Page 6 of Secrets That Bind Us

Dean

Present Day

Summer days in the cruiser weren't bad– until I had to pull someone over and stand in the sweltering sun.

So, I did what I usually do– making sure the newly graduated, rambunctious teenagers of Adelaide High, a town with a population of just over two thousand and counting, knew Sheriff Carson was on patrol.

I patrolled .

I patrolled through the narrow, two-lane streets and intersections.

I patrolled through the tiny town with historical red-brick buildings and City Hall.

I patrolled through the large town square, past the small wooden kiosk where small weddings were sometimes held or where the high school's string quartet played during events and festivals.

The changes new tax dollars were bringing in both made me happy but also made me nostalgic. The differences were becoming noticeable. All the upgrades are too modern and a little out of place in this old farming town, sticking out like a sore thumb.

So many years. So many years willingly trapped here.

I kept on patrolling, watching as large construction trucks stuck to the forty-mile-per-hour speed limit signs.

I usually didn't pull anyone over unless they went above sixty around these parts– if I'm honest. Since that's the speed limit that almost killed me.

One wrong turn, or too sharp at that speed.

.. I knew how well those sharp turns could change a life. Two lives, to be exact.

Something tells me to follow the truck carrying materials I know haven't been approved by City Hall for new construction.

I follow past the Baptist church, down the long strips of two-lane asphalt, past the old graveyard, down the hill, and past..

. My heartbeat rises; my insides twist as I pass by the Abernathy and Hicks properties– the cows and horses grazing in the pastures behind the white picket fences.

Once a year, some of Abernathy's cows find a way to get loose and hold up traffic, and now the large truck carrying materials signals its turn to the left. ..

I almost come to a screeching halt. If there weren't a car behind me, I would have stopped completely in the middle of the road.

A familiar head of teal hair pops out of the front door followed by – I pull over – panic in my chest rising, as tidal wave after tidal wave of memories flood me, like an unrelenting tsunami.

Memories of stolen kisses beneath a weeping willow, a Ferris Wheel on the Fourth of July, running through fields of sunflowers.

Of brown eyes and light brown hair tipped gold at the ends from our days in the sun.

Of full pink lips that tasted like honey and strawberries, small hands in mine.

A candlelit loft in a barn during a rainstorm.

Whispers under bright full moons. Counting stars and fireflies with a quiet, nervous girl that stole my heart and kept it in those small hands of hers.

Of a girl who disappeared, and broken promises.

Leaving me behind with nothing but a shattered heart– and the scars to prove it.

Sure, my tattoos hide them now , but for a long time, they didn’t. For a long time I stared at the scars– and out of a hospital window– at the airplanes scissoring across the skies, hating them because I knew one of them took her away, leaving me behind. And now she’s back after thirteen years.

But it had been my fault, hadn’t it?

If I had just listened to her-

I jolt out of my thoughts when there's a tapping at my window. I look over to see Jason Hicks– the fire chief and my best friend of almost ten years.

"You alright there, Sheriff?"

I nod, rubbing my hand over my chest– like I'd even be able to feel it through my bulletproof vest. "Just fine, Chief."

"Well," brown eyes squint at me, as though he's trying to decipher what's going on in my mind– not because of the sun beaming down at us.

He chews on a toothpick, moving it to the other side of his mouth with his tongue.

"Looks like you've seen a ghost." He says, head jerking towards the old Huntington place.

My eyes bounce between his, focusing on just him– not letting them trail back to her. A vision. Even from afar. "Do they even exist?"

He smirks. "At the Huntington place? You know they do."

Jason Hicks is eight years older than I am– full of such old-town wisdom that sometimes it feels like I'm talking to a mage. Right now, though, his words don't quell me. They feel heavy, foreboding.

I choose to ignore ‘em, regretting ever making him my best friend. I actually don’t really know when it happened, exactly. All I know is, it just did. "What are you doing here?" I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"I was on my way to town, saw you pull over, and thought I'd make sure you were alright. Can't be easy seein’... that ." He gestures again with his head.

"What is she even doing here? Marie died years ago."

He shrugs his heavy shoulders. For an older man, he sure keeps himself right– not falling into the old, I've-made-it-so-I-don't-have-to-work-for-it thing a lot of these old timers do.

He's kicked my ass a time or two at the gym across town, lifting and squatting heavier.

"Don't know. By the looks of those trucks, I'm sure to be called out to make sure everything is up-to-date and passes code.

Though, with all the work you put into it when Mama Marie was alive. .. I'm sure it will be."

"You think she's staying?"

"If I'm honest? That house is too haunted. Too many memories, I'm sure."

I nod; slightly unnerved Jason knows things he shouldn't. Then again, I've opened my mouth one too many times during dinner when a bottle of Jose was passed between the two of us. I don't even like tequila.

"Might be the right time to break things off with... anyone that may think you're in a relationship with them."

I shake my head. "It's been so long, Chief. What if-"

"If there's ever anything you could say about me, it’s that I've never been wrong– even when I've been dumb." He interrupts, brown eyes looking over the cruiser, no longer on me. He does that sometimes – stares off like he can see something in the distance.

I hate when he does that.

"Saw Zoey looking at that old corner shop by the boutique the other day. Something ‘bout a cute bookstore slash café." He informs me, still staring off at the breeze that blows through the high wheat.

That triggers another memory.

"Maybe if I don't write anything, I could own a bookstore in town. I'd fill it with nothing but new authors. I'd help them make it big. One book at a time…"

His eyes finally snap to mine. "You just know everything, don't you?" I grumble.

"Might do you right if you pay attention to the townspeople, Sheriff ."

"Or maybe the Fire Chief is just a nosy fucker and can't keep his ears to himself." I retort with an eye roll.

He laughs at this. "You may be right, but it didn't hurt, did it? Feels good to be prepared." He taps the car door twice. "See you at the barbecue? Maybe I'll invite an old friend." He emphasizes, motioning his head toward the faded home.

I shake mine quickly. "Don't. I'm not ready." I should be. I’ve been preparing for this moment for the last thirteen years. Then again, I’ve been a complete wuss-puss. I’ve driven all the way out to Dallas and different parts of Texas just to lose my nerve at the last second and stay in my car.

"We're hardly ever really ready for fate, though, are we?"

"This ain't fate. It's a cruel joke. Or both."

He shrugs again– that fucking smirk on his face. "Coulda fooled me." He walks away at that, jumping into his dad's old blue Silverado that pumps out black smoke.

"Get that muffler fixed or I'm gonna fine you!" I call out, to which he just cackles. We both know I won’t fine him. Damn thing’s been puffing out black smoke since the 1980s.

Fucker.

"You're an annoying sumbitch, you know that?!"

He cackles again, "Nothing the Misses ain't ever said to my face!" He drives off, sticking his arm out the window and throwing me the middle finger.

I throw it back with a sigh– irritated but also feeling so much lighter, even though that lingering raw tightness is still in my chest. I drive away, letting those memories eat me alive.