I DESERVED the hollow snap of Joanna’s cottage door as she closed it behind me. The weight of my shoulders and the burn in my jaw were nothing compared to the scooped-out feeling that resided in my chest.
I was furious. Furious that I had pined for this woman for so long. Furious that she was more than I ever expected, more than I deserved. Furious that she got under my skin and made me imagine the possibility of sharing a life with her.
Fifty feet of space between her cottage and mine wasn’t nearly enough. I slammed my front door so hard a crack splintered across the small window.
Fucking great.
I pressed the backs of my battered hands against my eyelids, wincing at the sharp sting of my swollen eyebrow. I tried to forget the pain that had crossed Joanna’s face as I shut her out. The pain that I had caused by being dishonorable and a fucking coward.
When I spat my words at her, she had believed them so readily. But someday she would realize that I had done her a favor. I had given her the chance at a life she deserved. Some new asshole would swoop in and worship her. He would be kind and steady. This man would give her a home with sandy-haired babies that grew up on the rivers of Montana. He wouldn’t have to battle any demons or justify transgressions done in the name of duty. This man would love her, body and soul, and I would hate him with every fiber of my being.
RELIEF FLOODED MY VEINS WHEN, after three days, Joanna hadn’t moved out of the neighboring cottage. It was a unique kind of hell—knowing she was so close, wondering if she was okay, but being unable to be certain. Joanna’s ability to avoid me was shockingly impressive.
Without any witnesses willing to come forward, Deck told me I had gotten lucky and escaped any charges but to keep my nose clean and lay low for a while. Walking down Main Street toward the office, I was given a few knowing nods, and despite their good intentions, our community accepting my outrage without consequence left me feeling corrupt.
Shame washed over me every time a hand gripped mine and eagerly pumped me for information. Our small town took care of our own, and Joanna had been accepted into the fold. In their eyes, I was protecting her from someone who violated her, but I knew the truth. I had lost control. Facing their kind words was unbearable so I buried myself in work on the farm. I took to fixing the sagging porch steps and battened up broken windows that needed replacement.
Because I was a fucking coward, I let Finn shoulder the business and avoided everyone altogether. On the farm, I punished my back by splitting wood for an hour. I stacked the cords tightly, close enough to the back entrance to the Big House so that old man Bailey would have plenty of firewood and he wouldn’t have to carry it too far. I would have brought it right into his house, but he was stubborn as fuck and would have just argued with me about it. I could appreciate his need to be self-sufficient so I left it on the back porch where he could carry it in himself.
“You about done with that?” The back door creaked open, and the old man’s craggy face peered through the screen.
“Yes, sir.” I clunked another piece on the pile with a thwack.
“Wasn’t talking about the wood, son.” He leaned into the door as it swung open.
I looked at him. The old man was a legend around here. He was a veteran too, had served his country with honor and gusto. On the shop corners in town, other men recalled his bravery and stories of active combat. Despite his reputation for being a hothead, they all respected him as an elder in our community.
He still walked tall, with only a slight rounding of his shoulders as he edged toward a chair on the porch. The years had been kind to him, and despite knees that ached and losing some of his hearing from working as a tank mechanic in the Marines, he was sharp as a tack. He could also hold his own if he needed to. “Old man strong,” Finn had called it once. I figured it was years of staying active, working around the farm, and not letting himself get too soft that worked in his favor.
I continued my assault on the logs, but Mr. Bailey pinned me with a stare. “Jesus, kid. Take a break before you kill yourself.” He reached into his pocket and brought a small flask to his lips. His arm stretched out to me, offering it, so I took a hard pull. Bourbon. Bourbon at eleven A.M.
I felt the sharp burn of the liquor, but it soon gave way to emptiness. It was the emptiness of missing Joanna, I realized , and it would eat into my bones and stay with me forever.
I hated myself for what I had done to her. I snuck a look toward her cottage, satisfied with the neatly stacked pile of firewood I had left by the entrance. She might be royally pissed off at me, but at least I knew she wouldn’t freeze to death.
“That’s what I thought.” Mr. Bailey smirked when he caught me looking toward Cottage Two.
“Hmmph.”
“I walked that road you’re on, son, and it’s a hard one.” He looked out over the water that lined the property, shook his head once, and took another deep pull from the flask.
“When Lottie died,” he continued, “I screwed up. I dug myself an angry little foxhole and refused to come up for air.”
Reeling from his words, I placed the head of the splitting maul at my boots. “You were married?”
“Oh, yeah. And she sure was something. She was sitting on a park bench waiting for her friend when I rode past her on my old Honda 125 street bike. Turned that thing right around and asked her if she wanted a ride.” His smile, which almost never came out, reached his crinkled eyes. He nodded slightly as he recalled the memory.
“And she said yes, I take it?” I was curious to know more about the man who took me in but never shared much about himself.
