Page 4

He leans against the doorframe—a movement I’m sure is to keep him upright—and hands my keychain back to me. “Are you sure you got to leave, Blondie?”

I pause and focus on the little beads, sliding them back and forth. I’m glad he’s questioning me. Someone needs to. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” My words slur together but the point is made.

He nods his head in understanding before stepping up to me. His hand grips the back of my head, fingers getting stuck in the tangles of my hair and he pulls me in close, planting a soft kiss to the side of my temple. I close my eyes to stop any tears that might get the wrong idea that it’s okay to fall. I made this decision. An impulsive one, yes, but it’s done, and I’m not changing my mind now.

“Don’t be a stranger,” he whispers against my skin.

When he pulls away, his eyes are somehow more red than before. I bite down on my lip and we share a forced smile before he heads back down the stairs. I close the door and fall pitifully onto my couch.

Knox

The first raysof morning sunlight cut through the shutters in my living room, casting strips of hazy light across the hard oak floors of my house. A house that I haven’t been home to in years. The sounds of birds chirping and calling to one another fill the home. I pause in the space between the living room and kitchen, listening for a moment, and when I spend the time really focusing, I can hone in on the heavy willow leaves swaying against the breeze.

Day six of listening to the sounds of Stoney Meadows countryside coincidentally falls on day six of avoiding listening to my own thoughts.

“Knock knock. Rise and shine.” My dad’s flat voice sounds from just outside my front door, pulling me back to reality.

“Put some clothes on, and let’s have a talk,” are his only words when I open the door. I snag my jumper from the couch, gritting my teeth at both the pain and the humility that comes from how my body now moves with this injury. I robotically slip my casted arm from the sling, awkwardly working the jumper onto my body and pulling the sling backover my head. Every time I’m forced to do the simplest of tasks, I’m reminded of where I’m at.

And where I’ll never be again.

I meet my dad out on my wrap-around porch, where he sits on one of the wooden chairs, drinking his coffee and looking up the hill towards the main house. I saw him for the first time in over a year the day I got home, but I haven’t seen him since. Nothing has changed, though. He looks the same to me this morning as he did before I left eighteen years ago. A few more fine lines sprinkle his face, and his hair is more grey, but other than that, he’s exactly the same.

“So, what’s up?”

“It’s time to get back to work.”

I pause, halfway down onto my chair, and my eyebrows bunch together when I whip my head towards him. “With a broken arm and shoulder?”

“I’m not asking you to bail the hay,” he grumbles. “Patrick’s wife had a baby. He’ll be taking the week off to be home with her.”

The last time I was home, Patrick was working as a tour guide with the sole purpose of meeting and wooing women. “Okay.” I rub the back of my neck. “And what exactly does Patrick do around here again?”

“The night shift.”Since when the fuck do we have a night shift?I guess add it to the list of things that have changed around here. “Don’t look so sour son, all you have to do is man the front desk from ten p.m. to six a.m. for the next week.”

“I’m not sour, I’m confused.”

“Well, you look constipated.” I sigh, dropping my head back, and stare up at the porch roof. “Besides, I think it will give you a chance to figure out what it is you actually want to do.”

“Meaning?” I ask, with a clenched jaw.

“Meaning you’ve been home for almost two weeks now and you’ve left this house twice.”

“I didn’t realize you were keeping tabs.” His brows raise and alright, I deserve that look. I was never the one with a bad attitude. That was always Ryder’s claim to fame.

“Look, son.” He heaves a sigh as he leans forward, pushing himself from the chair. “You got dealt a shit hand and you’re allowed to be pissed off. But you can’t hole up in this house for the rest of your life. This ‘mad at the world’ act isn’t you.” He holds his coffee in one hand and slides the other into the pocket of his worn jeans. “You’re gonna heal, Knox. But you can’t throw everything away while you’re waiting.”

I love my dad. James Browning is a devoted husband, an incredible worker, and a wonderful dad. But as I stare up at him from my chair, I realize—he doesn’t get it.

I don’t blame him for not understanding. I haven’t talked about any of it. But if this were just about an injury and spending a few weeks healing—thatI could live with. That wouldn’t ruin my life.

I zone out watching the blades of grass sway in the wind while my father takes the steps down my porch. “Liam came by,” he says over his shoulder. “He dropped some supplies off this morning, and had no idea you were back in town.”Piss.He’s got me there, I should have reached out to my best mate by now. “Your mom is over the moon that you’re back, and Knox, you know you’ll always have a place here.”

“Are you not?” I interrupt him. He turns back around to face me and at his raised brow, I clarify. “You said Mom was glad I was back. Are you not?”

His weathered hand scratches his jaw carefully before he responds. “If I thought you were happy to be back, then yeah,I would be. But you need to figure out if you can be happy here first.” He raises his mug and dips his head to me before turning back towards the main house.

I runmy fingers through my overly-grown hair a few times before gripping the bathroom sink and staring at my reflection in the mirror. Unlike my dad, I’m starting to recognize myself less and less. It’s hard to say how he would handle or react in this situation because he’s never been in a position of losing everything. He’s never lost his purpose, the thing that makes him, him.