Aidan
Present Day...
“Did you see her face when the fat Elvis came out to walk her down the aisle?” Brayden laughs. “That was totally priceless, man. Priceless.”
I smile and chuckle. “She looked like she was going to pass out,” I say. “It was classic, B.”
Flying in the same Elvis impersonator who married them in Vegas to surprise Holly is quintessential Brayden. Of the four Anderson boys – Liam, Brayden, our youngest brother Colin, and myself – Brayden’s always had the most outgoing personality. He’s the most whimsical and gregarious. He’s probably the only one of us who'd pull a stunt like that at his own wedding, of all places. But, that's just who he is.
Brayden values creating lasting memories more than material things. He cherishes his memories and experiences more than anything else in the world. Brayden always tries to portray himself as gruff and unaffected, but he's actually more sentimental than the rest of us combined – even if he won't admit it. I’m pretty sure he got that from Mom.
I love my brother, but as he speaks, and I hear the happiness coloring his voice, I can't help but feel those old, familiar pangs of jealousy and grief – my constant companions over the last few years.
I'd once thought I would create lasting memories to cherish with Madeline. Maybe nothing as outlandish as a fat Elvis impersonator at our wedding, but plenty of other lasting, loving memories. Things we'd laugh about or feel a warm nostalgia for when we talked about them when we're old and gray.
Of course, I'd also foolishly believed that we were going to have all the time in the world together. Naively thought we'd spend decades enjoying life and growing old together.
Shows how full of shit I am. Or, used to be, anyway. I know better now. Life comes at you without any mercy or compassion. And, I learned that you had best not go through life with any hope or expectations, because in the end, you'll only be disappointed. Life doesn’t give a shit about your plans.
“I was really glad you could be there, little brother,” Brayden says. “It meant the world to me. And to Holly. It's so seldom we can all get together at the same place at the same time. So, thanks again, Aidan. Thanks for coming.”
“I wouldn't have missed it for the world, B,” I say. “You know that.”
“Well, I still appreciate it, man,” he replies. “I know it was tough for you, and I get it. I really do. I would have understood if you decided to pass. But, I'm really glad you came down off your mountain. I mean, other than Christmas, it's not often we get all four of the Anderson boys into one room at the same time.”
“True enough,” I say and chuckle. “Though, it's probably best we're not all in the same place in the same time all that often. I don't know if the space-time continuum could handle it.”
Brayden laughs, shaking his head onscreen, then takes a sip of his amber-colored drink, and sets it back down on his desk. It is true though. We don't get together all that often. Holidays and special occasions are pretty much it. We're all so busy with our lives, the business, and everything else, that it's just not feasible. Other than Brayden's wedding, we haven't gotten together since last Christmas, when we all gathered at Colin's place.
It's just the way life has worked out for us. It's my one regret about how our father divided up the empire. I know he wanted to make sure we didn't fight over the company or destroy our family over it – our father was always a “family first” type of guy. But, by sectioning it out the way he did, he scattered us to the four corners, giving us our own slices of the empire to rule over – which keeps us more than a little busy, and from coming together as often as we'd like.
And now that Liam and Brayden are married – and in Brayden's case, starting to raise a family – it makes it almost impossible for all of us to get together for a casual weekend or something.
Of course, the fact that I've been hiding out on my mountain for the last two and a half years, almost three now, hasn't made things any easier. Other than going to my brother's wedding – because there was no way in hell I was going to miss it – I'm not ready to make a full-blown re-emergence into the world yet. I don't think I've reached that point in my healing.
Honestly, I don't know if I am healing. Each and every day is filled with pain. With memories. With that overwhelming, crippling feeling of loss. I sometimes get mad at Madeline for leaving me behind. Upset at the detectives who have yet to make a single arrest in connection to the case. Furious at whoever took her from me – and completely impotent to do anything about it.
Most of all, though, my rage is directed inward. More than anything, I'm furious and disgusted with myself for not being there to protect her. For not being able to save her.
“You'll have to send me the video,” I say. “I'd love to see the whole thing again. Knowing you, I'm sure there are some Easter eggs hidden in the ceremony I didn't catch the first time around.”
“You know it,” he says and smirks. “I may have added in a few small touches. A few inside jokes I'm surprised none of you picked up on. Bunch of slackers, all of you.”
That's not surprising at all. Brayden is a tough nut to crack, but once you do, an entirely different side of him opens up. He comes off as cold and aloof but loves to pull pranks and is always good for a laugh. Knowing he put some secret visual gags into his ceremony for us is a very Brayden thing to do.
