Page 47 of Crossroads

So here I am, wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do. But I love you. And I really like Kiera, Courtney. And that scares me. And I know you’re laughing up there.”

I let out a breath, my lips closing into a smile. The breeze shifted, blowing through my hair again, and I swore it was Courtney laughing right along with me.

“I don’t know if I could love her. I don’t know if I’m allowed to. She’s not staying, Courtney. I need to treat her better. I did my best to treat you well, didn’t I? We were good. We were damn good. Until we weren’t anything. If you could send me a sign of what the hell I’m supposed to do when it comes to Kiera, that would be helpful. A little selfish of me. But if you ask anyone in town, I’m a selfish asshole.”

There was no answer, and I knew there wouldn’t be.

The sound of boots on crisp grass startled me, and I turned, and my fist clenched as Thatcher moved forward, a bouquet in his hands. He froze, his eyes wide as I stood up and wiped the dirt from my knees.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” the other man said, his voice rough. He had dark circles under his eyes, and I knew he was coming off a long shift. There had been a fire in the canyon, two towns over, and he had been pulled in along with his team.

They had gotten it out before it had come anywhere close to any residences, or before it had shifted toward Ashford Creek, and I was grateful. But he had to be exhausted.

“It’s her birthday,” Thatcher said after a moment.

I nodded and gestured toward the back edge of the graveyard, knowing where Thatcher would be. He had a complicated relationship with the woman who lay under that gravestone, but I wasn’t one to judge. Not when I knew Thatcher had given up everything more than once.

He opened his mouth to say something, and I hoped to hell it wasn’t that he was sorry. Because I couldn’t forgive him for not saving my family. Because having to forgive him would mean that he would’ve carried any guilt. It wasn’t his fault. It was more my fault than anyone else’s. Other than the man who had killed them. But every time I told Thatcher that he didn’t believe me. And then we would end up fighting. I knew it would just make things worse.

So I didn’t say a damn thing as Thatcher’s kids came behind him, all dressed in their Sunday best, looking slightly shell-shocked.

Wesley came up to me quickly and wrapped his arms around my waist. I patted his back and squeezed his shoulder. “Hey there.”

“Hi, are you visiting Josie and Henry?” he asked, and I swallowed hard, throat tight.

Thatcher looked like he wanted to answer, but I shook my head. “I am.

“Well tell him hi from me and that I miss him. I’m going to go see Mom, okay?” the kid asked Thatcher before running over to the back corner to say goodbye to his mom.

I shook my head confused as all hell. But kids were stronger than adults in most cases. Lucas, Thatcher’s eldest son, gave me a chin nod before going after his brother, leaving Thatcher standing there next to his daughter. Olivia was fifteen now, and honestly she looked like Thatcher more than her mother. At least that’s what I thought. I assumed others would think the opposite. In that moment I wondered what Josie would look like if she had ever reached Olivia’s age, but that wasn’t helpful for anyone.

Instead, I cleared my throat. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Mr. Bodhi.”

“You don’t have to add mister.,” I said dryly.

“She does if she’s grounded and trying to learn respect,” Thatcher said slowly.

Olivia rolled her eyes and lifted her chin. “I am respectful for those who deserve it, and Mr. Bodhi deserves it.” With that she stomped toward her siblings before pausing at my family. She leaned down and left a single flower on Josie’s grave before letting out a little sigh and heading toward the back end of the graveyard.

Thatcher let out a breath and rubbed his chest. “That girl.”

“She’s a good kid, Thatcher.”

“Thanks. Seriously.”

There was so much left unsaid between us, and now wasn’t the time.

So instead, I gathered my things and tilted my lips as a goodbye. Thatcher met my gaze for a moment before going to his children and the gray stone of a woman that had broken that family more than once. We all carried burdens, some darker than others, and sometimes I forgot that in the midst of my own grief.

I jumped into my truck and made my way down the rocky path toward my property. I parked in front of my house again, and instead of going inside like I would normally, either wanting to go for a bottle of something brown, or even to my art studio to go beat something up with an axe, I headed to the cabin.

Kiera answered after the first knock and smiled at me. And in that instant, the weight on my shoulders dropped. Not fully, and they never would, but enough. I didn’t want to think about what that meant.

“There’s sadness in your gaze,” Kiera said softly.

“I went to visit my family.”