I’m sitting in the sunshine on the front porch, taking a break and sipping a glass of sweet tea. As my eyes scan the fields, I see the very tip of the barn roof, the only part that can be seen from this angle and this distance. Of course, it reminds me of Dane. It would have anyway, but since meeting with Lauren, I’m even more curious about what he’s doing and what’s happened in his life over the course of the last fifteen years.

Impulsively, I get up and start down the driveway. Celina just began her algebra, so she’ll be busy for a while. Momma is doing whatever it is she does during the day. So right now, it’s just me and the fields and a brain full of questions.

When I step into the wheat, I think back to those early years of my life, how afraid I was that my love for Dane James might be discovered. I never once came down to this barn. I knew better. Seeing Dane and his father out in the fields, or out in town and speaking was one thing. That was called being cordial or polite. But I knew better than to approach the barn where they lived.

The wheat stops suddenly, like a line has been drawn and it knows better than to cross it. A gravel lot extends from that line to the bar, which looms in front of me like a physical representation of all the questions I have.

I pause in front of the entrance and look straight up. The main doors are closed, as is the single large one above it. I wonder if Dane James ever opened that door and looked out at the night, or if our rock was the only place he could really see that there was life beyond this town.

A shiver passes through me. Being here is like being close to Dane James himself. It’s like being at ground zero for a haunting the place where the bones are buried. The bones that keep the spirit tethered to this world.

I shiver again.

I’m getting ready to see a part of Dane I never knew. And after fifteen years of being without him, I wasn’t really prepared for how it would feel to be close to him again.

I tug one of the barn doors. I half-expected it to be locked, but it isn’t, so I step inside. The interior is dark but for the stripes of golden light leaking through the slats in the wood. The floor is hard-packed dirt and the back wall is littered with all kinds of scary looking tools. It appears that this particular barn hasn’t held any big equipment for many years, probably not since the foreman lived above it. He probably just kept the truck in here. That old farm use truck that I remember so well.

I glance to the left, to the staircase that leads to the second story.

I’ve come this far. No sense backing out now. If the new foreman lives here, I’ll apologize, introduce myself, and walk back to the house. No harm, no foul. But if it’s empty… I’ll get to see where Dane James spent his childhood, where he spent all the days and nights that I wasn’t with him.

I mount the stairs and try the doorknob at the top. It’s unlocked, so I swing it open, cautiously peeking my head inside. “Hello?”

No answer, so I walk further in. The inside is surprisingly clean and sturdy, not really what I expected to be above a barn. The floors are old, but hard wood, and the walls are all sheetrocked. I can’t tell how recently that’s been done. Maybe it was like this when Dane lived here. I have no way of knowing. It’s brighter than I expected, too, with several windows along the exterior wall, facing away from our house. I imagine there are a few behind the closed doors to the left as well.

The soaring ceiling has been painted matte black, as have the exposed pipes and duct work that line it. It gives the room more of an industrial feel than an old converted barn feel. The living area is huge, as is the kitchen area to the right. There is still a small sofa facing the big closed upper door, and a small table in the kitchen, but it looks residual, not like evidence that someone lives here. Clearly no one does.

There are three doors to the left, all partially open. I poke my head in the first two. One bedroom, one bathroom, both empty.

I walk slowly toward the third door. I know because of the angle of the barn to the house that this has to be Dane’s old room. I know that I’ll be stepping into the place where he slept each night, where he dreamed and fantasized, where he watched my light across the fields. Where he probably wondered what happened to me, and why I just up and left.

Even after all these years, my heart aches.

I push open the door and I’m surprised to find a desk in this room. The top is covered with papers and folders, and there’s a computer on one corner. While no one lives here, clearly the new foreman uses this as his workspace.

I should probably leave. I doubt whoever is running the operation would want me walking around up here, although if that’s the case he should’ve locked the doors. I’ll leave in just a minute, I tell myself. I just want to be here, in this room, his room, for a few minutes. Just a few.

I walk along the walls, from corner to corner, thinking. I stop at the window, just able to make out the house and imagine how the light from my room would’ve caught Dane’s eye.

Things might’ve been so different if I’d only been more careful. Maybe we’d have been able to escape this town, go off to college and be together. Maybe we’d have been able to make a life with each other, and maybe Celina would’ve come later, when she’d have had two loving parents instead of one struggling one.

I wipe at the tears of regret streaming down my face. That life is lost. And so is the boy who lived here and the girl he watched at night.

I turn to leave and nearly run right into a figure standing behind me. Tall, broad, hard as a brick. I gasp and stumble backward, but not too far. Strong hands grip my upper arms, steadying me to keep me from falling.

In the wake of my gasp, in that strange silence that follows a moment of terror, a voice rumbles. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Everything speeds up, and everything stands still. Time falls away, and years catch up. Past and present collide, and the concussion is earth quaking.

I’d know the voice anywhere, even though it’s a little deeper now, a little older. And I’d know that face anywhere, too, even in the soft light filtering through the dirty, dusty window.

Dane James.

Love of my life.

Father of my child.

The one I walked away from to save.

“It’s been a long time, Brinkley.”

