunday.
“No, Mom. I don’t think I can.”
Her huff crackles through the line.
“And why not?” She asks, and I can imagine her standing with her hands on her hips, just like she did when I would get in trouble as a kid.
“Because God doesn’t want me there, Mom.”
There’s a sharp inhale, and I know I’ve shocked her. But I’m not going to lie to her.
“That’s not true, Son. That’s just not true, and one day, you’ll feel comfortable enough to tell me that story. But I won’t force you until you’re ready. I’ll just keep praying that you see that there isn’t anything you can do to outrun God’s love.”
A deep-rooted ache settles in my chest. I can’t imagine that to be true—not after what I’ve done. But I can’t help but hope that maybe it is.
“Now to the last point,” she says, guiding the conversation to a safer topic, “Your father said there’s a position at the high school opening up.”
“I don’t know if you remember this, but I have a job.”
My dad’s laugh comes through from the other side, and I know my mom’s whacked him with the back of her hand when I hear a faint “ow’’ come from the other line. I bite the inside of my jaw to keep from laughing, but it’s not enough. A small chuckle slips out.
“Keep it up, and you’re next,” my mom threatens. “I know you have a job. This isn’t a full-time position—it’s on the football team, head coach, actually.”
“No.” My answer is sharp, leaving no room for argument. Once upon a time, I would have jumped at the chance to be the head coach, but that time is long past.
“Hayes—“
“The answer is no, Mom.”
“Fine, but you get to be the one that tells the principal. Your dad set up a meeting.”
“Who’s the principal?” I ask, leery of the strange happiness in my mother’s voice.
“Oh, didn’t you know? Lily got the position a couple of weeks ago.”
And there it is, ladies and gentlemen—the sneaky little plan my mother always hides behind her niceties. Lily and I went on a couple of dates when she moved to town at my mother’s insistence. Heaven forbid the woman doesn’t interfere with someone’s business. We both quickly agreed that we weren’t compatible, but it hasn’t stopped us from being friends. We don’t talk every day. However, we’re close enough that I should have known about her job change. At least I would have if I was a normal friend. I’m not much of a friend to anyone anymore, though.
It’s becoming increasingly clear that today was meant to test my patience.
“Fine,” I agree gruffly. “I’ll meet with her, but then that’s it. You won’t mention it again.”
“Yes, yes—of course.” The way she accepts defeat so quickly and easily should have been a warning, but I’ve never been good at looking for those.