Earlier That Morning
Coming Home
Drivingthrough town was a surreal experience. Fallen Brook hasn’t changed one damn bit since I left. It’s a town stuck in time that brings back too many memories. Memories of things that once were. Memories of him. Memories of her. Memories of that night that have haunted me every day since I ran away.
Because that’s exactly what I did.
But that’s the thing about trying to run away from your problems. They follow you wherever you go.
Checking my rearview, I make sure the road is clear before pulling over. Tires crunch on gravel as I park the rental car along the side of the road and turn off the engine. Not able to open the car door and get out just yet, I stare out the front windshield at the beautiful, lush scenery, so different from California.
I hated that place. It was never home. It was purgatory.
Reluctantly, I climb out of the car, not bothering to lock it. Thick with the scent of wild honeysuckle vines, the humid morning air instantly clings to me like sandburs, making my skin feel itchy and tight. Rubbing the back of my neck, I tryto stave off the unpleasant feeling of ominous premonition that niggles at me. I must be out of my mind coming here, but it’s something I’ve put off for far too long.
I rough a hand over my clean-shaven jaw, the full beard I’ve been sporting for a while now gone. It’s weird to touch smooth skin again. I feel exposed without the growth of facial hair I’ve been hiding behind.
Ignoring my trepidation, I cross over the small ditch and push through the tangle of brush, hoping like hell that I’m not getting poison ivy all over me. Not really knowing exactly where I’m going but following some invisible force that has been calling to me, my footfalls are silent as I enter the forest that acts as a barrier between the road and the private property just on the other side. My heart hammers painfully when I break through the tree line to a small grassy meadow bathed in the soft glow of the morning sun. Wildflowers sway gently in the warm summer breeze, almost like they’re beckoning me forward.
My damn palms begin to sweat when I see the lone Southern magnolia tree standing like a sentinel in the middle of the wildflowers, its creamy white blossoms stark against the daylight. But it’s the silhouette of the house perched on top of the hill that snares my gaze. Ry and Liz’s house, the physical embodiment of the life they built together—and a stark reminder of everything I lost.
The weight of regret settles like cast iron on my soul. Taking a deep breath, I force my feet to move and erase the final fifty feet of distance between my guilt and Ry’s gravestone. Liz buried him here on their land, wanting him close. Wanting him to always be able to find home…or so Julien had once told me.
A fresh wave of pain, sharp and unrelenting, courses through me when I drop to my knees on the soft grass and press my palms into the earth, needing to feel him. Needing him to feel me.
I’m here now.
I’m so fucking sorry.
Please forgive me.
With shaking fingertips, I graze them across Ry’s name etched into the black granite.
Ryder Randall Cutton
Beloved husband, devoted father, loyal friend.
And the most beautiful soul to ever grace this life.
“Hey, man,” I manage to whisper through the constriction in my throat. “It’s been a while, huh?” I force out a bitter laugh and blink against the sting of tears. “Liz and Jules don’t know I’m here. I guess I’m still an idiot, sneaking around like this. Some things never change.”
Turning my head, I let my gaze roam over the meadow. Memories crash into me like a tidal wave of long-forgotten days of our childhood—running barefoot through the forest behind our houses, daring each other to climb the tallest trees, playing by the creek, and dreaming about a future that never came true, not for me.
“She picked a beautiful place for you,” I tell him, noticing the fresh bouquet of yellow buttercups laid at the base of the gravestone, their green stems tied together with hemp string.
Liz must’ve placed them there last night or this morning. Does she walk down from the house and visit him every day?
“I miss you. So damn much. And I’m sorry. It shouldn’t have taken me this long to tell you that. I should’ve been a better man. A better friend. I should’ve been there for you instead of being such a damn coward.” My voice fractures as hot tears slip down my cheeks. “I was so angry…and jealous. I pushed everyone Iloved away, and by the time I realized what I’d done, it was too late.”
Ryder is gone, and my guilt continues to eat me alive, along with a thousand other should-haves that are too numerous to count. I should have come back sooner. I should have apologized. I should have mended our friendship. I should have done so many things. And now I can’t. I deserve every bit of pain I live with daily.
I touch the sobriety coin hanging from the link chain around my neck. I recently crossed my one-year milestone. I think about the countless years I spent drinking away my pain and all the people I hurt. Liz. Elizabeth Ann. Ry. Julien. My parents. Bethany.
“I fucked up, Ry. But that’s always been my way, hasn’t it? To react first before thinking. I want to make things right. Ineedto make things right before it’s too late.”
Soon after I arrived in San Francisco, I married a woman I didn’t love to mask the heartbreak of losing the one woman I never could get over. Our daughter, Bethany, suffered for my weakness. She grew up in a home where her parents hated one another, and in time, she grew to hate me, too. I’m a father with no daughters. One dead, whom I never got the chance to know, the other alive but who wants nothing to do with me.
Gripping the headstone, I choke on my next words. “I want to come home.”