About thirty seconds of silence passes as we stare at one another on our respective computer screens, and I can see his mind turning. Can see that he wants to say something but is holding himself back. Just by looking at the pensive expression on his face, I already know what he wants to ask me. It's the same question he's asked me every time we've spoken for the last three years now.
“I'm doing okay, Brayden,” I say, preempting his question.
“Sorry,” he says. “I know better than that.”
I know he means well. Everybody means well when they ask how I'm doing, or if I'm okay. Honestly, I hate answering the question. Though well-meaning, it's a stupid question. I found my fiancée brutally murdered – I'd say I'm pretty fucking far from okay. In fact, I think it's fair to say I might never be okay again.
Worse than the well-meaning but trite questions are the looks of pity and sympathy I receive from everyone – well, those who chose to remain in my life, anyway. I can't count the number of people who quietly ostracized me after Maddy's death, like some sort of social leper. Friends and family shunned me, terrified that any contact with me would somehow result in their loved one suffering the same grisly fate. Like a murdered partner is some communicable disease or something.
But hey, if nothing else, it's weeded out the people who weren't really my friends to begin with, so at least I have that going for me.
If I'm honest, I know I’m also responsible for losing some of those friendships. After Maddy's murder, I shuttered Fleury House and left Savannah. I couldn't bear to be there anymore. Couldn't handle the lingering traces of her perfume in the air. Or seeing her clothes hanging in the closet because I didn't have the heart to donate them. To see a chair, and know that it was her favorite place to sit and read a book in. To make a meal for one person.
To escape the memories, and the ghosts that haunted me, I bought a small, isolated estate up here in the Blue Ridge Mountains of South Carolina and bunkered down. I've been here ever since.
I'd originally wanted to move to someplace like Timbuktu, or maybe even the moon, but those weren't viable options. Unfortunately. No, I needed to remain relatively close to my headquarters in Savannah.
A few talented employees handle the day-to-day affairs for me, and they do a great job. But, I still need to be around for the major deals, and available to sign off on various projects. As much as I'd love to run away, I have obligations and responsibilities that need attending to, no matter what.
“Yeah?” he asks. “How's life in the Fortress of Solitude up on Lonely Mountain?”
I chuckle. Brayden knows how much pity irritates me, and he does his best to avoid it. Which means he usually relies on sarcasm and humor – and, honestly, I much prefer that over pity. Sarcasm I can deal with. I'm a connoisseur of it myself. Not to mention the fact that Brayden wouldn't be true to himself if he didn't give me shit. It's been our way – the way of the Anderson brothers – since we were young. It's how we deal with tragedies and uncomfortable situations – heavy doses of sarcasm and snark.
“It's about everything I need it to be right now, brother,” I say.
And truthfully, it is. I moved to this spot in the mountains because it's remote. It's private. Isolated. I can be truly alone. And that’s what I want. For the most part, I can't stand to be around people right now. At least, not anyone who knew me as Maddy's fiancée. It’s too painful. Going to Brayden's wedding was a big step forward – but I immediately took two steps back. That one event showed me that I wasn't ready for a bigger dose of society.
“Yeah, I know,” he says. “But, too much isolation isn't good for you, man. You need social interaction.”
“Not there yet, B,” I say.
“It's been –”
“Almost three years,” I say. “I'm well aware of how long it's been.”
“I just worry about you, man.”
I let out a long breath and lean back in my chair as my brother’s eyes bore into me. Although the four of us are all close, I've always felt the strongest connection with Brayden. He seems to understand me in a way other people don't – not even our other two brothers. He seems to instinctively know just when to push me and when to back off.
“I know you do,” I say. “But there's nothing to worry about. Honestly. I'm doing okay.”
“Yeah, okay. Because moving into some lonely old mansion, high up in the mountains, where you live all alone, seeing no one, talking to no one –screams that there’s nothing to worry about. In fact, it’s perfectly healthy and normal,” he says, a teasing grin on his face. “I think the last person who lived like that was the Unabomber.”
“Please,” I scoff. “My place is much nicer than that shack he was living in.”
Brayden laughs and nods. “Touché,” he says. “But, the point still remains. You're living up there all by yourself. When was the last time you talked to another human being for more than thirty seconds?”