“Fuck no.” He chuckled. “She was new in town, only fifteen, and I was seventeen and already had a reputation. Took me five months to convince
her father I was worthy of a date. We went for a ride, I bought her an ice cream cone, and took her home. Though I did leave out the part where I tried to get my bike to break down on the way home.” He winked at me and laughed again.
I was stunned into silence. Old man Bailey was known for being a hardass and frightened his share of small children when he ventured into town.
“Lottie and I were inseparable after that. She stayed by my side when I enlisted. Hell, I married her at sixteen just so she could go to California with me. Her dad was pissed about that, but they knew she’d run away anyway if they told her no.” He laughed at the memory of his late wife.
Mr. Bailey turned back to me and patted a hand on his knee. “Well, it ain’t my business, kid, but I’ve seen you two giggling around here. She’s good for you, she brings a lightness to you that you need.”
“Yeah, well, we aren’t together. Not anymore.” The shame that wound through me forced my eyes to my boots.
“I heard what you did for her. Those two got what they deserved.”
“It’s nothing.” My hands twitched. I needed to talk about something— anything—else.
“Well, if you’re thinking about her but can’t figure out how to talk about her, it’s not nothing.”
I dragged a hand along the short hairs on the back of my head and blew out a breath. “Yeah, well. It’s done.”
Mr. Bailey pushed himself up from the chair, his shoulders squared to me. His cool eyes met mine. “Hmph,” he grumbled. “I never knew you were such a quitter.”
Without waiting for a response, he turned from me and walked back into the house, letting the screen door slam in his wake.
“WELL, hey there, sweet boy! To what do I owe the pleasure?” I should have figured my mother would have spotted my truck turning up her driveway.
“I’m a grown man, Mom,” I grumbled, grabbing the small bouquet of flowers from the front seat before closing the door.
“Oh, hush.” She rushed down the steps of her porch and swatted my arm with the dish towel that hung over her shoulder. On her tiptoes, she still only came midway up my chest. I leaned down to hug her small frame, and she kissed my cheek.
Everyone in town might have called her Birdie, but my mother’s personality filled any space she entered. Born and raised in a small East Texas town, Birdie lived up to her reputation as a genteel southern woman, even though time had faded her accent and she’d settled into the life of a Western woman.
I unceremoniously presented her with the wilting flowers. “For you.” “And that,” she smiled, “is why you’ll always be my sweet boy. Now
come inside but don’t you dare track mud onto my clean floors.” “Yes, ma’am.” I couldn’t help but shake my head at her back.
Mom still lived in our childhood home where she spent her days gardening, baking, and volunteering at the Chikalu Women’s Club. She had a line on every bit of gossip in this town, so I knew I’d have to face her sooner or later over what went down in Colin’s bar.
She poured homemade lemonade into two slim glasses, taking a sip from one and setting the other in front of me. “So…you’ve been the talk of the town.”
I guess we’re getting right fucking to it then.
I cleared my throat. “Seems like it.”
With a lifted brow—that woman could warm your heart with a hug or freeze hell with a glare—she said, “And what happened with that sweet girl, Jo?”
Sitting in her kitchen made me feel sixteen again. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“Well, I didn’t ask if you wanted to talk about it, did I?”
I puffed out a breath and finished the lemonade in one long drink. I stared down at my hands, rubbing the web between my thumb and forefinger.
I could see how easily Joanna would fit into my life if I had let her. In my mother’s kitchen, I could see her humming along with the radio, Mom teaching her how to make real fried chicken, laughing with Finn over a few beers on the back deck. I had been so close to having it all, but it didn’t change the fact that I could never be the man she deserved.
“Lincoln,” my mother’s voice went quiet, “you carry the weight of the world around on those big shoulders of yours. I think sometimes you forget that you’re allowed to put the weight down.” Her dark eyes were soft, and her small hand rested on my shoulder.
My throat felt thick, and I could only manage a nod. I had come here because I felt lost. Apparently, being a successful adult male didn’t make you need your mom any less. She moved to put the flowers in water, and I couldn’t help but think of Joanna and how she’d transformed her dingy, unused cottage into something inviting and charming. Little jars of wildflowers were all over the tables and counters. They’d found their way into my cottage too, and I still didn’t have the balls to throw them away.
I was angry at myself for missing her. I had made the decision to let her go. I should have felt better that she was no longer tied to a man who would only drag her down, but all I felt was emptiness.
Mom let the topic rest for now, and for the rest of the afternoon, I helped her in the garden, building three new raised beds and hauling dirt and compost to fill them. Physical labor helped to warm and stretch my muscles, but it did nothing to ease the ache lodged in my chest.
On the drive home, I told myself I wouldn’t slow down as I passed the office, just to see if she was there. I definitely didn’t take a second lap around the block when I saw her truck parked at the café in town.
