Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Zane
There’s nothing like the first sip of steaming coffee while standing on my porch, breathing in the scent of damp earth and lake water.
A cool breeze drifts across my property, rustling through the trees and lifting the thin layer of fog hovering over Lake Covewood.
Sven sits beside me, his tail lightly thumping against the wooden planks.
Mornings like this are the definition of peace.
I put down my Bible and take another sip of coffee as I glance down the driveway, where Ryland’s truck is still parked. I couldn’t get it running, and so here I am, having to hitch another ride to work with Ashton. Sven’s ears perk as two sharp beeps slice through the quiet.
Ashton’s black truck rumbles into view, a cloud of dust rising behind his tires. I check my watch, seeing that he’s late as usual. He taps his horn again, this time for no reason, other than to annoy me.
He leans out of his window, sunglasses perched low on his nose, his long curls a complete mess. “You ready or what?”
“You’re the one who’s late,” I call back and screw the lid on my thermos as I head down the steps.
Sven trots after me, and I help him hop into the bed of Ashton’s truck.
The passenger door groans when I open it, and the scent of motor oil mixed with old leather hits me instantly.
Food wrappers are scattered across the floorboards, and a pair of work gloves sits on the dashboard beneath a thin layer of dust.
“Have you ever heard of cleaning?” I ask, shoving the trash out of my way so I can slide into the passenger seat.
“Why would I ruin the aesthetic?” Ashton chuckles and throws the truck into reverse.
“Thanks for the ride, by the way.”
“No problem.”
We roll out of the driveway and onto the main road, gravel crunching beneath the tires before the pavement smooths out under us.
The only sound inside the cab is the hum of the engine and wind slipping through the cracked windows.
I look over at my friend, noticing the worry lines by his eyes that have been there for months now.
“How’s your dad doing?” I decide to ask.
Ashton shrugs, his eyes trained on the road. “Some days are good; other days are frustrating as he struggles to communicate the way he wants to.”
Sympathy squeezes against my throat. “I can only imagine.”
“He gets irritated and then shuts down,” Ashton continues. “Yesterday, he spent fifteen minutes trying to tell me where the tractor key was.”
I wince and glance over at him. “It’s that bad, huh?”
“It’s better than when he wasn’t talking at all. At least I can make out most of what he’s trying to say. It has to be discouraging for him, though.”
Ashton’s jaw twitches, and his grip tightens on the steering wheel. He doesn’t say anything else, but I’ve known Ashton long enough to recognize when something is gnawing at him.
“It’s been hard watching him struggle since his stroke. I’m not sure what I’m going to do this summer since work is picking up.”
Ashton works construction with Ryland and me. Sixty- to eighty-hour weeks aren’t unusual this time of year, which is why I get where Ashton’s coming from. It’s not an ideal time to be carrying something heavy at home.
“Is there anyone who could help out with your dad this summer?” I ask.
“No, no one I can think of. Taking care of the homestead is a struggle for him right now. I’ll have to start getting up earlier or going to bed later to make sure things get done.”
He exhales hard, the weight of everything starting to catch up with him. I hate this for him. It’s not only the logistics or the strain; it’s watching someone you love become a version of themselves that you no longer recognize.
I’ve been there before. Ryland and I lost our grandmother to kidney cancer when we were teenagers, and saying goodbye to our grandfather several years ago wasn’t any easier.
Those kinds of losses change you. Even though Ashton’s dad is still here, I know a piece of him was taken the day the stroke happened.
That’s a different kind of grief because it lingers in the space between what was and what is.
I lean back in my seat, letting the weight of his words settle around us. Ashton’s not only tired, but he’s stretched thin in every direction, pulled between duty and helplessness.
“I could come by and help out. Anytime you need me to.”
“Thanks, man. I appreciate that.” He runs a hand through his long hair. “I will probably continue to stay with him, so I can help whenever I can during these busier months. Is it okay if I leave my cabin vacant for the time being?”
“Of course.” I shrug. “Do what you need to do. I’ll keep an eye on the place while you’re gone.”
“Thanks.”
The tension still hangs in the air, so I shift the conversation before it has time to settle again.
“What’s on the schedule today? Still the kitchen remodel out by Mill Creek?”
“Yup. It’s demo day, and tomorrow will be the cabinets, if the delivery actually shows up.”
“You think they’ll be on time?”
He laughs dryly. “Not likely. So, more like Thursday.”
