Cyrus
Chapter nine
Manipulative mothers
Fallon is here—still rooted in this town like she never left.
The inhale I take does nothing to steady me.
It only sharpens the awareness that we’re in the same place again, after nine, almost ten years of distance that apparently has done nothing to heal me.
Her name alone still does it. Still pulls something tight behind my ribs that I’ve spent years trying to bury under discipline and time and distance.
She’s dangerous to me in a way nothing else has ever been. Not because she’s reckless—but because I remember exactly what it felt like to want her.
And that’s the part I can’t afford. Not anymore. Not when she’s someone else’s now. I keep my stance steady anyway because I don’t ignore the codes of men. Not even the ones that hurt.
Moving here is supposed to be a fresh start for Liam and me.
If she’s here, there’s a good chance she and Jonah are still together.
It shouldn’t bother me. I shouldn’t still carry this much animosity toward either of them—but I do.
The past belongs behind me. I already have enough to focus on. And still—What if she isn’t with Jonah?
That’s none of my business, and I refuse to chase it.
The emotional cost of being around Fallon Lawson is too high.
Especially now, as a single dad—our stability already shaken since Caleb’s loss.
Fallon cannot be allowed back into my life.
That’s final. Our teenage years are proof enough of what happens when a woman takes hold of my heart and soul.
The aftermath still lingers like a bitter taste I haven’t been able to wash away. Almost ten goddamn years.
She was once the tether to all my aspirations. First school dance, first fumbling kiss, first love. Us against the world—until we weren’t.
Now I have to think about my place in this community and what it means for my son.
I can’t go running off and making reckless choices, not if I want him to have a steady childhood.
I’m home again. And small towns thrive on community—on whispers that grow teeth the more they’re repeated.
This place has always been heavy with gossip, especially when it came to us.
We thought we had it all back then, never realizing time wasn’t on our side—and neither was half the town.
We were too young, too serious, too visible.
And I know, even now, Fallon never got a fair shot at life here.
Too many voices at Sunday service, too many opinions passed around after Friday night games, shaping her into something she never deserved to be.
That’s not a family you want to get mixed up with, son.
She’s gonna take you down with her. That whole family is bad.
That girl’s mother is no good; she doesn’t come from good stock.
Back then, I spent more time defending us than living us—reassuring anyone who’d listen that Fallon and I were serious about our future.
We were headed to college in the fall. In hindsight, it was an impossible task to carry at that age.
I escaped a scandal that would’ve been humiliating at seventeen—too young, too aware of what everyone thought.
And then there’s the day that changed everything.
The memory hits like a gut punch, sudden and unavoidable.
Fallon’s mother dragged me by the ear behind her beat-up truck outside the pharmacy, her voice low and cutting, each word sharp enough to stick. Crimson-stained lips delivering every threat like a sentence.
“Cyrus McCoy, you cannot be this dense.”
Her grip tightened, pulling me closer as if proximity alone could drive the sense into me. “That thing between your legs is leading you around this town like a fool. This fall, you’ll be starting college. I implore you—for the sake of my daughter—leave her alone.”
“Miss Lawson,” I said, forcing steadiness into my voice. “I love Fallon. We’re going to college together. We’re building a life.”
Her expression didn’t shift. Not even a flicker of softness. “It ends with her heart broken. Alone. Left behind to raise a child.” The words struck something deep enough in me to crack.
“Fallon’s pregnant?” The question came out rough, stripped of air.
Rosemary looked ready to tear into me. “She will be with the way you two carry on. I have plans for my daughter that do not include tying herself to you.” Plans. Like Fallon was an outcome to be arranged. “Our future is decided,” she went on. “We, not you. You will not concern yourself with it.”
Something in me snapped into place—cold, controlled, sharp. “Miss Lawson,” I said, voice lower now, edged with a restraint I didn’t fully trust, “with respect, you don’t get to decide that.”
