Present day…

I bring the beer to my lips, take a swig, and look at my father. It’s been years since I’ve seen him, and even longer since I’ve been back to Summer Hill. My father’s wife—the one he cheated on and the affair resulted in me—isn’t too keen on the sight of me. I’m forever the Jon Snow of the family, since looking at me reminds her of her husband’s infidelity and all. I can’t blame her for that since I am the product of dear old Dad getting lonely on business trips.

My half-brother, Josh, claps his hand on my back. “It’s good to see you again, Chase. I just wish it was under different circumstances.”

I nod. “Yeah. It has been a while.”

“It’s been too long. Are you staying this time? For a few days at least, right?”

“Uh, maybe,” I start, trying to think of a polite way to say ‘hell fucking no,’ though really, I have no reason to rush out of here and get back to my life in New Jersey. Josh takes a step back and helps his pregnant wife to her feet. She winces, putting her hand on her back, and slowly comes over. They’re good people, who have gone out of their way to include me as family.

Josh and I share a slight resemblance, one we get from our father. Hazel eyes, wavy brown hair. Tall and muscular. But that’s where the similarities end. I look back at our father, noting how we got those characteristics from him, and realize how fucking old Dad looks.

It probably has something to do with the fact that he’s dead.

After years of drinking, his liver finally shut down and he spent his final days on home hospice care. The wake just ended, and just the family is here to say our final goodbyes before his body is cremated.

Moving to the casket, I take another sip of beer and hold up the bottle, silently toasting my father. A weird sense of guilt creeps over me. I don’t feel sad. I don’t have a longing in my heart for the man who sired me and left me without a second look back. I got cards and money over the years every Christmas and birthday, and a few visits mixed in there, but he was really just a stranger.

* * *

“I meant it when I said you should stay a while,” Josh tells me, wiping down the counter. I lean back on the barstool and pick up my whiskey, ice clinking on the glass. “Melissa and I could really use the help. It’s tough enough working with one kid at home. Adding twins into the mix is going to make things…interesting.”

I finish the whiskey and nod. “I don’t know. I don’t want to impose.”

“You won’t be. I actually do have to hire someone soon, before the babies are born. You’d save me from interviewing people.”

I run my finger around the rim of the glass and shake my head. “How do you know I’d be any good at the job?”

Josh laughs. “Can you pour drinks? Take orders to the kitchen? I know you bartended before at swankier places than this. Most of our drink orders are beer and straight whiskey. It’s not that complicated.”

The kindness Josh always gives is welcome but unsettling. I’m not used to it, and I’m sure as shit not used to family doing favors for each other. Hell, my own mother started charging me rent the day I turned sixteen and could legally get a job.

I look around the bar. It’s seven o’clock on a Wednesday night, and it’s starting to fill with regulars. Located on the outskirts of Summer Hill, The Mill House is home to both locals and those coming from the neighboring towns and gets a fair deal of customers coming off the highway.

It’s definitely not as busy as the bars I worked along the boardwalk back home, but it’s busy enough to maintain a steady cash flow and give me something to do.

“There’s an apartment above the bar,” Josh starts. “It’s been empty since Melissa and I got married. She didn’t want to live above the bar.” He chuckles. “It’s yours if you take the job.”

“I can’t—”

“Yeah, you can.” Josh tosses the dishcloth into the sink and comes over, still on the opposite side of the bar, and grabs the bottle of whiskey. He pours more in my glass and then some for himself. “I don’t think I ever told you this,” he starts and downs his shot of whiskey. “When I was a kid, I begged Mom and Dad for a baby brother. And then when I found out I actually had one, I was elated. But it didn’t turn out the way I hoped, and I’ve always regretted that.”

I divert my eyes to the bar top, studying the many nicks and scratches in the wood. Total honesty and baring my emotions isn’t something I’m used to either.

“Dad was an asshole, I know,” Josh goes on. “But now that he’s gone, I feel we need to take what remains of this family and hold it together. Stay. Dakota is excited her uncle is finally here. She wants to get to know you.”

“Right. I suppose I could stay for a while.”

“Consider this a fresh start. I know you could use one.”

I meet Josh’s eyes again, wondering how the hell he knows that. And then I remember the last time I was arrested, someone paid my bail but I never knew who.

