Chapter 1 #2
With his wavy black hair in some sort of order, Sean threw on his work clothes and headed out into the early fall air.
The saloon turned fitness center off Old Route 49 was the perfect job for him under the circumstances.
After high school, he was swiftly promoted from check-in clerk to personal trainer, since he’d spent most of his time helping people perfect their technique anyway.
The position helped release some of the pent-up energy always brewing inside, and they let him use the punching bag whenever he wanted.
The pay was decent—a necessity as Aunt Blaire never manifested much cash with her potions and witchy healing arts.
Their lives weren’t expensive, but they weren’t free either.
Luckily Sean had scored a cheap Honda Nighthawk from a buddy of his at the gym a couple years back.
Before that, it had been constant carpooling and fighting over who got the car.
Sean entered the fitness area and spotted his next appointment at once. “Hey, Carl!” He took the hand of his sixty-eight-year-old client, beaming at the guy.
Grumpy as hell, Carl only tolerated Sean’s existence because his daughter demanded he undergo a fitness regimen after his heart attack two years ago.
The old man’s strength and stamina had increased substantially since Sean had begun working with him, but his attitude hadn’t improved in the slightest, and Sean reveled in it.
Carl’s frown creased every wrinkle in his face to its maximum depth. “What torture you got for me today, boy?”
He held up a resistance band, offering his most charming smile. “It’s time.”
Glaring as if personally offended, Carl waved an irritated hand at it. “Nuh-uhh. No way. That thing smacked my ass last time you made me use it.”
Sean spun the band in an innocent circle. “Come on, Carl. It’s joint friendly. It’s low impact. And,” he added, leaning in for effect, “it’s time to face your fears.”
Carl marched toward the exit. “Bah!”
Well apprised of Carl’s antics, Derek, Sean’s fellow trainer, stepped into the man’s path, hands raised to stop him. “Heather will lose it if you leave now.”
“My daughter isn’t my boss!”
“Isn’t she though?” Sean asked, still grinning, fully aware that Carl was all bluster.
The patrons of the center, from the free weights all the way to the treadmills, cheered for Carl to try it out. Typical small-town eavesdropping softened by small-town love.
Derek slithered off as the old man stopped in his tracks. His sparse gray hair glinted in the sunlight from the nearby window when he spun to face Sean. “You’re a menace, Sean Archer.”
“I know,” Sean said, same as every other time Carl had thrown that insult. “But you love it. You’re stronger than you ever were.”
The proud glint in his client’s eye was promising. Flattery never failed, though it was also the truth. In their time together, the man had transformed from frail to sturdy. Carl was Sean’s greatest success story—proof that hard work and tenacity paid off.
“And aren’t we all bossed around by one woman or another?” Sean added, thinking of his aunt.
Carl let out a single laugh.
“Your daughter loves you. She just wants you healthy.” Sean raised the band again. “This will put her mind at ease.”
He grunted and ultimately relented, though Sean didn’t make him do squats with the thing. If Carl got smacked on his ass once more, Sean was sure he’d never see the guy again.
When the session was over, Carl clapped him on the shoulder. “Happy birthday, kid. Tell your aunt I’m ready for a new batch of her joint lotion.”
“Will do.” Sean didn’t question how the man knew it was his birthday. Everyone knew everything in this town.
“And brush your hair. You’ll never catch a girl with that mess.” He paused, then added, “Or a boy.”
Sean glanced in the mirror behind the free weights, laughing at the riotous waves now wet with sweat across his brow.
His tawny brown skin glistened, and for the flicker of an instant, Sean thought he saw a sparkle of light reflected deep in his blue eyes, but when he looked closer, he saw nothing.
He shook himself. “I’ll see you next week, Mr. Hannity. ”
Carl pulled on his jacket. “Yeah, yeah. Every Wednesday for the past two years. Don’t you ever take a break? Get out of town? I’m sick of your face.”
“Nope,” Sean said. “I’ll be here forever.” His stomach clenched as the words emerged.
Forever.
Was it true? Would he really be trapped there forever?
Carl waved a dismissive hand at him. “Forever’s a long time. You’re young. The itch will get you sooner or later.”
“The itch?”
The old man’s bark of a laugh made him smile. “To get out, see the world while your knees still bend when you want them to.”
“Maybe someday,” Sean said. Maybe tomorrow, he thought. It was all he’d thought about for months. Getting out.
Leaving would break his aunt’s heart.
But it might break him to stay.
Back home, Sean shoved the conversation from his mind and plopped the remaining pieces of cookie cake from the celebration his coworkers had thrown for him onto the kitchen counter.
Cole sat in the living area, strumming a guitar. He paused at Sean’s entrance. “Hey, cuz. Happy birthday.”
“Thanks. There’s cookie in the kitchen.”
Cole’s brows shot up, and he darted that way as Sean beelined for the shower. The hot water did nothing to relieve the coiling tension in his muscles. He relived that morning’s conversation with Aunt Blaire at least five times before he gave up on relaxation and shut the water off.
Edginess had crept into every crack and crevice of his mind, and it was only when he was pulling on his shirt that he remembered the dream that had woken him with a splitting headache that morning.
It wasn’t the first time Sean had dreamed of the sword impaling his chest. It wasn’t even the first time he’d looked into David Berkeley’s face as he gripped the hilt of that sword. It was, however, the first time he’d clocked a shade of horror darkening David’s eyes.
Laughable, really. Death by sword was strange enough, but David Berkeley being horrified by it?
The guy would celebrate. He’d rejoice. From their earliest moments—forced together by mothers who’d wanted so badly for them to be friends—David’s hate had blossomed.
By adulthood, it had reached legendary status.
Not only that, he’d also nepo-babied his way into his father’s alleged crime empire, if rumors were to be believed.
So, yeah. If David Berkeley ever stabbed Sean, he wouldn’t be horrified. He’d twist the knife.
The recurrent dream could go to hell, Sean decided as his headache reignited. He retreated downstairs, only to stop short at the sight of Aunt Blaire speaking with Cole in the living room. She glanced up and smiled like nothing had happened earlier. “How was your day?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Fine.”
Then, in the epitome of all irony, she said, “I saw Alexandra today. She reminded me that it was also David’s birthday a few days ago.”
A flash of the dream sword sparked and faded, paired with a throb of pain behind Sean’s right eye.
“And?” he asked.
She sighed. “I don’t understand why you can’t be friends.”
Sean kept his voice flat. “He hates me.”
“He doesn’t hate you. He just— He’s had a hard life. If you could just—”
“No.” His hands clenched. Of all the mysterious things Blaire did, this was the one Sean least understood. Why was she so insistent on defending David Berkeley’s honor? Being friends with his mom was not a good enough excuse.
Blaire stepped closer, holding her fist against her chest. “It isn’t his fault that his father’s a criminal—”
“It is his fault he followed in his footsteps. He’s beyond saving.”
She shook her head. “He just needs someone like you—”
“It isn’t my responsibility to save David Berkeley from the life he chose, and he doesn’t want me to, Blaire. He hates me.” Sean dragged his fingers through his mess of hair. “It’s so weird you keep bringing this up. The guy is nothing to me.”
Her eyes grew shiny. “He needs help. Damning him to that life—”
“I didn’t damn him. And anyway, I am not the savior of all lost souls! Why are you putting this on my shoulders?”