It's a question I have to really think about. Almost everything I need is delivered, so it's not like I'm running to the grocery store a few times a week or anything. Instead of going out, I choose to prepare my own meals. I don’t have an on-call staff to tend to me or my house, either. I have a service come in bi-weekly, but that's about it – fifteen-second conversations with delivery drivers and housekeepers. There are times, I will admit, that it does feel a bit lonely up here.
Although I don't necessarily crave human interaction, I do sometimes like to go out and sit in public places where people gather. I don’t go out of my way to talk to anyone, but being able to sit there amongst the crowd, listen to the murmur of their conversations, and watch them interact with each other, makes me feel less alone – like I’m still part of society.
Maybe, people watching is kind of creepy, but it helps me retain my sanity – knowing there are other people in the world and witnessing their mundane comings and goings. Not often, but sometimes, I'll leave the estate and venture down into the town of Ashton Mill. It's a sleepy, small town, but it's got some nice restaurants and other places. It's a nice place. Quaint. Cozy. I think back, and realize, with a bit of shock, that it's been a couple of weeks since I've gone down there.
The days tend to blend together now, and truthfully, time has almost no meaning for me. One day is just about the same as every other day. I get up, do some work, read a bit, go on long, extended hikes... Basically, I'm just doing my best to pass the time. I feel like a ghost wandering through the world of the living, leaving no imprint of my presence behind.
“I dunno,” I say. “I guess it's been a while.”
“That's what I thought,” Brayden says. “Dude, I know it's hard –”
“No disrespect intended, B, but there is no possible way you know how hard it is,” I say. “No possible way. You've never found your soon-to-be wife cut into pieces, laying in a pool of her own blood before.”
He lets out a shaky breath and reclines in his seat. I hadn't intended to put so much heat behind my words, and I know I made him feel bad. That wasn't my intent. I run a hand through my hair and clear my throat.
“Listen, man, I didn't mean to –”
Onscreen, Brayden shakes his head. “It's okay,” he says. “I’m just worried about you, Aidan. You don't go out. You don't see anybody. You're locked up in that place tight – and locked up in your own head even tighter. It can’t be healthy. You’re right. I don’t understand what you've had to endure. I can’t even imagine walking in and finding Holly like that. And the fact that you're suffering alone is what has me worried the most. I'm worried you’ll never be able to escape this.”
“I'll find my way out, B,” I say. “Don't worry.”
“I can’t help it.”
A faint smile touches my lips. “I'm still not ready to go back to Savannah.”
Brayden shakes his head. “You don’t have to,” he says. “I'm not saying you need to go back there right now. Your territory operates just fine with you working remotely. In fact, last I heard, you were exceeding projections – and are beating the shit out of the rest of us for the year. I know if I don't step it up, I'll be hosting Christmas instead of Colin this year.”
I grin, a wry chuckle escaping me. I'd like to take credit for it, but I can't. My team is outstanding. They've taken ideas I've thrown out here and there and have made them more successful than I could have ever imagined. Not to mention the fact, they've had outright brilliant ideas of their own. Thankfully, it all runs smoother than clockwork.
“All I'm saying,” Brayden continues, “is that maybe you need to get out of the house. Coming to my wedding was a big deal, man. I get that. But, you still need to do more. Go, grab some dinner a few nights a week. Go get a drink. Watch a game. Interact with people. Talk to somebody. You might be surprised at what human contact can do for you. How much it can help speed up the healing process.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“No maybe about it,” he pushes. “Definitely.”
“I'll think about it.”
“Nah. The time for thinking is over, man,” Brayden says, his tone growing a little more commanding. “Now, it's time to listen to your older brother.”
I chuckle softly. “If only it were that easy, B.”
“I'm not saying it's easy,” he says. “I'm just saying you need to get out. Have a conversation with another person. Get out of your own head for a bit.”
I know he's right. A little voice in the back of my mind tells me I should do what he's saying. But, there's another voice – one that's louder and more insistent – that tells me I deserve to be alone. It tells me that solitude and loneliness are what I deserve for failing to protect the woman I loved. That I don't get another chance at love or happiness. That what I deserve is to live on this mountain alone – forever. And a part of me believes that voice.
Going to Brayden and Holly’s wedding, and actually interacting with people, wasn’t all bad. It was pretty nice, actually. But, at the same time, it was also incredibly overwhelming. Near the end of the evening, I was ready to get out of there and run somewhere far, far away from the boisterous crowd. By the end of the night, I just wanted to be alone again.