My heart is thundering, my blood roaring. I can’t breathe, but I also haven’t breathed this easy since I left. I feel relief and anxiety, everything and nothing, all at once. I’m in the eye of a storm. I’m in the center of chaos.

“Dane.” I finally manage to speak his name, one single syllable on one shaky breath.

He releases me quickly, sharply, as though he suddenly realized whom he was touching. “What are you doing here?”

He takes a step back and I get a better look at him. He’s aged beautifully, of course. He was too gorgeous not to. His eyes are the same intense swirl of fall colors, his jaw just as strong, his brow just as wide. His hair is shorter now, though, which surprises me for some reason. I never would’ve imagined him wearing it this way. It’s almost business-like. But seeing it makes me realize it was Dane that I saw that morning in the fog.

“Y-you cut your hair.”

Clearly, my rapier wit has come out to play. This guy could always turn my world on its ear. That much hasn’t changed.

“Long time ago.” His response is as short and clipped as his hair, and a distinctly uneasy feeling sweeps through me.

“Wh-what are you doing here?”

“The door was open. It shouldn’t have been.”

“Oh. Sorry about that. I was…I was just looking around. Thinking.”

“Thinking about what?”

“Uh.” I stare blankly, my mind racing. I don’t want to tell him. “Nothing particular. Strolling down memory lane, I suppose.”

I am addled, my mind boggled. I feel so unprepared for this, for him.

He says nothing, just stands there staring at me. Or more like glowering. The look on his face is anything but pleasant or welcoming. “So, you still live around here?”

“Yes.”

“Not here, obviously.” I laugh and it’s a nervous sound that makes my insides jitter even more.

“No. I just work here.”

That catches me off guard, too, and my eyebrows shoot up. “Here? You still…you still work in the fields?”

“I guess you could say that. Only I own them now.”

I can’t hide my surprise over that. My mouth drops open and I stare, dumbfounded, at my old flame. A thousand things go through my mind, not the least of which is a nasty little accusing voice that tells me I could’ve avoided this if I hadn’t assumed he was gone, assumed Alton hired a new foreman before he died, and just asked Momma about the state of things.

But I didn’t.

So here I am.

Flummoxed.

“You…you… Wow. That’s great!”

He shrugs, one big shoulder moving the tiniest bit. I used to love that gesture on him. Now it just seems cold and unconcerned. Just like his eyes. Eyes that were always so warm are now frigid.

“You shouldn’t be up here.”

“Oh, oh. Sorry. The door was unlocked. I didn’t know…Momma didn’t tell me she sold this place.”

“She didn’t.”

I frown. “I don’t…I don’t understand.”

“Maybe you should ask your mother then.”

His tone, the edge to his words, the unhappy look on his face—it paints a compelling picture of what must be going on in his mind. And in his heart.

Like an axe to my soul, it becomes clear to me what I’m sensing, what I’m seeing.

Dane James hates me.

I struggle to swallow the enormous lump forming in my throat, and I blink back tears that spring up before I can stop them. I look away, toward the window that faces the house I grew up in.

“Okay, well, I guess I should get back.”

I start to move around him when he asks, “Why did you come back?”

He couldn’t sound any less pleased that I’m here. In fact, he sounds a little antagonistic. And I’m crushed. Although none of them were the least bit realistic, I’d harbored dreams about Dane James, about what it would be like to see him again, what kind of reunion we’d have, and what might’ve become of him. Seeing him here, now, like this, is like suffering the death of every one of those dreams, as well as my beloved childhood memories.

The boy I loved doesn’t exist.

Not anymore.

And the man I loved, young though he was, doesn’t exist either. This person isn’t the Dane James I knew. He’s someone else.

Someone who hates me.

And with good reason.

I walk to the window. I’m having difficulty controlling the tornado of sadness and regret and hopelessness ripping through my insides. My chin trembles and I press my lips together to still it.

I blink rapidly, praying I can hold everything I’m feeling in until I can get away. Lord God, just let me make it a little longer.

“It’s a long, boring story, and I’m sure you have better things to do than stand here and listen to me drone on about my life.”

A brief pause.

“Actually, I do.” A kick to that axe in my soul, driving it deeper. “Just let yourself out. Close the main door when you leave, please.”

I throw up a hand and utter a chipper, “Will do.”

It seems like forever that he stands behind me, quiet and imposing, before I hear the soft scuff of his shoes as he turns to go. I sag against the window when the fall of his feet disappears down the stairs. I’m gripping the sill when I see Dane walk across the gravel lot and open the door of a big, shiny black truck. For just a moment before he ducks inside, he raises his head. He looks right at me, an odd expression on his face.

He stares at me for the longest time. And I stare right back. It’s almost like we’re both trying to reconcile the people we were with the people we’ve become.

Finally, he folds his long body into the driver’s seat and, seconds later, pulls away. I watch until I can no longer see his vehicle. When it’s out of sight, I crumble to the floor and sob.

The Dane James I knew and loved is gone. And so are all the irrational hopes I had. All the one-days and somedays and what-ifs I’ve nurtured for a decade and a half are gone.

Dead and gone.