Before I let the fantasy take root, I open my desk drawer and take out a sticky pad and a thick, black marker, writing:
Don’t think with your dick.
You deserve better.
She ain’t worth it.
An hour later, after my last client, I load Gerry into my truck and head home.
As I walk inside my cabin, my phone buzzes to life with a ghost from my past. Rus Silverthorn’s name illuminates my screen, nearly making me drop my phone.
In the span of seconds, I’m taken back to a time I’ve tried hard to forget, to wounds that still feel fresh.
His parents owned a restaurant next to my mother’s tax service business, and she’d often take me there for lunch. We became best friends, so close, that he was a pallbearer at my mother’s funeral.
When I enlisted in the military, he sent me care packages and checked in on my girl from time to time, and when I came back from my enlistment, our friendship picked up right where it left off.
Then, life kicked me in the balls so hard, I fled to the mountains, where my good-for-nothing father was from, taking up residence in the old family cabin.
For months, he tried to call, and I’m ashamed to say I was too broken to pick up. Then, silence.
Which means that what he has to say is important.
I hit accept before I can talk myself out of it, blurting the word “Hello?”.
“Damn, I didn’t think you’d pick up.” Rus chuckles, like he’s just won a bet.
“To be honest, I didn’t want to.” I don’t know why I tell him that. It’s rude and lacks context.
“Well, ya did, so you might as well hear me out.”
“Go on.”
“I need a favor.” He clears his throat. “It’s my baby sis, Greer. She needs a place to crash for a bit, and I was hoping it would be with you.”
After nearly a decade of my ghosting him, I was hoping I could do something to make up for the pain and confusion I left behind. But this is no small favor.
“Why?”
“Because I trust you,” he says, his voice weary. “Despite everything, I know you’re a good man. One of the only good men. One of the few who I know will honor the bro-code and keep your hands off her.”
“I mean, why does she need a place to crash?”
He’s silent for a time, as though weighing what to say. “It’s her situation to tell, if she wants to tell it. She just needs a safe place to land.”
Nothing good could come from Greer Silverthorn staying under my roof. Not one damn thing. My cabin only has one bedroom, and I work all day. Plus, I don’t like company.
But how could I say no to him after all this time? After how hard it must have been to pick up that phone after being ghosted for over half a decade.
This could be my way to make things right.
“When should I?—”
KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK.
“Hold on,” I huff, heading toward the door.
Instead of calling in off-hours emergencies, many of the townsfolk drive up the mountain to my home, and I’ve learned no amount of scolding is likely to change that.
