He huffs out a quiet laugh. “Guess not.” Neither of us says anything for several seconds. I’d rather not speak to him. We weren’t friends in school, and we won’t be hanging out together now. “Heard you couldn’t hack it in the city.”
My eyes narrow slightly. “Funny.I didn’t realize you were keeping tabs.”
He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Small town. News travels.”
Yeah. It does.
He steps a little closer. Not enough to draw attention. Just enough to make it clear he’s not here to chat. “You should’ve stayed gone.”
I turn to face him fully now. “Town’s not yours, Chad.”
“Never said it was.” His mouth curves upward, but there’s no humor in it. “I said you should’ve stayed gone.”
My jaw tightens. “Don’t know what you think you remember, but–”
“People don’t forget, Thompson.” He cuts me off. Like he’s been waiting to say it since he found out I was back in town.
I hold his gaze. It’s not like I don’t remember our run-in back in high school. I just don’t intend to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging he held any importance in my life. Even though he did. I might not be here if it weren’t for him.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Chad smiles. Slow. Deliberate. “Yeah. You always did like pretending that.”
Silence hangs between us. The pump ticks behind me, numbers climbing.
He leans in just enough that his voice drops. “Keep your nose out of my business this time.”
I don’t move. “Or what?”
His eyes flick up to mine. “Or you’ll find out I haven’t forgotten high school as much as you have.”
A long second passes. Then he steps back like nothing happened. Claps me once on the shoulder. “Good seeing you, man.”
He walks off like we just had a normal conversation. I watch him go until he disappears around the side of the building. The pump clicks off
I haven’t given serious thought about Chad Whitlock in years.
That was a mistake.
Chapter Thirteen
Jake
The Next Day
As I flip on the television, I slump down into the sofa. The station I turn to plays the local pro baseball team’s game, and the familiar voices and sounds relax me. I’ve driven over every street and adjacent country road near Brookhaven, chatting and catching up with everyone who was outside.
At some point, I’m guessing there was a message chain alerting the next neighbor that I was headed their way because there were more people milling around outside than were present for the last homecoming parade I attended.
A few more potholes dot the roadways, with patched areas that already need redone. The town needs to investigate a grant and a potential sales tax increase to improve the streets.
There’s one spot on Main Street where a piece of asphalt has cracked off, leaving a jagged edge with a flowerpot sprayed around it. I have no doubt that Rosemarie decorated the blemish to alert unaware drivers, but also to shove it in the city people’s faces that they need to do their jobs.
When my doorbell rings, I jump, blinking my eyes open and bolting upright. The television is blaring an insurance commercial, and its pitch-black outside except for the faint glow of the neighbor’s streetlight through my living room window.
I climb out of my seat while turning the television off and make my way to the door. Before I grasp the door handle, the bell chimes again.
“Hold on.” I glance down at my bare chest and spin back around, snatching my discarded T-shirt off the back of the sofa.