“That was you?”

Josh gives a half-smile and turns, washing out his glass. “I can’t let my little brother rot in jail, now, can I?”

“I’ll pay you back. I have the cash.”

He shakes his head. “No way. You can, however, work it off.”

I finish off the rest of the whiskey, smiling as I shake my head. “When do I start?”

* * *

I’ve always led a transient style of life, moving from place to place, never fully settling down. I’d go where the work took me, which usually required traveling anyway. It’s not that I never wanted to settle down, I did, but I never found a place that felt like home.

Some nights, after a long day full of chasing, running, and usually a side of breaking and entering, I’d lay alone in whatever motel bed I was staying in for the time being and think of life. Of the big picture. I’d wonder what it would be like to have visions of the future on the horizon, to get by on hopes and dreams, and not on a day-to-day basis.

I could easily convince myself that wasn’t true, that I went after the high-dollar jobs for the payout in the end, along with the thrill and the danger of course, but if I thought about it, there was nothing I was saving for. Hell, I blew through a decent amount of the cash I got paid. I lived for the moment, not wanting to accept the fact that there was a growing pit inside of me, one filled with darkness, resonating with the pain of never fitting in or feeling like I belong.

Sweat rolls down my brow, and I wipe it away with the back of my hand. I take the last box down to the parking lot and head back up to the apartment above the bar. It’s been four years since anyone has lived in here, and while that doesn’t sound long, in theory, the place has its fair share of issues.

Starting with the non-working air conditioner. The morning after I agreed to stay, I flew to the place I was staying in New Jersey and drove back here, Mustang loaded with everything I own, minus the furniture. Not having a home of my own has resulted in a minimalist lifestyle, and I’ve always had the attitude that things are just things and can be replaced. But my car is my most prized possession. It was the first thing I bought when I got my first-ever large payout, and I’ve put in a lot of the under-the-hood work myself. The thing is badass if I do say so myself.

Not having a garage is killing me, and I just arrived back at The Mill House. There is an old barn behind the bar, but it’s full of junk. I plan to clear it out so my car can have shelter, but I’ll get to that later. I’ve been clearing crap out of the apartment all morning, moving my own few things, and have a big order from Amazon coming tomorrow.

I go back up the rickety stairs and into the apartment, and stop in the entrance. The building used to be a mill house back in the day, hence the name of the bar. It’s been a few things over the years before it became the bar my brother bought, but the history has remained despite the many renovations.

The apartment is a decent size for the age of the place and boasts a large floor-to-ceiling glass window in the living room overlooking the river that once powered the mill. It’s dried several feet since then, but the soft sound of running water in the distance is calming.

Through the living room is a kitchen with dark cabinets and stone countertops. A rustic farmhouse table sits in the center, and behind that is a door that leads to the only bedroom and bathroom. Nothing is fancy, but it’s a hell of a lot nicer than places I’ve stayed in the past.

The gentle sound of running water comes in through the open windows, and leaves rustle together with the breeze. The air comes in, welcome against my hot skin. I feel an odd lurch inside of me, almost like my heart skipping a beat the same time my stomach flip-flops. It’s because it’s hotter than hell up here and I haven’t eaten all day. Not because I think with a little TLC this place could become a home.

I spent a few more hours rearranging things until I like the layout, hook up my TV and gaming system, and then move on to the bedroom. Someone knocks on the door and immediately enters, calling my name.

“Uncle Chase!” Dakota’s little voice echoes off the brick walls. “We brought you food!”

Thank God. I ball the sheets I’d just stripped from the bed and leave the bedroom.

“Daddy, it’s hot in here,” Dakota says, making a face.

“Yeah, it is,” Josh agrees guiltily. “The electrician is coming tomorrow. Sorry about that.”

I shrug. “It’s okay.”

“Hungry?” Josh asks, holding up a white CorningWare dish. I can’t see what’s inside, but it smells amazing. “We can eat in the bar.” He looks at his four-year-old and laughs. “It’s closed now, so I suppose it’s okay. It’s better than being in this sauna.”

We go down into the bar and dig into the casserole Melissa made for me. Dakota fires off question after question as we eat, then announces that she’s going to help decorate my new room. She thinks a princess theme is best. I laugh but don’t argue with that. She’s too fucking cute.