I chuckle, shaking my head right as the truck’s speakers crackle to life with a loud ringing. The name Maxie flashes across the console screen. Ashton sighs as he taps the answer button after the second ring, not bothering to take it off speaker.
“Hey, Maxie. What cha doing?”
I’ve never actually met Ashton’s little sister, but after years of hearing stories about her, Maxinne hardly feels like a stranger to me.
He talks about her in the way most people talk about their best friend, which is why I know the distance between them has to be eating at him, even if he’d never admit it.
“Nothing much.” The words are light, but there’s a strain beneath them, like she’s forcing cheer into her voice.
Ashton tenses beside me. “What’s wrong?”
Her answer comes on a shaky breath. “Ash…”
“What happened?” Ashton’s grip tightens on the steering wheel again.
A sniffle crackles through the speakers. “Derek and I broke up.”
“Wait—what?” Ashton blurts.
I glance over, unsure whether to speak or stay quiet. I shift in my seat, trying not to breathe too loud. It feels like I’ve just walked in on something personal that I was never meant to hear. Except, I have nowhere to escape to, to give them some privacy.
“I left.”
“You left?”
She lets out another shaky breath. “I couldn’t do it anymore.”
Ashton flinches, scrambling for the screen. “Wait—Maxinne, hold on—you’re on speaker—”
She must not hear him, because she continues, “I’ve spent years trying to become the woman he wanted…so much so that I stopped being myself.”
Her voice cracks, and a sob escapes, echoing loudly through the cab.
Ashton’s face is tight with panic, color draining from his knuckles as he jabs at the screen like he’s trying to shut down a bomb.
I turn to stare out the windshield, pretending to be fascinated by a tractor parked near a barn, but it’s not working.
Every word keeps pulling my attention back to their conversation.
Ashton finally stops fumbling with the buttons, giving up on trying to get the conversation to be private. “That isn’t right. You never should’ve had to do that,” he bites out, anger threading through his words.
“He said we clearly aren’t happy together,” she whispers.
Ashton’s entire posture stiffens and the expression on his face would terrify an army. “I’m going to drive up there and punch Derek in the—”
“There’s no need for violence.”
“I beg to differ,” he growls. “Where did you stay last night?”
“I crashed at Piper’s house.”
“Piper’s?” There’s disbelief painted across his face. “Her house is already over maximum capacity. Where did you even sleep?”
“On the couch.”
Ashton swears under his breath. “I don’t want you to have to sleep on somebody’s couch. Why didn’t you go to Mom’s?”
“You know why.” Maxinne’s voice is barely audible. “I didn’t want her to worry. I’ll tell her eventually, and then I guess I’ll have to move back into her place.” She exhales, as if that bothers her.
Ashton grunts in irritation. “I’m sorry, Maxie. I hate this. What are you going to do about work? You’re his secretary and—”
“I already quit.”
Ashton’s head jerks toward the phone. The truck drifts toward the center line before he corrects it with a sharp jerk of the wheel.
I briefly consider suggesting he pull over so they can continue this conversation in private, but before I can figure out how to say it without making things weird, Ashton blurts, “You what?”
“I quit.”
“Maxinne—”
“I’m not staying somewhere I’m miserable only because it’s convenient.”
The tears are gone from her voice. A few moments ago, she sounded like she was barely holding herself together. Now her words land sharp, and the certainty in her tone leaves no room for argument.
“I’m going to use the money I’ve been saving for the wedding to survive off of until I go back to college in August.” She sniffles. “I’ll be fine. I shouldn’t have called. I—”
“Yes, you should’ve,” he snaps, but there’s more fear than disappointment in his tone. “I can come up there and help you figure something out.”
“What about Dad? You have to be there for him,” she adds.
Ashton falls silent, the weight of that truth sinking heavy in the cab of his truck.
I glance over at him. He’s been running himself ragged, trying to keep the homestead together.
Meanwhile, his sister is sleeping on someone else’s couch and is about to be rebuilding her life from scratch.
An idea hits me, and it seems so obvious that I’m surprised neither of them has said it yet.
As we pull up to a red light, I nudge Ashton with my elbow, catching his attention, and mouth, “Tell her to come here.” He blinks at me, appearing confused, so I repeat it, slower this time. “Tell her to come here.”
Recognition sparks in his eyes and I swear I see a little glimmer of hope in his eyes. Ashton exhales, still watching me like he’s unsure whether the idea will land with her or blow up in his face. Then, he clears his throat.
“I have an idea.”