Like I said, that made it pretty clear to me that I'm not ready to make a full-fledged re-entrance into society.
“This isn't negotiable, Aidan,” Brayden presses. “This is an order from your big brother. Heed my word, or I swear, I'll come down there and beat your ass. You know I can. Doesn't matter that you know all that Kung-Fu shit now.”
I can't stop the burst of laughter that erupts from my throat. Brayden is grinning at me, having accomplished his goal. Well, one of his goals.
“It's called Krav Maga, you cretin,” I say. “It's a self-defense technique designed for the Israeli Defense –”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Brayden says. “Whatever. I can still kick your ass. Or I'll hire someone who can.”
The smile on my face is wider and more genuine than in months. Brayden's always been good at getting me to laugh. He's a lot like Maddy in that way. She had an uncanny ability, no matter how shitty something was, to make me laugh and feel better about it all.
Honestly, it feels good to laugh. I feel like it's been ages since I've been able to. Since I've had reason to.
“Here's your homework assignment,” he says. “You are to go down into that little podunk town you call home and socialize a bit. Get a beer, watch a game, and most importantly, talk to someone. Got it?”
“Sure,” I say. “On it.”
“I'm not fucking around,” he says. “I'm going to ask you, one week from now, whether you've completed your homework. If you haven't, I'm taking the company jet and flying out there. And when I get there, I'm going to beat your ass first, then take you out among real people. If you can't do it, I'll make a friend for you. Are we clear?”
I flash him a small smile. “Crystal.”
His face grows serious as he stares at me, and I can tell he means what he’s saying. He really will fly out here and drag me out, kicking and screaming, if he has to.
“I'll go,” I say.
“Give me your word.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you're like a pit bull with a bone?”
“All the time,” Brayden laughs. “Now, promise me.”
Giving your word doesn't amount to much for most people. Experience has taught me that much. But, something our father taught us from a young age, is that our word matters. Our word is everything. When we give somebody our word, we better follow through. Dad taught us that if we break that trust, our reputation will be tarnished. And without a sterling reputation, we won’t get far.
That philosophy is one reason ADE is one of the biggest, most successful real estate development firms in the country. When we make a promise, people know, without a moment's hesitation or doubt, that we will follow through.
Suffice it to say, in the Anderson clan, giving your word means everything.
“Come on, Aidan,” Brayden pushes. “Give me your word.”
“Yeah, fine. Whatever,” I say. “I give you my word.”
“Excellent,” he says. “Then, I'll check in with you next week to make sure you’ve done your homework.”
I give him the finger and laugh. I'm grateful that I have brothers who care about me as much as they do. I know not everyone is this lucky. But there's no handbook on how to deal with something like this. There's no timetable saying, you will be back to your old self by such-and-such date. I won't pretend I'm fine when I'm not. I won't perform for anybody. And I'm not the kind of person who masks their feelings well.
Which is why, as much as I appreciate how much they care about me, I sometimes wish everyone would leave me alone and let me sort through this shit in my way – on my terms.
But then, they wouldn't be my brothers if they did that.
“Okay, go see your wife,” I say. “I've had enough of your therapy for one day.”
“I'll send you my bill.”
“Yeah, you do that.”
Brayden gives me a long, pointed look. “I love you, bro,” he says. “And you’re gonna get through this.”
I nod. “I know,” I say. “I know. I love you too.”
I disconnect the call and lean back in my chair, feeling wrung out and emotionally spent. I love Brayden, but sometimes, I feel like I have to be “on” for him. I never feel like I need to pretend that I'm okay – he knows, understands, and accepts that I'm not. But, I sometimes feel like I have to somehow prove to my brothers that I'm not giving into a bout of crippling depression – even though it feels like I'm stuck in the middle of one.
I get up and walk over to the wet bar set against the right wall of my office. The clicking of nails against the hardwood floor and the sound of panting breaks the silence as Oliver slips in behind me. I look back and smile at my dog. Well, technically, Maddy's dog, but – yeah.
He's a gray and black merle, with a white chest, two white paws, big, floppy ears, and the most soulful brown eyes I've ever seen in an animal. He looks back at me with that goofy, sweet doggy-smile of his, and gives me a whole-body wag, rushing over to lean his body against mine.
For being two and a half, he's a big boy, and when he leans on you, you definitely feel all hundred and thirty pounds of him. I reach down and scratch behind his ears.
“How ya doin', buddy?” I ask, and he leans against me harder, his tail wagging furiously.
