Chapter 4
Four
Maverick
Resting my head in the hand that’s being propped up by my elbow, where it leans against the window of my truck, the anxiety rumbles in my chest. I already feel the deep panic rising.
“It’s okay, we’re just going home,” I say to myself gripping tighter onto the steering wheel.
Shit, what am I thinking?
This isn’t okay.
I’ve not stepped foot in this town since that happened when I was eighteen.
Thirteen years ago.
I couldn’t. Not after what I’d done to her.
I believed some bullshit and let it consume me. Fuck, what I’d done to everyone in our town. I was so consumed by a lie; I shut the whole world out. If it was only up to me, I’d have burned the whole fucking thing a long time ago.
I left thirteen years ago, thinking I’d be back at Christmas. Yet, I couldn’t stay away, so I returned; only for that incident to occur and then I was gone again.
No explanation to anyone.
Not even to her.
Drowning in my grief for years before finally finding out it wasn’t true. But by that time, the damage was already done, by none other than my myself.
Yet here I am, coming home thirteen fucking years later.
“Fuck!” I shout, slamming my hand onto the steering wheel.
If I’m already this worked up before I even arrive, what the hell am I gonna do when I’m there?
Driving along the road, the fields rolls past me as quickly as they come into my eyeline. Fields full of cattle and sheep. Some fields full of the wildflowers that she loved so much.
I can see the sign in the distance, and I think back to when I once loved nothing more than driving past this sign.
Every single time I did, my girl was sitting right beside me in the passenger seat of my truck, always heading to cause some trouble. Or running away from it. Either way, she was there, but she isn’t now.
Welcome to Springfield, Tennessee
Holy shit.
I’m actually going back.
Looking over my shoulder, the piles of bags and suitcases that I rammed into the back of my truck two days ago, look right back at me.
I’m done.
I’m done pretending that I love my life.
I’m really done fucking my way through California, trying to fill the void that I caused myself when I left her all those years ago.
I’m done in my boring office job.
I’m exhausted pretending I don’t want to come home.
Most importantly, I’m done with these panic attacks caused by an invisible magnetic pull that’s yearning for me to come back to this small town where I left everything behind.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ll never regret the business degree that I obtained at Cal Tech. If anything I’m so proud of myself over it. What I’m certainly not proud of is the fact that I completely threw away the reason why I studied it in the first place.
I’ve always had a good head on my shoulders, numbers never fazed me, and I always come up with some pretty great ideas, and how I could make the great idea happen. Which way I should take and what the pros and cons would be on executing said idea.
This is why I was supposed to go away and then come home to put all this in place on my parent’s horse ranch.
I was supposed to take the ranch as far as I could.
Except, I didn’t.
Because I never came back.
I don’t know what greeting will come to me from anyone, my family included.
I speak to my mom and dad whenever I decide not to ignore their calls.
They’re too painful.
Speaking to them made the pull worse, as well as the guilt I feel. I know they wish that things turned out a lot different. That I was home. That the plan I always wanted for my life had actually played out.
I’ve not spoken to Jake in a while.
Although, whenever I do speak to him, he refuses to disclose any information I ask about her.
“Leave it be, Mav’, you made your bed.” He says, the heartfelt disappointment through the phone being clear anytime I ask.
It broke me a little more each time, so our phone calls become more distant as the years went on.
He isn’t wrong.
It is my fault.
And I’d made my bed, so now I need to die in it.
Turning the steering wheel, I drive through the main part of town.
Wow.
Why do I feel like my eyes are deceiving me? It’s certainly changed in the last thirteen years. Bustles of people fill the street.
This place thriving.
Some stores are the same, yet plenty are different. I spot coffee shops and café’s as well as a cowboy boot store and a female clothing store, just on the corner of one of the side streets.
I could name so many women I knew in this town who would be over the moon with that addition.
I wonder who owns the place.
Reaching the top of the street I notice McCoy’s to the left of me. The place still lives. That’s one place I’m head over boots to see hasn’t changed. Driving past the bar I see people already walking into my favourite dive bar in the whole of America.
I glance at the clock.
Five thirty-eight on Friday evening.
I let out a chuckle to myself. Some things change yet the best things don’t. I’m glad to see Friday nights are still the one around here.
They never were back in Cali; people would rather hit the town on Saturday nights, and I could never get behind it.
Growing up, Friday night was for drinking, the rest of the weekend was for spending time with family and friends, as well as fitting in any odd jobs that weren’t able to be accomplished during the week workload.
I wonder if Jake will be playing tonight.
Last time my brother and I spoke, he said he pretty much had the Friday night spot here. That conversation was a while ago, as brief as it was. Just checking in, I suppose. Again, no answers to my questions I long to know.
I carry on driving straight, long past the bar that I miss so much. As I look out on the horizon, pulling myself from my daydream which I often find myself having to do, I realise that I’ve missed my parent’s ranch turning and I’m heading straight towards the one place I told myself I wouldn’t go.
Turning right on the endless dirt road as if on instinct I see the sign I should be avoiding.
RIGGINS RANCH
What the hell am I doing?
Shit.
I know exactly what I’m doing.
As if my own body isn’t my own, I keep driving along the dirt road. The invisible magnet won’t allow me to think for myself.
As I gain back some control over my own body, I pull over on the side of the drive, mere minutes away from utter destruction.
Putting the car into park, I move my feet away from the gas pedals. As I wipe the sweat away from my brow that has formed, I hear my heart thumping, blood rushing into my ears.
I wasn’t planning on doing this, why am I even here?
It’s been thirteen years; I abandoned her; she won’t want to see me.
As I battle with my demons, I notice my hands make a movement towards the gear stick. Letting out an overdue breath, I place the car into drive.
“Fuck it-” I breath out shakily, pulling back onto the long dirt road leading up to the main house.
I’m already here and for some reason, my body isn’t going to comply.
I may as well get this over with, especially if I’m planning on sticking around town for a while, or forever.
The pull’s only willing me to her, and I need to see her.
I prepare myself for battle whilst driving into the only place I ever truly considered my home; not because of the house or the fields surrounding it, nor the horses that called this place home also; but because of the person that lives here, and I hope still does.