Chapter 3
three
GAGE
I roll over and check the time on my phone—5:55 a.m. It’s not a surprise. It’s been years since I actually slept until my alarm goes off. I’m sure it has something to do with my days in the army and never really relaxing, even in sleep.
Being in the army is nothing like they show in movies or TV, but it’s still an intense experience. And being prepared for anything is definitely a reality of any branch of the military.
I lie there in the dark, giving myself a few minutes to just be . Life is hectic and unexpected as it is. Most days I never have time to be still and exist in the moment. Giving myself these five minutes might be all I get for the day.
Monday mornings have always been my favorite. I’m not entirely sure why, but there’s something about a new week and starting fresh—almost like the start of a new year—endless possibilities.
I would’ve thought, as I got older, that outlook on Mondays would change, especially after becoming a police officer. The shifts that come along with being a deputy, even in a small town like Ashford Falls, mean my weeks don’t always start on Mondays. But I still love them, always excited to see where they might take me.
The alarm sounds, and I shut it off as I sit up in bed, throwing my legs over the side and stretching. The cracks along my spine are audible in the silence of the room. I give myself a moment, absorbing the sting of pain in my lower back. It’s always at its worst first thing in the morning. Once I get up and start moving around, it’ll become a dull ache that’s second nature and easy to ignore.
Striding to the dresser, the chill in the air causes goosebumps across my skin, and the picture frame on top catches my eye. I don’t know why I put it there—every time I see it I’m reminded of how my life isn’t what I thought it would be.
Today marks three years since I was honorably discharged from the army. While I still talk to the guys from my unit, it’s not the same. There’s a sullenness that comes over me as I stare at the picture—a pit in my stomach, a feeling that comes with being around the same group of people day in and day out, trusting they have your back the same way you have theirs, and then all of a sudden you rarely see them.
I don’t blame any of them for how we’ve grown apart. Even if I stayed with the army I wouldn’t have been serving with them anymore. My options were to sit behind a desk or be discharged, and I couldn’t sit behind a desk for the rest of my career. Not when I knew I still had some good years left in me. Sitting behind a desk would have killed me slowly.
I grab a pair of shorts and a shirt from the drawers and turn away, moving to the bathroom to start my day.
I’ve had the same Monday morning routine since I became a deputy, and a run through town with a pit stop at my mom’s before heading to work sounds like exactly what I need.
Ten minutes later, I step outside and stretch, taking in my surroundings. Ashford Falls is slowly waking up for the day. It’s still early, no one is out in the neighborhood quite yet, but I see the lights starting to flicker on in windows.
I turn left out of my front yard and begin a slow jog, warming myself up. I’ll slowly make my way toward town before veering off to the farmland on the outskirts. To the farm I grew up on and where my mother and sister still live.
Ashford Falls is the definition of a small town. Right in the center is a gazebo where all major town celebrations start and end. Surrounding the gazebo is a large park where the town sets up for our quirky festivals. Around the park are all the shops and restaurants. A little further out from the shops and restaurants are a few different neighborhoods, and just past them is all the farmland surrounding our little town.
Despite being on the outskirts of the town, the run to my mother’s house is only about five miles—something I can run in just over half an hour.
As I jog down the road to my mom’s, my little sister steps out onto the front porch, coffee mug in hand, eyes searching for me, exactly as she does every week.
My family tree has some complicated roots. My parents had me when they were young, and while they tried to make it work, they realized they weren’t meant for each other. In hindsight, I’m forever grateful my parents realized it when they did. Yeah, I was ten when they divorced, and I didn’t understand any of it at the time, but they never spoke ill of each other in front of me, and they always made sure I knew they were both around if I needed them for anything. Even when they got remarried—or, in my father’s case, both times he got remarried—and had other kids with their partners, I was always a priority to them.
I love all three of my younger siblings and feel lucky to have a close relationship with each of them. I enlisted in the army when they were all still so young. Asher was five, Leo was about to turn two, and Liv had only turned one a few months before I left for basic training. And while I visited and called when I could over the twelve years I served, I still missed out on a lot of moments in their lives.
When I get closer to the house, I can’t help but smile when I see the scowl on Olivia’s face. “What’s with the face, Pickle?”
Olivia and I don’t look much like siblings—understandably so. She’s my half-sister, and I look more like my father than our mother, but if you look closely, you can see the resemblance. Her eyes are where you can tell we’re related. She and I have the same striking aqua-blue eyes as our mother.
Olivia stands at about five-foot-five, though her slender frame and long legs make her seem taller. She’ll always be the baby of the family to me, but now at sixteen it’s easy to see the young woman she’s growing into.
She hasn’t gotten dressed for the day yet. Her light brown hair is thrown up in a messy knot on her head, and she’s still in her flannel pajama pants, an army sweatshirt to ward off the chill in the air, and a pair of fuzzy socks. She looks cozy, exactly how you want to be on a fall morning.
Liv rolls her eyes at the nickname. “You’re late.”
I glance down at my watch and see it’s 6:52 a.m. I guess I am a few minutes later than normal. “Sorry. Walt had a question for me when I ran past the bar.”
“What was he doing there so early?” she asks as I walk up the porch stairs, pulling her into a hug and ignoring her when she pushes at me. “Disgusting! You’re all sweaty!” She squirms out of my hold, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Murphy’s gets their deliveries early Monday mornings. He was there dealing with those.” I chuckle as we walk into the house. “Hey, Ma,” I say when I see her in the kitchen at the end of the hall.
