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“Want to meet up tonight?”
I contemplate the idea for a moment. It would be good to catch up with my best friend. But then there was the question ofthat other thing. The one that we’ve been avoiding for the last three years.
You’ll not go there. You’ll not think about her. Not just yet.
The headlights illuminate the familiar sign for my family’s ranch, and that vice grip around my throat tightens even more. No, I wasn’t ready to go back home and see my parents for the first time in four years, but I also wasn’t ready to have a one-on-one with my best friend.
Selfish?
Maybe, but at this moment, I didn’t have it in me to care.
“Nah,” I shake my head, although I know he can’t see me. “I’m tired from the drive. Rain check?”
There is a beat of silence as he weighs my words. For a second, I think he’ll insist, but in the end, he lets out a sigh. “Fine. Breakfast tomorrow? I have to take care of some things on the ranch, but I can meet you at the diner around ten.”
I look at the clock on the console. Thirteen hours. He was giving me thirteen hours. It’s not much, but I guess I can’t push this off much longer. Not now that I was back in Bluebonnet.
“I’ll meet you there in case they don’t run me out of the town the moment I get out of the truck.”
Emmett’s laughter booms from the other side of the line. “You can only wish you’d get off the hook that easy. Better chances are they surround you and torture you. There is no fun in letting you walk away.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Don’t do something stupid, Fernandez. I’m not in the mood to look for a new best man just a couple of weeks before the wedding.”
“I’m not making any promises.” I slow down as I near the crossroad, debating my options. “I’ve gotta go,” I mutter absentmindedly. “See you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.”
I hang up, my gaze fixed on the sign. I could make a turn and go home to face my parents. The original plan was for me to come here, do the wedding, and get the fuck out before anybody even realized I’d stepped foot in Bluebonnet. I don’t know who I was trying to fool because the chances of me coming here unnoticed were equal to the possibility of the Giants winning the Superbowl. But that illusion was shattered when Mom found out that I agreed to be Emmett’s best man. She called me immediately and insisted I promise her I’d get my ass home for a visit, something she’s been trying to get me to do ever since I left. Unsuccessfully until now, that is.
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 streets, 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’d forgotten. After all, it’s been years since I was last here, but it’s like no time has passed.
Before I know it, I’m driving down the main street. Slowing, 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 town’s conception. 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 from it is Mr. Jamison’s hardware store.
I continue driving down the main road, watching a few people walk by on the street, their probing gaze not missing anything as I 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.
It’s not really strange, considering it’s after nine p.m. 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 reverse and drive home to face my parents.
The bar it is, then.
Making a U-turn in 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 into my lap.