Maddy grew up around Danes and was crazy about the breed. I'd put a down payment with a good, reputable breeder, and had intended to surprise her with one. I thought she could use a furry companion around Fleury House for when I was away or working late.
A couple of weeks after she was killed, the breeder called to tell me Oliver would be ready to come home in the next month. I'd thought about having them find him another home, but it passed quickly. Having Oliver in my life fills a small part of the void in my heart. The loneliness isn't quite so piercing with him around.
But, having that big, goofy dog around, also makes me feel closer to Maddy, in a way. It was her love for the breed that inspired me to get him in the first place. Knowing that fills a part of me with happiness. Oliver really is a great dog, and I am eternally thankful that I made the decision to bring him home. He's a good companion. I feel lucky to have him.
I grab a treat from the jar I keep next to the decanter of my favorite whiskey and hand it over to him. He takes it from my hands more or less, gently – it's something we're still working on – and contentedly crunches away on it. I pour myself a glass and wander over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that make up the back wall of my office. The night descending outside makes it impossible to see much but darkness and shadow.
During the day, the view is breathtaking. Green trees, mountain peaks, and valleys as far as the eye can see. It's beautiful up here. Peaceful. Serene. Oliver and I spend a lot of time out amongst the trees, breathing in the fresh air, and enjoying the tranquility of it all. Honestly, I think losing myself in nature eases my mind far more than social situations ever could. At least, it does for now.
As the darkness becomes total and complete beyond the window, the light from the hallway filters into my office, casting a shadowy glow on the photo of Maddy hanging on the adjacent wall.
I stare over at Maddy and feel that all-too-familiar pain pierce my heart. The large, framed portrait is from the engagement photos we had done half a year before she was killed. In it, her green eyes sparkle with life and excitement at what she – we – thought the future held for us. I hold her gaze as long as I can bear it. Even though I know she's not really here with me, it still brings me a small sliver of comfort.
Damn. Maybe I’m more sentimental than I let myself believe.
As I pull myself away and return to reality, tears well in my eyes and my heart feels like it's breaking all over again. I've been through this a thousand times already, but the agony still flares up, fresh and bright, all over again.
Oliver lets out a soft whine and looks at me with his gentle, loving eyes. He opens his mouth, giving me that trademark doggy-grin of his, and presses his body against my legs. I kneel down and scratch him behind both ears. He licks the few tears rolling down my cheek and leans against me, as if he somehow sensed I needed the comfort right now.
I press my forehead to his and scratch his flank, which makes him kick his leg in appreciation. I look to the doorway and let out a long, pained breath. Part of me wants to put the portrait away. Thinking that if I let it go, and stop obsessing over her image, then maybe, I'll finally be able to move on with my life.
But another part of me can't bear the thought of moving on. Of accepting life without her. It's like I’m caught with one foot in two separate worlds – the dead and the living. And until I pick one, I can’t move forward.
But, having failed Madeline as miserably as I did, do I really deserve to move forward with my life?
* * *
“So, when do we break ground on the Worthington project?” I ask.
Marcus looks down at the calendar on his desk and nods. “Two weeks from today.”
I'm videoconferencing with Marcus Sheets, the Executive Vice President in my absence. He's young but has a brilliant mind, and an unparalleled work ethic. He's sharp and can always point out whatever angles and nuances I might miss.
I'd hired him straight out of Clemson over five years back, and he's exceeded my every hope and expectation. And now, with my semi-leave of absence from the company, he's had to handle even more than before. I wouldn't have promoted him if I didn't think he could do it, though. I knew he was capable. His rapid promotion did result in some friction with other employees who had been with me longer and felt like they were more entitled to the job, but Marcus handled it in stride.
They should know by now that I promote based on merit and performance, not seniority. Marcus earned it. I'm fortunate to have someone of his caliber stepping in for me while I'm away.
“That's good,” I say. “And the projected time to complete the project?”
“We estimate around nine months,” he says.
“So, a year?”
Marcus grins. “Yeah, probably.”
I nod. “Optimism is good,” I say. “But, you always want to err on the side of caution. You have to be prepared for unexpected bumps in the road that will inevitably come up. Especially when you're giving projections to our client. It always makes us look better to come in ahead of schedule than to blow a deadline.”
“Right,” Marcus says, looking slightly abashed. “Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about,” I explain. “Just trying to keep us on the same page. Anything else that needs my attention?”