While Liv is still getting herself ready for the day, I know Mom has been up for a couple of hours by now. She’s already dressed in worn jeans, a thick flannel shirt, and a pair of work boots on her feet. Her hair is falling in its natural waves past her shoulders, and I have no doubt her hat is close by to throw back on before she gets back to her farm chores.
“Hi, honey.” She smiles and offers her cheek for a kiss. “What does your day look like?” she asks as she hands me a cup of coffee and turns back to the stove where she’s making breakfast.
I sit at the kitchen island, Liv plopping into the seat next to me, and watch Mom move around. Closer to her now, I see the light strain on her face, the wrinkles a little more prominent than normal. At fifty-one, she’s still more than capable of managing everything on her own, but I know it’s got to be wearing on her more each year.
While the farm isn’t a working farm anymore and doesn’t produce anything on a major scale, Mom does have a vegetable garden, and goats, cows, and chickens. All of which produce far more than she and Liv need. While she gives a lot away to neighbors, she also sells a decent amount at a few different farmers’ markets in the area.
“I’m due at the courthouse this morning, so I got a little bit of a later start to the day,” I answer her.
She glances at me quickly, but I still see the look of concern cross her face. “You’re working today?”
“What else would I be doing?” I know I’m being intentionally evasive. I wasn’t in a great place when I first came home after my discharge from the army, and Mom saw that firsthand. She was worried and had every right, but I bounced back quickly—mostly because that’s what was expected of me.
I’ve always been the “good time guy,” the person you go to for a laugh, the comedic relief. It’s a person I like being. I don’t enjoy staying in the negative moments; I’d much rather find a positive spin to any situation. But sometimes it's hard to find the positive when your life takes a different turn than you were expecting—and one you didn’t want.
I wanted to retire from the army, not be honorably discharged. It was going to be my career. But after a failed mission that resulted in an injury causing chronic back pain, making it impossible for me to meet the fitness requirements expected of a special forces operative, my responsibilities changed. I appreciated they still found me valuable enough to want me behind a desk, but I was never good at sitting still. I could have retired from the military if I wanted, but it wouldn’t have been the way I wanted.
Coming home had been a change. Things weren’t the way I left them. My mom had divorced her second husband, and my dad had divorced his third wife. My siblings were all teenagers with new personalities, interests, and lives of their own. Finding a place for myself in all that was hard—especially while coping with the loss of a career I truly loved.
I moved in with Mom when I first got back to Ashford Falls. I love my father—he truly tries his best—but Mom has always been the more settled between the two of them. And when I first got home, I needed settled. But moving in with Mom meant she saw my transition back to civilian life the most. After twelve years in the army—three with special forces—I was allowed to be a little less cheerful.
Mom was more than understanding and never pushed me more than I needed. I appreciated that she let me figure it out on my own—it would have been so easy for her to push me back into “normal” life, especially on the weeks Liv stayed with Mom.
But I hated my mental state—it wasn’t who I was used to being and it wasn’t who I wanted to be.
So I pushed myself to find a new purpose in life, something I could be proud of doing. Law enforcement felt like the right place to be. I might not be helping the country at large, but I’m still helping people, and that’s what I want most.
Living with Mom for those six months while I was in the police academy was probably the best thing I did for myself. She pushed me while also supporting me—both mentally and emotionally. She knew when I needed space and when I needed attention. And Liv had been the perfect distraction when I needed one.
I think those six months in this house are why Liv and I are as close as we are. While I missed most of her childhood, I got to be here for all the big moments since, and I honestly wouldn’t pass that up for anything, even being back in the army.
“Well, it’s the anniversary of your discharge—three years since you lost your dream,” Liv says all nonchalant next to me. “So, I mean, I think it’s reasonable to question if you might want to take the day off and do something else. Like wallow on your couch while binging your favorite TV show and eating a whole bunch of junk food.”
I see the look in Mom’s eyes, ready to reprimand Liv for the flippant way she’s talking about my discharge, but I appreciate Liv’s realness. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when you break up with someone?” I ask.
“Well, yeah. But wouldn’t you say your discharge was like a break-up? They wanted to keep you. You were the one who wanted out, the one who walked away.”
“Olivia Grace.” Mom’s voice is stern, a clear warning she’s toeing the line, but I laugh because Liv’s not wrong.
“Maybe that first year wallowing would have been acceptable, but it’s been three years. Besides, dreams can always change.” I nudge her shoulder lightly. “We can’t stay the same, and if we do then we’re doing something wrong.”
“That might be a little too profound for seven o’clock in the morning.”
“Have I told you lately that you’re my favorite sister?” I chuckle.
“That line doesn’t work on me anymore. I’m not five. I recognize that I’m your only sister and, therefore, the only option.”
“Well, I still love you,” I say, pulling her back into my side.
“Gross!” she shouts, pushing me away. “I’m going to get ready for school. Love you, loser.” Liv presses a quick kiss to my cheek before she rushes out of the room.
“You sure you're doing okay?” Mom asks as she sets a plate of eggs in front of me.
“Yeah, Ma, I’m fine.” I smile at her and dig into the food. “What about Liv? She not eating breakfast again?”
“She is. She just doesn’t want the big breakfast anymore. She made herself a fresh bagel this morning.”
“You didn’t need to make all this for me. I can take care of myself, you know.” I keep my tone light, wanting to make sure she knows I’m joking.
“I know, but I like taking care of you.” Mom turns back to the stove and starts cleaning up the mess.
I watch her for a few minutes before asking her about her plans for the day and the rest of the week. It’s a simple conversation—nothing out of the norm—but it’s a comfort all the same. This farm has always been a comfort; one I took for granted.
I may not have wanted to leave the army when I did, but there are definitely worse things that could have happened. If I can’t be there, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.