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I could go home, face the demons I ran away from, or I could go into town and prolong the inevitable for a few more hours.
It’s not even a choice, not really.
My foot presses against the gas pedal and the car starts accelerating once again, that knot in my throat loosening as soon as I pass the familiar gravel road.
It doesn’t take long for the first signs of life to start appearing. Houses lining up by the side of the road, lamps illuminating the street, signs, some old and rusty, some new and shiny, pointing you this way and that.
I’m driving almost on autopilot. You’d think I’ve forgotten, after all it’s been years since I was last here, but it’s like no time has passed at all.
Before I know it, I’m driving down the main street. Slowing down my car, I let myself take in the little town where I grew up. New shops have found a way to appear between the ones that have been here probably since the conception of the town. What looks like a new boutique opened across the street from the local diner, just in between Mrs. Smith’s bakery and Mrs. Timothy’s flower shop. Scoop, the best damn ice cream shop in the county, is still sitting on the corner of Main and Dawson Road, and just across it is the Mr. Jamison’s hardware store.
I continue driving down the street, watching a few people walk by on the street, their probing gaze watching me pass by. Tomorrow morning, I know I’ll be the talk of the town as soon as the shops open. I spot a few new places, something that looks a lot like a gym, and even a bookstore and a coffee shop with a big sign hanging over the door,Reading Nook.
So many little changes have happened since I was last here, and I wasn’t really sure what to make of it.
I’m about to take a turn to go to my high school when my eyes fall on the rusty sign for the local bar, The Hut. The last time I was here they wouldn’t even let me inside. But by the number of cars parked in front of it, the place is packed.
Not really strange considering it’s after nine PM on a Friday night.
Just then the door opens, and a few people get out, chatting and laughing.
I debate stopping for a moment. Somebody will most likely recognize me, but it’s either that or make a turn and drive home to face my parents.
The bar it is, then.
Taking a turn on the parking lot, I drive around until I find an open space and park my SUV, killing the engine. Letting out a sigh, I lean back in my seat, slowly unclenching my fingers from around the steering wheel before letting them drop in my lap.
My body feels stiff from the hours of driving but I push the door open and get out of the car, and walk toward the bar, mentally bracing myself for the inevitable.
A few unfamiliar people standing outside give me curious looks as I walk past them and push the door open. I’m assaulted by noises immediately. The loud country music mixes with the sound of laughter and people talking.
I scan the packed space as I make my way through the crowd. It’s mostly ranch hands and town’s people. I recognize a few of the faces, nodding in acknowledgment as I make my way to the bar on the other side of the room.
Mick, the owner, is standing behind the bar, wiping a glass. He raises his brow at me, as the recognition flashes on his face, “What can I get’cha, Fernandez?”
Sliding into the barstool, I look over the selection of bottles behind him. “Jack on rocks, make it double.”
He nods silently as he makes my drink, placing it in front of me.
Just when I think I might even get through this day without talking to anybody, somebody drawls out slowly, “Well, I’ll be damned. If it ain’t Miguel Fernandez!”
The hairs at the back of my neck prickle as I turn around slowly and come face to face with Lucas Johnson. He was a year older than me, and we played together on the football team.
“Hey, man.” I move closer, taking his offered hand. “What’s up?”
“Same old, same old. I didn’t know you were back home.”
Back home.
The words make my stomach roll uncomfortably. Sayingback homesounded so final, so… permanent. I was most definitely not back home.
“I’m just visiting for a while.”
Lucas nods. “You’re here for Emmett’s wedding, right? That one’s been the talk of the town.”
It didn’t surprise me at all. Santiago’s have always been a well loved family in our little community, and Emmett was the perfect golden boy. A great student, football player and son all in one. He helped bring the championship home, went to college on a football scholarship where he kicked ass and was so good he could play professionally, but instead, he decided to come back home and help on his family’s ranch and marry his high school sweetheart instead.
He’s everything that you’ve never been, neverwillbe.