Marcus shuffles through a few papers on his desk. “Hmm... no, I think that's it for now,” he says. “I'll be emailing you some documents that need to be signed, but other than that, I think we’re good here.”
I nod again. “Thank you, Marcus,” I say. “You've taken on a lot of responsibility since I’ve left, and you're doing a terrific job. I can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate you.”
“Thank you, sir,” he says. “I appreciate the faith you've put in me.”
“It's faith that's well placed.”
“You take care of yourself, Aidan,” he says.
“I'll do that,” I say. “Thanks again.”
I end the call and put my computer to sleep. Now that my work for the day is done, I have nothing to do. The clicking of nails in the hallway draws my attention, and I lean forward to see Oliver stick his head through the doorway, looking at me expectantly.
“Okay, buddy,” I say. “Let’s go out for a bit.”
With Oliver on my heels, I walk into the kitchen, refill my insulated water bottle, and lead him through the mudroom and out into the backyard. I own about ten acres surrounding my estate, but there is a high, thick wall around the house and outbuildings. It's a gorgeous place and was obviously built for someone like me, who wanted privacy and solitude.
This area is dotted with properties just like mine. It's a place for the discerning recluse. I can't even tell you where my nearest neighbor is, though – and that’s the way I want it.
I punch in the code on the back gate and it opens wide, letting Oliver romp ahead of me. He moves among the trees, sniffing away happily. Oliver never strays too far, always staying within my line of sight.
Removing the lid from the bottle, I take a drink and watch as Oliver darts from bush to bush, captivated by the smells and tracks of animals that had passed by. As he does his thing, I start thinking back to my conversation with Brayden a few days ago. More specifically, about his “homework” assignment for me.
And as I think about it, I can't lie that a small part of me is concerned that at least two weeks had passed without any real human interaction at all – and I never even noticed. Not until my brother pointed it out to me, at least.
I feel myself withdrawing and closing in on myself more and more each day. I've felt it ever since Maddy died. But, I've always thought it was part of the mourning process – closing yourself off and sorting through the emotional shit before anything else. Though, it's not like I have any real basis of comparison.
Still, the fact that I went so long without interacting with another human being – and didn’t even notice – is a little concerning. I can see why Brayden is pushing me so hard to get out of the house. He’s not wrong. As much as it irritates me to admit.
I walk with Oliver for another hour before heading back to the house. After feeding him, I jump in the shower. As I'm toweling off, my stomach rumbles, and I realize I can’t remember how long it’s been since I've eaten. Clearly, caring for myself isn't one of my top priorities these days. I look over to find Oliver hovering in the doorway of the bathroom, looking at me.
“I guess I should go out and grab something to eat, huh?”
Oliver lets out a soft chuff, which I take to mean he agrees – assuming, of course, that he can go with me.
“Can't take you with me though, buddy,” I say. “Not this time.”
When I do make the occasional trip down the mountain, I'll sometimes bring Oliver with me. He enjoys the car ride and walking around the small town. Some people give us weird looks and an unnecessarily wide berth when we walk down the street – a reaction I've always found strange and off-putting.
Ashton Mill is a small, insular town. The kind where everybody knows everybody – and their business. Unfortunate for outsiders – like me – we aren't greeted with open arms, but unwarranted suspicion.
But, whatever. They can stare at me all they want. I don’t care.
As if sensing that he's not going on this trip with me, Oliver lets out a soft grunt of disapproval before turning around and heading out of the bathroom. He really is one of the smartest, most expressive dogs I've ever known. I hear him stop and grab a squeaky toy from his basket as his nails click-clack down the hallway. He's probably headed for his favorite spot – the couch. At first, I tried to stop him from climbing on the furniture, but after about a week of arguing with him – and having him sneak onto it when I wasn't paying attention – I gave in. Oliver has run of the house, and I'm only pretending to be in charge around here.
I get dressed and head out to the living room where Oliver looks up at me expectantly as he reclines on the sofa. Grabbing the remote, I flip on the Animal Planet channel for him. Although I like to joke that he's a TV-watching couch potato, it's probably the background noise the TV provides that puts him at ease when I'm gone. Before I figured out that trick, his separation anxiety led to several chewed up couch cushions and chair legs.
“There you go, buddy,” I say. “I won't be out too late, don't worry.”
He lets out a small sigh, and I give him a scratch behind the ears. On my way out, I check his water and food, just to make sure he can eat and drink while I'm gone. Satisfied he's not going to starve or die of thirst, I go out through the door that leads to the garage, locking it behind me.
