The debt sat heavy on my shoulders ever since — through college, through building this business, through every success I’d clawed my way toward. While I stayed in this town, determined to rebuild my name from the ground up, Aven left on a full scholarship to journalism school, and from there, who knows? Occasional updates from the hometown grapevine suggested travel, writing gigs, and a life far bigger than this place could offer.
Part of me, a small, petty part I wasn’t proud of, resented Aven, who got to leave. At the same time, I stayed behind, saddled with the weight of proving myself over and over to people who’d already decided who I was based on my mother’s mistakes and my own teenage stupidity. Hell, saving me didn’t earn her the right to escape while I stayed and fought.
Yet, the larger part knew that was bullshit. Aven didn’t owe me or this town shit. She’d earned her escape through hard work and talent, same as I’d earned my success. We took different paths, made different choices, but both of us fought against the box others tried to put us in.
I swiveled in my chair to face the window, looking out at Goodwin Grove, the town that both raised and tried to bury me. Somewhere out there, Aven Compton was living her life, probably never thinking about that day, talking to the sheriff or the troubled boy she’d saved with a single lie.
Meanwhile, I built an entire business on the second chance she gave me, naming it Black Security & Investigations as a nod to taking pride in who I was. As a daily reminder, my word had to be unbreakable; now my reputation was beyond reproach.
The thought sat with me, heavy and persistent, as I turned back to my desk and the stack of background checks that needed my attention. Fifteen years was a long time to carry a debt, but some things could never be fully repaid, no matter how successful you became or how far you ran.
I was halfway through the first Westridge background check, deep in the weeds of financial records and property holdings, when I refocused my attention on the screen at the numbers and dates which required my scrutiny. This executive had three properties in his name, but he lived in a fourth property registered to an LLC. It might be nothing, but it seemed worth flagging. I made a note to have Reed dig deeper.
The intercom buzzed. “Langston, there’s someone here to see you. She doesn’t have an appointment, but she’s … insistent.” Hesitation was unusual for Tamika, who was typically on her shit.
I glanced at my watch. It was 11:30 a.m. I didn’t have a meeting scheduled until two in the afternoon. “Client or solicitor?”
Another pause. “Neither … I think. She says her name is Aven Compton.”
“Shit,” I muttered, already on my feet but frozen in place, while my brain tried to process what Tamika said. Aven Compton? Here? Now? I was in disbelief. It was as if I’d conjured her up with my thoughts.
“Langston? Are you alright? Should I tell her you’re unavailable?” Tamika’s voice came through the intercom again, concern edging out her usual professional detachment.
My mouth opened, but no words came out. Aven Compton was in my lobby after fifteen years. She was the same Aven who saved my ass when no one else would have, who left on a Greyhound bus the week after graduation without looking back.
“Langston?”
“I-I’ll be right out. Give me two minutes.” My voice caught, and I cleared my throat.
The realization that Aven Compton could still shake my composure after all these years unnerved me.
The last time I saw her, she climbed the steps of a Greyhound bus, wearing a purple backpack slung over one shoulder and her hair twisted into the braids she used to wear. June heat pressed down on the bus station like a physical weight, the air thick enough to chew. I’d come to see her off, though she hadn’t asked me to. I showed up with a mixed CD. Who even made those anymore? I had something to say that never made it past my lips.
“Take care of yourself, Lang. Don’t let this town swallow you whole,” she said, pausing at the top step to look back at me. She called me the nickname only she used, like we shared something special, though we’d never been more than friends. Our feelings always danced around the edges of something else.
I nodded, even as something heavy settled in my chest. “You too, Trouble. Don’t forget where you came from.”
A smile flickered across her face, but she seemed sad too. “Some things you can’t forget even if you try.”
Then she disappeared into the interior of the bus that would take her first to journalism school, then to whatever brilliant future she’d carved out for herself far from here.
I knew she’d been back a few times, but our paths never crossed. I never expected to see her again, not really. Hometown heroes rarely returned except for funerals and class reunions, and Aven was destined for bigger things than this place offered. I’d made my peace with that, or thought I had.
Yet here she was, in my lobby, demanding to see me like she had every right to walk back into my life without warning.
I checked my reflection in the mirror on the wall behind my desk, which showed a man in control, wearing a crisp white shirtand a blue tie knotted perfectly, his posture straight as the ruler my third-grade teacher used to rap across my knuckles when I slouched. Still, my eyes gave me away, wide with something between panic and anticipation.
What the hell did she want after all this time? The thought sent a spike of concern through me, followed immediately by wariness. Aven Compton showing up unannounced couldn’t mean anything good, not for my carefully ordered life, not for the walls I’d built around specific memories.
My jaw clenched as I adjusted my tie, an unnecessary gesture, which bought me another moment to gather myself.
The intercom buzzed again. “Langston? She’s asking if you’re actually here or if I’m stalling. What should I tell her?” Tamika’s voice had the tone she used when trying to manage a difficult situation without making it worse.
I could say I was in a meeting or have Tamika reschedule an appointment for later, giving me time to prepare and armor myself against whatever Aven Compton had become in the years since I last saw her. It would be the rational choice, the controlled response consistent with how I ran every other aspect of my life.
“I’ll be right out,” I replied, as I moved toward the door.
My heart quickened, remembering her walk into the principal’s office to talk to the sheriff to save me with a lie she never should’ve told.
