Adam

"Well, isn't this a pleasant surprise," Pat yells out before I even reach them. "Didn't think we'd be seeing you again any time soon."

It's all so fucking fake it makes me nauseous. They saw me in the car as soon as we turned onto Main Street, followed us all the way here.

I don't even know what I'll do when I reach them, but I won't hold back. I’m only acknowledging their presence here because I want to keep Taylor away from them.

"You didn't even say bye," Brad adds, imitating my uncle's cocky tone. God, he makes me sick.

Dad's quiet, but it's one of his cold, cutting silences that used to scare the shit out of me, his face set like it's cut from stone. There's an angry dark blue bruise on his temple where I hit him, his right eye swollen nearly shut. The pleasure of seeing him hurt rising in my chest surprises me, but it's not unwelcome. He's a mean bastard, and I'd hit him all over again without a second thought.

"I thought the way I left didn't leave much room for speculation," I say coldly, glaring at Brad. "And that you'd be smart enough to figure that out. My mistake."

Brad's got bruises under both eyes, and a scab running across the bridge of his nose from where I elbowed him. Too bad I didn't break his nose. That might teach him some manners.

"If you're done throwing your hissy fit, Adam, we might talk," Dad says, quiet and menacing as only he can. But there's fear in his eyes, I can see it, smell it on him even.

"About what?" I ask automatically.

"Since you're—" Dad starts.

"Not out here," Pat warns, interrupting him.

But Dad just fixes his dead cold glare on him and continues in a near whisper. "We could use your help for a job. It's a big one, the last one, and then I'm out. And we can finally get those doctors for your Mom afterwards."

"You want me to help you with what?" I'm literally not sure I heard him right. Fuck no, I'm not getting involved with his "jobs". He knows this.

"Stop the drama, you know what he's saying," Brad says.

I ignore him, still glaring at my dad. "I'm a decorated war hero. A Major with the US Marine Corps. You thought I'd get involved with your petty criminal schemes? You dare even ask? Maybe you're the one brain damaged from that blow I gave you."

Dad's cheeks are purple now, his blue eyes so dark they look black. One glance at that face would have me running away back in the day, when he used to pick on me for every little thing. I can't believe I, for a split second, thought they'd followed me here to talk, apologize even, tell me I can come back home, if I wanted to. People don't change. Never. No matter what. I'm getting nauseous just standing here, and it hasn't even come to blows yet.

"You got kicked out of the Marines, I think you're forgetting," Dad says. "And judging by that girly bike and the tight clothes you like to wear, I'd say you were running out of money fast. I'm giving you a chance to make some real money here."

"Go ahead, call me a faggot, see what happens," I hiss. "But I'm warning you, you're getting more than a bump on the head for it this time. And the same goes for you ever laying a hand on Mom again. And I'll know. I'll make it my business to know."

It's the same warning I gave him before I stormed out the other day. But it bears repeating. And I mean every word. If he pushes me just a little more, I'll fucking kill him right here.

His eyes lose some of the edge, becoming less stony, almost confused. That in itself is a miracle. Before, once he got this riled up nothing stopped him. That's why I always ran. But I'm not running anymore. He's the one backing down this time.

"I told you this was a waste of time," Dad says to my uncle, who's staring at me like he's seeing me for the first time. "We'll get someone else."

He climbs back in the truck, mumbling about having two daughters, not one. I think he even mutters my childhood nickname ‘Eve’ but I turn and walk away anyway. This part of my life is over. For good this time. But I'll still come visit Mom regularly, make sure she's alright.

"Wait up, Adam!" Bradley yells and I hear him running towards me. I don't turn, and I don't slow down.

He finally catches up and stops me by blocking my path. "I hear what you're saying, I really do. And so does Dad, he's just being a hard ass about it."

"Get out of my way," I tell him, but he doesn't budge.

"Look, you're like the only kid he's proud of," Brad says, but all I hear is his whiny, mean 13-year-old self I remember before enlisting.

"That means exactly jack shit to me," I say. "Now move. Then go do something with your life. Or you'll end up exactly like him."

I don't add that he already looks exactly like him, it goes without saying.

"But I have, I've been fighting, you know, MMA," he tells me, blushing a little. "And I thought…maybe you could show me some stuff sometime. What you did the other day, when Dad lost it, wow, so cool."

I'm not sure this is really happening. We're in the middle of an empty parking lot, I just told them all to go to Hell, and here's my little brother asking me for fighting lessons like none of that ever happened.

"Yeah, well, I'm not about to go teaching you how to kill. You're messed up enough as it is," I say and sidestep him. "Good luck with your fights."