Climbing into my SUV, I start the engine and raise the garage door. The afternoon is waning, and the sky is painted in dusky hues as I pull through the gates and make my way down the winding mountain road.
* * *
After finishing one of the best steaks I've ever had at the local steakhouse, I’m absolutely stuffed. If there's one thing I can say for Ashton Mill, it's that they have some surprisingly good food. The atmosphere in the restaurant, on the other hand, left a lot to be desired. There were a dozen too many stolen glances in my direction and whispered conversations for my liking.
After taking the ribeye I ordered for Oliver, I leave the restaurant and stroll down Parkland Avenue – the main artery of this one-horse town. The main drag is lined with Mom-and-Pop shops – something I’ve always found charming. It has a more organic, hometown feel than the big city. It's something I know Maddy would have enjoyed. The citizens on the other hand – yeah, not so much.
I take a long breath of the cool night air, savoring it. I must admit, getting out of the house and being around people – as awkward as it is, since I'm not really with anyone – is making me feel better. Even though I'm by myself, being out in public, surrounded by people, makes me feel not so alone – despite the numerous side-eyed, suspicious, and judgmental glances.
Not quite ready to go home yet, I walk down to the local sports bar, The Hail Mary. When I come into town, I'll usually stop by for a beer or two. It’s the only place I've had any sort of actual human interaction since I came to Ashton Mill. Nothing earth-shaking or deeply profound, but enough to sustain me, I guess.
I walk in and take my usual spot at a table near the back. The bar is dimly lit, and the dark paint scheme on the walls makes it seem even smaller than it is. On the walls are pictures of various athletes – none of whom, I'm guessing, have ever stepped through the doors – as well as a ton of sports memorabilia. With no big games on tonight, the place is only half-filled, most of the TVs tuned to various baseball games, the others to SportsCenter, where highlights from other games are looping.
“Well, hey stranger,” Katie says as she walks up to my table. “It's been a while. What, a couple of weeks?”
I give her a soft smile. “Yeah, I've been – tied up lately.”
“Uh-huh. Sure. Tied up,” she teases, her tone a little flirty. “Well, I'm glad to see you were finally able to pop in for a drink. The usual?”
I shrug. “What can I say, I'm a creature of habit.”
“Hey, if you find something you like, why not stick with it?”
“That's what I think.”
She smiles, and it somehow seems to light up the whole bar. “Be right back.”
As she walks away, I can’t help but notice her tight, perky ass in the tiny black shorts they make waitresses wear here. The black t-shirt with the bar's name and logo stretched across the breasts is also about a size too small, but in my opinion, she looks great.
Katie is younger than me. I’m betting she’s around twenty-four or twenty-five. She's got cool, alabaster skin, dark hair that falls to the middle of her back, and rich chestnut-brown eyes. She has full hips, perky breasts, and legs that look a lot longer than her five-foot-five frame – the total girl-next-door vibe.
Until you look into her eyes, anyway.
If you look deep enough, you can see that Katie’s been through something. Maybe she had to grow up too fast. Those eyes look a lot older than she is.
Katie is also very intelligent and knowledgeable about a surprisingly wide variety of things. It bleeds out in our conversations now and then, but she hides her wit beneath the flirty barmaid exterior. Which is too bad. But, judging by some of the barflies I see in here though, I'm guessing that most of the men in Ashton Mill don't find intelligence as sexy or appealing as I do.
But, she's always very sweet and kind to me – she's an outsider in Ashton Mill too, so she also relates to the odd looks and gossip. She said she came to town just over a year ago and is still trying to fit in. She's always quick with a laugh and a joke, and always eager to strike up a conversation. But then again, I also know she has to put on that persona as someone that relies on tips. I always make sure to tip her generously. Katie works a demanding, thankless job. She deserves it.
As she comes back to my table with an ice-cold Newcastle, she's smiling at me.
“Here you go,” she says, setting the bottle down in front of me.
“Thank you,” I say and take a sip of my ale. “Best stuff ever.”
The first time I came into the bar, they didn't have Newcastle. The bartender had never heard of it. It's my favorite beer, so I was disappointed, but it wasn't the end of the world. Katie, however, took it upon herself to make sure they had it the next time I came in – and every time since then. It's something that was unnecessary but appreciated, nonetheless.