“Are you settled in?” Josh asks as we finish eating.

“As much as I can be. I ordered the rest of what I need online and it’s coming tomorrow. Oh, what kind of cable do you use?”

Josh laughs. “We don’t get cable out here. I’ll set you up with the guy to install the satellite though.”

“Thanks.”

“You might be without TV for a while.”

“It’s okay. I have my phone for entertainment, and I have books.” I have a box full of my favorite paperbacks but read mostly on my Kindle. Moving around a lot makes it hard to keep all the hard copies of books I’ve read. And I’ve read a lot. It might sound stupid—and I’ll never admit it to anyone—but for the time when I’m immersed in a book, I don’t feel lonely.

And I’ll never admit to anyone that I’m lonely. Not even myself. Because I’m not. I’ve been on my own most of my life. It’s what I’m accustomed to.

“The last time you were in Summer Hill, you were too young to drive.”

“Legally,” I say with a smirk.

“I do remember you driving.” Josh shakes his head. “Not much has changed, but I can show you around tomorrow. I assume you’ll need to go to the store and get groceries. The Walmart has become a Super Walmart, and we finally got a movie theater. It doesn’t play current movies, though. A tour won’t take too long.”

“Thanks.”

We finish eating, and I tell Josh that I’ll wash the dishes. It’ll give me something to do and an excuse to stay in the air conditioning, after all. Dakota wants to see the apartment again, so she knows how many princess pictures to make. I cover the leftover casserole and take it upstairs with us, sticking it in the old fridge that thankfully still works.

Josh pokes around the apartment a bit, taking notes on things that need to be fixed or replaced. I assure him it’s fine and I can take care of it all, but he insists.

“Baking soda and vinegar,” he mutters, seeing the red ring in the bathtub. “That should take it out. Melissa uses that on everything. Seems to work.”

“I’ll pick some up tomorrow.”

“I should have cleaned this place before offering it to you. I assumed it would be in the same state I left it.”

“Don’t worry about it. You offered it to me, and you didn’t have to.”

A crash comes from the bedroom and we both bolt in there. A rickety bookshelf toppled over and is laying in pieces on the floor.

“Dakota!” Josh screams and scoops up the crying toddler. I check her over while he holds her, trying to quiet her sobs.

“I don’t see any blood,” I say, and then move my hands to her head, gently feeling for bumps. “Did you get hurt?”

“It didn’t hit me,” she hiccups.

“What were you doing?” Josh asks harshly, his fear coming out in disciplining the kid.

“Trying to measure.”

“You can’t climb on stuff like that. You know better than that! You could have gotten seriously hurt, Koty.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy. And Uncle Chase. I’m sorry I broke your bookshelf.”

“It’s okay,” I tell her. The shelf didn’t look in the best shape when I loaded it with my books anyway. Dakota quiets and moves to the bed while Josh and I upright the bookshelf.

“Oh shit,” I say, then shake my head and look at Dakota. “Sorry.” I pick up my phone, which thankfully is looking like the only casualty in this mess.

“Shit,” Josh echoes. “Sorry. I’ll get you a new one.”

I look at the shattered glass screen. The phone itself still works, but I can hardly see past the cracks, and know one swipe across the screen to unlock it will result in a sliced-open finger. “I can take it in for a repair. There’s not an Apple store around here is there?”

“Hah. Funny. You’ll have to send it in.”

“That’s fine.”

“You need something in the meantime. It could take weeks before it comes back. Dakota, you broke Uncle Chase’s phone. You really need to listen and not climb on stuff.”

Dakota starts crying again, and maybe it’s because I’m not a parent but I want to just give in to her to make her stop. Crying makes me uncomfortable.

“There’s one place in town, and if I leave now I can get there before they close.”

“You really don’t have to. I can order a new one and—”

“You need a phone, and I know how long a brand-new phone can take to get here. Let me get you something in the meantime.”

“Fine,” I say, seeing how there’s no point in arguing. And I really don’t want to wait to have another phone. What the hell did people do for entertainment before smartphones? We leave together, driving into town. An hour later, we’re leaving with an iPhone. It’s secondhand, but it’s the best the little phone service store had to offer and will be fine for the time being. Being assigned a new number was a little surreal. Seeing the area code for Summer Hill feels almost like a trap. Since it’s getting late, Josh drops me off and heads home to get Dakota in bed.

