2. The Weight of Promises
The Weight of Promises
Bo
Pearl's house looks the same as it did eighteen months ago.
Same white shutters. Same flower boxes under the windows, though the petunias are now tulips and daffodils. Same porch swing that creaks.
I stand at the edge of the driveway, duffel bag on my shoulder, and try to remember who I was before I carried the weight of too many miles and not enough answers.
Pearl opens the front door before I reach the steps.
"Bo Gates." Pearl's voice cracks just enough to undo me. She's smaller than I remember, or maybe I've just gotten used to seeing the world through a scope. Her hair is silver now, pulled back in that same loose bun, and her eyes are bright with relief and happiness.
"Hey, Aunt Pearl."
She doesn't wait for me to reach the porch. She meets me halfway, arms wrapping around my ribs like she's checking to make sure I'm solid. Real. Still breathing.
I hug her back and pretend the tightness in my chest is just from the long bus ride.
"You should've called," she says, pulling back to study my face. Her hands frame my jaw, gentle but firm. "I would've picked you up from the station."
"Didn't want to be a bother."
"Bother." She huffs, the sound somewhere between exasperation and relief. "Get inside. You look half-starved."
I follow her into the house, the screen door slapping shut behind me. The kitchen smells like coffee and cinnamon rolls, and for a second, I'm fifteen again, sitting at this same table while Uncle Anthony reads the paper and Pearl hums some old hymn I can't name.
But Anthony's gone. The chair at the head of the table sits empty, and the silence where his voice should be is louder than any explosion, I've survived.
Pearl catches me looking and busies herself at the counter. "Sit. I'll get you a plate."
"You don't have to?—"
"Sit, Bo."
I sit in the same chair I did when I told Anthony and Pearl I joined the military and the same one I sat in when I came home for the funeral, holding Pearl until her tears ran dry. It is my chair.
She sets a plate in front of me. The usual scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, the works. She pours coffee into a mug that says World's Best Uncle in faded letters. I don't tell her I haven't had much of an appetite lately. I just pick up my fork and take a bite because that's what she needs me to do.
"So." She sits in the chair across from me, hands wrapped around her own mug. "You planning to stay awhile, or is this just a quick visit?"
"Depends."
"On?"
On whether I can figure out how to be a person again. On whether Everwood still feels like home or just another place I don't belong. On whether I can keep the promise I made to Tyler without breaking myself in the process.
"Just taking some time," I say instead. "Figuring things out."
Pearl's quiet for a moment, studying me with that same look she used to give me when I was a teenager trying to convince her I was fine after a fight at school.
She didn't believe me then either.
"You look tired," she says finally.
"I am tired."
"When's the last time you slept through the night?"
I take a sip of coffee. "Define 'through.'"
Her mouth presses into a thin line. Pearl has always been like that.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
I pull it out, half-expecting another update about reserves scheduling or an automated reminder about paperwork I haven't filled out yet. Instead, Tyler's name flashes across the screen.
My stomach tightens.
I glance at Pearl. "I should take this."
She nods, already rising to give me space. "I'll be in the garden."
I wait until the back door clicks shut before I answer. "Tyler."
"Bo." His voice is scratchy and distant. Satellite delay, maybe, could be exhaustion. "You make it to Everwood?"
"Yeah. Just got to Pearl's."
"Good." A pause. "Listen, I don't have long, but I need you to do something for me."
"What's going on?"
"Falon."
My pulse kicks up a notch.
"What about her?" I keep my voice steady, even though the sound of her name does something strange to the beat of my own heart.
"Kevin Bennett's back in town."
I close my eyes. Kevin. The guy who spent half of high school trying to prove he was tougher than he was, and the other half making everyone around him miserable. The same guy who used to corner Falon at parties, all charm and no class.
"What's he doing back?" I ask.
"Got some fancy degree. Accounting or something. Doesn't matter. Point is, Mom says he's been sniffing around Falon again, and she's too stubborn to see it for what it is."
"Tyler—"
"I need you to keep an eye on her, Bo. Just... make sure she's okay. Make sure he doesn't pull anything."
