Chapter 1 – Silas
The mountains around Lovesbury are quiet this time of year, thick with snow, wrapped in the kind of silence that makes a man think too much. I've been here three months, and I still can't decide if the quiet is healing me or slowly driving me insane.
I'm elbow-deep in the engine of a '98 Ford pickup when Jonah walks into Tom's Garage wearing that expression, the one that says he's about to make my life complicated.
"No," I say before he can speak.
"You don't even know what I'm going to say."
"Don't need to. That look on your face? Nothing good ever follows it."
He grins, completely unrepentant, and leans against the workbench. "Remember how I said I'd help you integrate into Lovesbury? Meet people, get involved in the community?"
I straighten, wiping my hands on a rag. My left leg aches, the steel rod the surgeons put in protests the cold, but I ignore it. "Vaguely. Why?"
"Well, I may have... facilitated that process."
The way he says it makes my jaw tighten. "Jonah. What did you do?"
"Signed you up for the bachelor auction. You're number three on the roster. Evelyn's already got your photo on the promotional stuff." He says it fast, like ripping off a bandage.
For a moment, I just stare at him. "You did what?"
"Before you threaten to kill me… which, given your special ops background, is a legitimate concern, just hear me out." He holds up both hands. "The veteran's center needs money. The roof's literally caving in. You've been volunteering there every week since you got here, so I know you care. This auction's going to raise enough to fix it."
He's not wrong about that. The Lovesbury Veterans' Center has become the one place in this town where I feel like I belong. John, Red, Eddie, they don't ask questions about my discharge or why I limp or what happened overseas. They just deal cards, talk shit, and let me exist without expectation. But that doesn't mean I want to be put on display like a prize bull.
"There are other ways to raise money," I say, my voice dangerously quiet.
"Sure. But Evelyn's calendar went viral, man. Women are coming from all over to see if Lovesbury's really full of 'rugged mountain men.'" He makes air quotes, still grinning. "The auction's going to be huge. And whether you like it or not, you fit the bill."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Come on, Silas. You're six-three, still hit the weights like you're deploying next week, and you've got that whole 'I could kill you with a spoon but I'm choosing not to' vibe. Women eat that up."
I glare at him. Jonah Mercer has been my best friend since we were kids, met at some godforsaken summer camp, bonded over being outsiders, stayed close through everything. He's one of maybe three people in the world who can talk to me like this and live to tell about it.
Doesn't mean I have to like it.
"I'm not doing it," I say flatly.
"You're already signed up. I may have forged your signature on the consent form."
"You forged—" I take a breath. Count to five. Violence is not the answer, even when your best friend is an idiot. "Jonah."
"Look, you've been here three months and the only people you talk to are me, Mabel when she corners you at the diner, and the guys at the center. You're becoming a hermit."
"I like being a hermit."
"Bullshit. You like hiding." His voice softens. "Man, I know the last year's been hell. The injury, leaving the service, losing the only identity you've had since you were eighteen... I get it. But standing still isn't the same as healing."
The words hit harder than I want to admit. I turn away, focusing on the engine in front of me like it holds all the answers.
Twenty-one. That's how long I served. Enlisted at eighteen, made captain by thirty-two, led teams through more operations than I can count. It was my whole life, the only thing I knew how to be.
Then one mission went sideways. Shrapnel, surgery, months of recovery. Medical discharge. Suddenly I wasn't Captain Northwood anymore. I was just... broken.
"The auction's tomorrow," Jonah continues. "One weekend with whoever bids on you. All proceeds go to the center. And yeah, it's uncomfortable and yeah, you'll probably hate every second of it. But maybe, and I know this is crazy, maybe you'll actually meet someone. Have a conversation that doesn't involve carburetor specs or PTSD triggers. Remember you're more than what the Army made you."