Her behavior, her certainty, her blindness to the damage she caused—it all sat wrong in a way I couldn’t ignore. Rumors already clung to Fallon in this town, feeding on every whisper, every glance. Small towns didn’t need truth. They only needed ignition. And Rosemary Lawson was always the spark.
“I. Will. Never. Abandon. Her.” I stare at her, daring her to argue with me.
Watching Rosemary’s eyes narrow into slits.
I brace myself for the onslaught of temper.
Her erratic behavior has left more than one person in this town on the receiving end of her cruelty.
I was young, but not entirely ignorant. Rosemary had a pretty smile, and that’s where anything pleasant ceased to exist with her.
“Son, this is something I never wanted to do. You deserve the truth. Fallon can’t be trusted.” Her words are brutal, outlandish—hitting their mark, I back my girlfriend’s mother into the side of my truck, towering over her slight frame.
“Miss Rosemary,” I said, keeping my tone steady, “I was raised to show respect. But if you speak about Fallon like that again, I won’t be able to return it.
” She didn’t flinch—credit where it was due.
Instead, she pushed off the door of my old pickup and pressed a hand to my chest, scoffing like I was the one being unreasonable.
“You don’t even know the real Fallon,” she said. “It isn’t my place to interfere in her affairs. And I will deny ever having this conversation if my daughter learns of it.” The lines in her face softened, her voice dropping as if she meant to soothe me—but the words cut clean through anyway.
“Mother-daughter bonds are never simple,” she said, voice softening into something almost sympathetic. “Girls are harder to raise. Boys—well, boys are straightforward. You’ve always been a good one, Cyrus. You deserve better than what Fallon can offer you.”
She studied me for a moment, as if weighing how much truth I could survive.
“Fallon’s been spending time with Jonah while you’ve been working toward your future,” she continued. “They were together last weekend.”
A pause—calculated. “Now, I shouldn’t be the one to tell you this.
In fact, I fully intend to deny ever saying it if it comes back to her.
But you’re not going to like what comes next.
” Her gaze held mine, unblinking. “Fallon is pregnant, but it isn’t yours.
” The words landed cleanly and deliberate.
“She and Jonah are handling it down in Charlotte at the abortion clinic. They’ve decided it was nothing serious—just a mistake.
A moment of poor judgment. Nothing more.
” Her expression didn’t change, but her voice sharpened just enough to cut.
“I saw them myself at the Johnson bonfire over the weekend. They intend to keep it quiet. From you, especially.” She tilted her head slightly, almost regretful—but not quite.
“If I were you, Cyrus…I’d walk away now. Leave them where they chose to be.”
Shocked, hurt. With a voice that cracked more with each word I forced out, I said to her, “You told me she wasn’t pregnant, though.”
Rosemary shrugged like she hadn’t just obliterated my entire world. “I was trying to do the right thing and not trample your heart, kid. You were being stubborn, though. Ask your friend’s twin sister. Jordan will tell you it’s true.”
She trotted off as quickly as she approached me, teetering on heels, probably already drunk. Good riddance; that family’s been nothing but trouble.
Mom practically disowned me for months because I refused to speak to Fal or answer her calls. I changed my number and refused to go home. Against every rumor spewed about Fallon, I had stayed loyal, never allowed anyone to be mean to her, and she repaid me with this.
I sigh, rationalizing my decisions. Young people make reckless choices when consumed by anger or heartbreak. Despite our promises of forever, I left them both behind. Her broken silhouette in the rearview mirror stayed with me through college, fueling destructive habits and poor decisions.
It wasn’t until Liam came along that I understood how deeply I’d buried the fallout from what happened after our senior year. I will never regret Liam, but the choices I made left him without a mother—and that is something I will always carry.
I refuse to get entangled with Fallon Lawson again.
“Dad?” Liam stands beside me, fresh out of the shower.
Shit.
Even in there, my mind wouldn’t stop drifting back to her. That’s exactly why I need to stay away. “Hey, pal. You sure you don’t need a haircut from me?”