The promise sits unspoken between us. Don't touch her. Don't date her. Don't even think about it. I made that promise seven years ago, standing in this same kitchen, because Tyler asked me to and because I owed him that much.
I still owe him.
"I'll keep an eye out," I say.
"Thanks, man. I mean it." His voice softens, just a fraction. "I know I'm asking a lot. But she's?—"
"I know." I swallow hard. "She's your sister. I got it."
"Yeah." He exhales, long and slow. "Look, I gotta go. But Bo? Be careful, alright? With Falon, with Kevin, with all of it. Just... be smart."
"Always am."
He laughs, tired. "Liar."
The line goes dead.
I sit there for a long moment, phone still in my hand, staring at the table like it might offer answers.
Keep an eye on her.
Right.
Because that's simple. Because I can just show up in Everwood, in Falon's orbit, and keep things clean and distant and honorable while Kevin Bennett circles like he has any right to her time.
Because I haven't spent the last seven years trying not to think about the way she used to laugh when she thought no one was listening, or the way her hands moved when she talked about the things she cared about, or the way she looked at me once, just once, like maybe I wasn't just Tyler's best friend.
I scrub a hand over my face and push to my feet.
When the back screen door closes, Pearl looks up and sits back on her haunches. This season’s tomato plants are already planted, and the smell of damp dirt and cool Montana air with Pearl on her knees digging in dirt brought back memories and a sense of temporary home.
"Everything okay?"
"Yeah. Tyler just checking in."
She nods slowly, like she's weighing whether to believe me. "You're staying, then?"
"For a while."
"Good." She stands, brushing dirt from her knees. "The guest room's all made up. I wasn't sure when you'd get here, but I figured... well. I hoped."
Something in my chest cracks open.
"Thanks, Pearl."
She waves me off, already turning back to her plants. "Go get settled. Dinner's at six. And Bo?"
"Yeah?"
"It's good to have you home."
I nod, throat too tight to answer, and head back inside.
Upstairs, the guest room is exactly as I remember it.
Same quilt on the bed. Same dresser with the scratched-up corner where I dropped my duffel too many times as a teenager.
Same window overlooking the street, where I used to sit and watch the world go by and wonder if I'd ever figure out where I belonged.
I drop my bag on the floor and sink onto the edge of the bed.
My phone buzzes again. Another text from Tyler, sent right before the call dropped.
Kevin's bad news. Don't let him near her.
I stare at the message until the screen goes dark. Like he has to tell me twice. Kevin was the reason I got in all those fights when we were kids.
Then I close my eyes and let myself do the one thing I've been trying not to do since I stepped off that bus.
I picture her.
The Williamses had a large sprawling ranch, and Falon had loved the rancher’s life.
She’d pull her hair back into a ponytail, roll her sleeves up, and jump right into the thick of it.
She could huck hay right along with the rest of them and backtalk a tractor while holding a wrench like it was an extension of her hand, determined to fix it, grease on her cheek and forearms as she brought the old beast back to life, smiling like a fool because she did it.
I'd stood there longer than I should have, watching the way she worked.
Confident, stubborn to boot, and entirely herself.
She'd caught me staring and raised an eyebrow. "You gonna help, or just stand there looking like a GQ cover?"
I'd laughed. Picked up a screwdriver. Worked beside her in silence until the job was done.
That was years ago. Before the promise. Before I left.
But the memory holds me to this day, the same way it did in the cockpit when everything went cockeyed, and I needed something to hold onto.
I open my eyes and exhale slowly.
Nearby is still honorable, right?
I can keep the promise. I can protect her without crossing lines. I can be Tyler's friend and nothing more.
I have to.
Even if the thought of seeing her again makes my chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with broken ribs or bad dreams.
I stand, grab my duffel, and start unpacking.
Everwood's temporary. Just a pit stop. A place to catch my breath and figure out what comes next.
That's what I keep telling myself.
But my hands are shaking, and I know, deep down, in the part of me that can't lie to myself, that I'm not here because Tyler asked.
I'm here because she is.
And that's the most dangerous truth of all.