Katie stands there, smiling at me. We usually talk a little bit – mostly about inconsequential things. I've noticed that she doesn't spend as much time with other customers as with me, but I chalk it up to the other patrons not having anything interesting to say. Most of them are either completely absorbed in whatever game is on, deep in their drink, or not sharp enough to carry on a meaningful conversation with Katie.
I'd imagine that for someone like Katie, the culture and intellectual wasteland that is Ashton Mill – charming though the town may be – must be killing her. She looks around at the mostly empty bar and drops down into the seat across from me.
“Isn't your boss going to be upset with you sitting down on the job?” I ask.
She smirks. “Marv isn't here tonight,” she explains. “Just me and Jake. And he's not going to care. It's not like it's super busy right now.”
I nod and take another sip of my beer. Her gaze is locked on mine, and a small smile tugs at the corners of her plump lips. I imagine a thousand unasked questions about me are firing through her mind. I know by now that even though Katie is inquisitive, she won’t stick her nose where it doesn't belong.
“Where are you from?” I ask. “Originally.”
“What makes you think I'm not from here?”
“You don't have the accent,” I say. “You sound like you're from somewhere in the Northeast. Maybe?”
She smiles at me again, and I feel a familiar stirring – one I haven't had in some time – as I look at her. Shame ripples through me as I try to stave off feelings of disloyalty over my attraction to this beautiful woman. I feel guilty for having these feelings for someone other than Madeline.
“You're good,” she says. “Boston, originally. Though, it seems like a lifetime ago.”
“Boston,” I say. “Great town. I’ve had some good times there.”
“I bet you did,” she says.
“How'd you end up here?” I ask.
A dark shadow crosses her face and she frowns momentarily. It's almost like clouds passing over the face of the sun, and casting the world into momentary shadow. Almost immediately, Katie seems to catch herself, and brightens up. The mask she constantly wears, however, slipped for a second, giving me a brief look at the woman beneath, and I saw a whole lot of hurt, heartache, and darkness. There's a story about how she wound up in Ashton Mill – and it’s not necessarily pleasant.
“Long story,” she says, making it clear she doesn't want to talk about it. “What about you? You're not from around here either. What brought you to this humble slice of heaven?”
A rueful chuckle escapes me. “Long story.”
She grins and nods in understanding.
“What were you doing before you came here?” I ask, simply because I don't know what else to say at this point.
Her cheeks flush and she looks away from me. “Would you believe I was studying to be a marine biologist at the University of Georgia?”
“Actually, I would,” I say, taking a long pull from my bottle.
“Really?” she asks, obviously shocked.
“Of course I would,” I say. “You're very smart. I can see it – even though you try to hide it. Why is that? Why pretend?”
Her cheeks are bright with color, her blush like fire against her smooth, pale skin. Her smile is shy. Adorable. And again, I chastise myself for the thoughts running through my mind.
“Yeah, well, most men around here don't like a girl smarter than they are,” she says. “You show the tiniest bit of intelligence, and you’re treated like dirt.”
“They're ignorant yokels,” I say. “There is nothing better or sexier than an intelligent, strong woman.”
She blushes, her face totally scarlet. I'm half-afraid she'll explode if I compliment her again. I can't deny that her reaction is adorable, though. Before I can say another word, a couple of guys burst into the bar, laughing and talking to each other in loud, obnoxious voices. Katie looks over at them and turns back to me, rolling her eyes.
“I should probably go get their order,” she says softly. “I'll bring you another beer in a few.”
“Thank you,” I say.
She gets up and hustles off to attend to other customers. I drain the last of my beer and set the bottle down, struggling to keep my eyes off her. I've been to the Mary plenty of times since moving here, but this is the first time I've seen Katie in this light. Seeing her as a beautiful woman, and a sexual being, overwhelms me with feelings of guilt and shame.
A few minutes later, Katie drops off another bottle before heading back to the newly-arrived table with their drinks. The two men are growing louder and more belligerent by the moment. Turning my eyes up to the screen in front of me, I watch some highlights from a Yankees game. The sound of Katie's raised voice cutting over the bar, though, draws my attention.
The two men are getting handsy with her, and I can tell Katie is upset. She tries to step away from them, but one of them grabs her by the wrist and pulls her to him. I can see genuine fear in her eyes as she tries to pull away from him, but he holds her fast.
I jump out of my seat and walk quickly over to the table. As conflicted as I am about my feelings for Katie, I'm not going to sit idly by and let that kind of shit happen.