He tilts his head in that serious little way of his, the kind that makes him impossible not to smile at. His nose scrunches like he’s tasted something sour. “Grammy will be mad,” he says, then shrugs. “But sure.”
“Leave Grammy to me.” My back pops as I bend at the waist, digging under the counter for shears and clippers.
I’m not old enough for this shit. “Hey, buddy, hang your towel up and sit on the toilet seat so we can clean you up. I need to do some blending.” He follows my instructions while I rummage through the cabinet. My fingers close around cool metal.
Ha. Knew they’d be buried in the back. I pull out the clippers, knocking over a few bath toys and half-empty shampoos.
Why do kids need so many damn options? I plug them in.
The low whir fills the bathroom as I start clipping.
Probably should’ve done this before his shower, but it’s fine. We’ll brush him off after.
Liam hums over the clippers—a song I swear I haven’t heard since the Stone Age. Mom and I are going to have to have a serious talk about Fancy by Reba; he’s far too young for musical trauma about mothers selling daughters.
And then there’s Fallon.
That girl—dangerous in a way I’ve clearly learned nothing from—I am absolutely not getting dragged back into that mess. Shit. A chunk of dark blond hair drops to the floor.
Silence.
Liam’s humming cuts off mid-note. Slowly, I lift my eyes to the mirror. His mouth falls open. His eyes widen like I’ve just committed a felony against his entire identity. Oh, no. Please don’t cry. Please don’t cry. Please don’t—
Tears well instantly. Of course, they do. “Buddy—nope, hey, we’re good, we’re great.” I rush to flick the clippers off like they personally betrayed me. “This is called…intentional styling. Very advanced. Extremely professional.”
His lower lip trembles. I exhale, already losing. “Okay, okay—maybe I went a little aggressive with the ‘blending.’ But we can fix it. Hair grows back. Unlike my dignity, which is currently on life support.”
A beat.
Then he sniffles. And I swear, I’d rather wrestle a crackhead under a bridge, one-handed, with no weapons than handle that sound.
“Hey,” I soften, crouching a little. “Worst-case scenario, you just become a trendsetter. People love uneven hair these days. Very…rebellious. Very, ‘I do what I want.’” That gets a pause. Not a smile yet—but not a full collapse either. Progress. I’ll take it.
Defeated, I slump, knowing Mom won’t be happy about this. Never have I messed up a haircut on this kid. Of course, fucking Fallon has never run through my mind on a perpetual flow of ‘what if’s’ before either?
Fantastic, I will never live this one down.
I think to myself, going over every scenario to fix this colossal mistake…
How do I even apologize for this? Hey buddy, there’s a woman in town that I used to go steady with, and well, I thought she didn’t live here anymore; turns out she does.
And I was trying to avoid the said woman by cutting your hair.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about her. And now, your head resembles a bird’s nest? No, I cannot tell my son that. Shit.
Liam’s shoulders are tight under my hands. He is upset, as he should be. This is a fucking mess. My little guy deserves better than a fucked-up cut, all because I can’t get my shit together. I give his shoulder a quick squeeze. “Let me take a quick look; I’ll have you fixed up in no time.”
His eyes hold doubt, but he doesn’t voice it aloud. What if I take it up a little more? And clean up around the ears? I really don’t want my kid walking around with a high and tight… Shit. I’m so fucked. This will have to be fixed by a professional. Goddamn it.
Liam’s eyes have dried up, and he smiles tightly; so that’s a good sign.
“Thanks, old man, but we need help.” I can’t even be offended that he called me an old man-I let out a sigh.
It’s inevitable. Fallon fucking Lawson. If Liam’s haircut is any hint of how this reunion will play out…
I’ll take the marine cut for two hundred, Alex.
“Alright, let’s get going.”
“Dad, could I possibly borrow a hat?”
“Sure thing, pal; a hat is no problem.”