He doesn't follow me this time, and when I reach the entrance to the supermarket I see them pulling out onto the road in the reflection. Taylor's car is still parked out front, so at least she hasn't left yet. But she might if she sees me right now. I'm so pale my skin's green, and my eyes are all feverish like I just got back from some nasty mission. She doesn’t need to see me like this. No one does.

* * *

Once inside, I locate her quickly enough, but then stay out of sight, following her around, until the need to be next to her, talk to her, grows too dire, becomes a compulsion.

"You OK?" she asks as I join her in the deli line.

No, I'm not, and I know she sees it, but I smile and nod anyway.

"So, what'd you get?" I ask, peering into the cart, so I don't have to meet her eyes.

"Too much," she giggles. "I always do that."

"What will it be?" the woman behind the counter asks and we both look up.

"Adam?" she asks right after. Shit. Davy's older sister is staring at me, her hands frozen in the motion of putting away the cheese she just cut for the customer in front of us. Great, this day just keeps getting better and better. I knew I shouldn’t have come into town, knew it the second Taylor suggested it. I used to trust my instincts completely, and I should've today.

"Veronica," I say instead, fighting the urge to pretend not to know her. "How you been?"

I'm very aware of Taylor's eyes on me, and I know she'll want answers later. Answers I really don't want to give.

"Good, good," Veronica says. "I heard you were back in town. I hoped I'd run into you."

The fact that she's not cursing me out, or yelling at me suddenly registers. The last time I saw her was at Davy's funeral, and she threw such a fit over me being there, I had to leave.

"Yeah, who told you? Julie?" I ask, since I have to say something. As far as I know no one from my family has any contact with hers anymore.

"Theo, actually. We email from time to time." The metallic taste rising in my mouth almost makes me retch. I hate my older brother Theo even worse than I hate my dad. I don't want him too know where I am, I actually want to pretend he doesn't exist.

I don't even dare look at Taylor, but I feel a heat rolling off her, so hot it sears.

"Well, it's been nice catching up," I say. "But there's a line."

"Right," Veronica says. "I wanted to apologize to you. I know it wasn't your fault. I don't blame you for Davy anymore. I never should've. I know he was your best friend."

Damn, this day. And I thought nothing could surprise me anymore. No one in this town liked me very much before I left, but apologies were not something I counted on when I came back. Maybe that they'd at least forgotten, though I wasn't holding my breath on that one either. I’m used to being despised around here, however unfair it is.

"It was a long time ago, Veronica. And I get it, you were upset."

"Can we get a move on?" a man down the line yells.

“Still, I want you to know that I’m sorry,” Veronica says and finally sets the cheese down. “Now, what can I get you?"

Taylor orders something in a shaky voice, but I'm not really listening. The walls seem to be closing in, I need air, I need to be back at the cabin with just her. That makes sense. This doesn't.

"Who was that woman?" Taylor finally asks as we’re pulling out of the parking lot.

"That was…my brother's ex-girlfriend," I tell her, since that much is safe. I used to have the biggest crush on Veronica, but I never told anyone that. Theo would kill me if he so much as caught me thinking about her.

"She was apologizing to you for something," Taylor says and it's a question, no matter how she phrased it.

"Over some shit a long time ago. Not important anymore." Though it was a huge deal then and still is. And it's all coming back now, making my vision blurry, nausea washing over me in waves, each one worse than the last. I'm so fucking weak. But I don't want to think about my best friend dying. Not now when we're finally going back to the cabin, and everything will be alright again.

"And those men?" she keeps insisting.

"Those were my dad, my uncle and my younger brother," I say tersely. "No one you should worry about."

"Are they the reason you didn't want to come here today?"

"Yeah," I tell her. "It's nothing to do with you."

The nausea is making my voice all harsh and clipped. All these questions aren't helping.

"How am I supposed to get to know you if you don't tell me anything," she says suddenly.

"Can't we just enjoy what we have?" I snap. "Why this need to get to know me?"

I'm sorry the second the words are hanging between us. I want her to know me. I really do. But she'll split the second she does. She's staring straight ahead at the road now, gripping the steering wheel with both hands, her bottom lip shaking.

"Look, they have nothing to do with my life. No one in this town does," I add more calmly. "And I don't like talking about any of it, if that's OK with you? I don't ask you to tell me about your past either."

My tone is still too confrontational, the things I'm saying too harsh. But I always had trouble coming down from getting angry or upset.

"You could," she says in a very small voice, barely audible over the radio.

"You can tell me stuff if you want, but I won't pry. But my family…I'd rather not talk about them."

"OK," she says, in a voice even smaller than before. And I hate myself for all of this. I want her smiling, and laughing, blushing, her hands in my hair as she lets me hold her, her lips on mine. I don't want her sad because of me.

But anything more I say right now will just come out wrong, angry, harsh, because I need time to calm down. And she's not saying anything else either.