With the sun sinking low in the sky, the air begins to cool. I pick up the rest of the broken bookshelf and then sit at the kitchen table to set up the phone. It was activated at the store, and the guy told me I should probably switch to this network provider anyway since they had better service here than what I was previously using.

I run into an issue when I go to set up the voicemail, and discover that the mailbox is nearly full. The first message is from over a year ago, and all the messages are from the same number. The phone has sat in the shop for months, or so I was told. And no one thought to do a factory reset?

I roll my eyes and wonder if I can easily recover deleted photos since whoever took this to resell obviously didn’t know to clear out the voicemail box. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I hit play on the first message.

“Jake.” The voice is female, and she doesn’t say the name. She breathes it. “A strange thing happened today. I saw an infomercial for cat shelves you put by your window. Someone stole my idea. I knew you’d get a kick out of it, and I wanted to tell you. I picked up the phone and everything. Then I remembered…I remembered that…you’re…that you’re dead.”

Whoa. I was not expecting that.

“That’s the first time I’ve said it out loud,” the woman whispers, voice full of emotion. “I miss you.”

Too intrigued, I listen to the next message, which was left just a day after the first one.

“Calling you makes it feel like you’re still alive,” the woman says, and the sadness in her voice pulls on my heart. “It’s like you’re away at work and you’ll listen to this message when you’re done with your shift. Like we’re only one call away from talking to each other. I keep waiting for you to call me back. It’s been a month, and I keep looking at my phone hoping to see your name. I don’t know when that will go away. I don’t want it to go away. I just want you back. I want us back. I miss you, and I love you. Always.”

I play the next message right away, which was left just days later. “People tell me that I need to get out and enjoy life. Because I’m alive. But I don’t feel alive. Everything hurts all the time, but at the same time, I feel nothing. How can you feel nothing and everything at the same time? It doesn’t make sense, I know. It’s like…it’s like I died and they forgot to bury me. I’m not sure what to do. You’d know, but if you were here…” She breaks off crying, and the line goes dead.

I don’t think as I press play on the next message, which is from a few days after the last. “Jake,” she breathes his name again, and I feel a weird stirring inside me, and it takes everything I have to repress the truth. I’d give anything to have someone say my name with such longing, which is totally fucked up. The woman is grieving the loss of her loved one. “It’s been raining all week and everyone is worried about the river. They say these things can happen fast and the currents are strong. Scott called today and asked me to stay with him for a while in Orlando. He said he’d take me to Disney World. I’m tired of people treating me like a child, even though you know I love Disney.”

I find myself smiling at her words, heart breaking at the same time.

“Maybe I should go,” she continues. “Because I feel like I’m drowning, like I’m caught in the muddy current of the river and I can’t get my arms and legs to move to fight it. Because I don’t want to fight it.”

The message ends and I bring the phone away from my ear, letting out a breath. I blink and stare at the window, listening to the river in the background. The pain in this woman’s voice is hauntingly beautiful, awakening the dark parts of my heart and making me feel.

I haven’t felt anything deep in years.

I look back at the phone and scroll through the messages. The voicemail box has to be close to full, but since there’s nothing else on the phone taking up memory, it’s able to store them all. For now. Once I start using the phone I’ll have to delete the messages, which seems wrong for some insane reason.

Her words are spoken in heartbroken whispers, not meant for anyone to hear. And yet I can’t stop listening.

The next message is from two weeks after that and is considerably shorter. “Mom made me see a therapist today. She also told me to write down how I feel on a piece of paper. I left it blank. She seemed annoyed, but that’s how I feel. Empty.”

“Fuck,” I mutter and lock the screen on the phone. No more messages tonight. My mystery woman’s words hit a little too close to home. I set the phone down, shower, and get into the uncomfortable bed, which instantly makes me eager for my new mattress to arrive tomorrow.

I pull out my Kindle and try to read, but my mind keeps drifting to the woman who left the messages. Collectively, I’ve heard her speak for only a few minutes. Yet it’s not the time, but the depth of her words. The emotion in her voice. I can’t get her out of my mind and I don’t know her name or what she looks like.

If we ever met, I’d be fucked.