“No, and thank fuck for that.” Patrick groaned. “I don’t think my sanity could handle one of those calls this week. People call the police for the weirdest stuff sometimes.”
Boone snorted, twisting his keys in the lock. “So, what happened?”
“You know, parties, alcohol, teenagers,” Patrick’s voice shuddered, “and their parents.”
“Okay? Teenagers like to party. What did you expect when you settled in Florida?” Boone twisted the knob, making sure the door was secure before he pocketed his keys. “And what’s so bad about the parents?”
“Let’s just say that many of them explicitly announced, in front of their spouses and a couple dozen teens, mind you, that they wouldn’t mind getting cuffed by thebig, beefy police officer.”
Boone cackled, dodging a few people on the sidewalk. Myrtlewood Bay was a bit more crowded than he remembered, but fallwasin full swing, and with it came the tourists, eager to experience Myrtlewood Bay’s small-town, coastal charms.
“Don’t you fucking laugh at me. The parents are worse than the teens when it comes to parties gone out of control. Who do you think supplies the booze?” Patrick growled. “You’d think that twenty years in the army would’ve prepared me for Florida. You’d be wrong.”
“I remember you really liked that retirement party our unit threw you,” Boone said, voice full of amusement.
“That was different. Hard work paid off, and all that jazz.” Patrick scoffed, trying to hide a laugh. “Boone, listen to me. Parties areinsanehere in Florida. The parties I had in high school? Nothing compared to these.” Patrick took a deep breath. “Hell, the closest thing I had to a wild party was Sophomore year when Rusty Barnes tried to launch fireworks from his dick and ended up setting the Hortons’ hay shed on fire.”
“Poor country boy,” Boone said, tsking.
A beep sounded on Patrick’s end of the phone, and a door clicked faintly in the background. “Home sweet home.“ He let out a groan. “But compared to the calls I get now? I wouldkillto deal with calls like that. Rusty was a legend, damn it.”
“So, I guess you can’t wait to get here, huh? You’re going to love living in Myrtlewood Bay.” Boone couldn’t stop the smile that played at the corners of his lips. Patrick may act all big and tough, but he was a homegrown, small-town boy at heart. He was also Boone’s best friend, and Boone needed him close.
“Definitely. I swear, they’re delaying my transfer on purpose. I think I pissed off the big guys somehow.” Patrick sighed. “Please tell me Myrtlewood Bay is just as quiet and peaceful as it was when I visited last time.”
Boone let out a chuckle as he surveyed the streets around him. Since his arrival back in town, he’d been up and down the old streets, heading down memory lane. Reverend Wilson still headed the historic church down at the end of Huckleberry Lane. The same two mom-and-pop seafood restaurants sat at opposite sides of the docks. Even Grimes’ old general store still chugged along.
“Talk to me, man. If I get there and everything’s gone to shit, I’m gonna have to move back tomyhometown, and that will really piss me off,” Patrick grumbled under his breath. “Myrtlewood Bay doesn’t have my parents.”
It was just as Patrick had hoped. The town hadn’t changed much in the past four years since Patrick had come home with him for Christmas.
“Come on, peckerhead. Tell me before I blow a gasket,” Patrick growled.
Boone snorted. “Don’t worry. If it weren’t for the occasional new neighbor, you’d think time never touched this place.”
“I knew it.” Patrick laughed. “Tell me, is that ancient barber’s shop over on Glory Avenue still open, too? I could use a good haircut when I get there.”
“I don’t think Ignacio will ever leave that place behind.” Boone ran a hand through his hair, his short, blond locks warm from the bright sunshine overhead. “Hell, when he dies, he’ll probably haunt the place and still offer trims.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Patrick said. “Same with Grimes and his general store. Shit, man, I can still feel that old man’s cane on my shins.”
“You deserved it.” Boone snickered. “You were being a dick.”
“How was I to know that Grimes is a big beer snob. All I said was that I liked dark and bitter beers. He didn’t have to assault me until I agreed with him that pale ale is better. He made me lie, Boone. Master Sergeant in the army and a seventy-year-old man scares the shit out of me. Embarrassing as fuck.”
“Maybe if you had listened to me, you wouldn’t have ended up with purple legs for Christmas.” Boone’s gaze drifted across the faded painted letters decorating the passing shop windows, waving as the owners inside recognized him. “When you get here, should we stop by and talk beer with Grimes, Mr. Sheriff’s Deputy? He can’t beat your ass if you’re the law and order, right?”
“I don’t think that’s how it works.” Patrick chuckled. “I have a feeling Grimes does exactly as he pleases, no matter what. Having the town’s golden boy as a friend might help, though.”
Boone perked his head up as he noticed a familiar couple heading toward him. In a small town, anyone living within sight of your house was a neighbor, and Cory and Briella Cooper had been his down-the-road neighbors for as long as he could remember.
He raised his hand, waving with a huge smile on his face. “Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Cooper. How are you?”
Cory and Briella looked up, but the smiles on their faces disappeared as quickly as they had appeared. Briella’s eyes stayed fixed on Boone’s face while Cory stared at Boone’s leg as he limped toward them.
With brisk nods and hurried well-wishes, they quickly scurried away, disappearing into the crowds on the sidewalk.
Boone stood in silence, staring at the place where they disappeared. Pain curled in his stomach at the now familiar reactions, but he quickly shrugged it off as best he could. He hadn’t thought his scars were so bad until he’d gotten back to town. To him, his face was just a face, and a little limp wasn’t a big deal. To the people who had known him as a kid, he was ruined.
