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I followed the natural curve of the land, passing Clearwater High and St. Bartholomew’s Church. The town itself was small yet still twice the size of any town in the Four Forest area. The roads were wider and most of the businesses unapologetically catered to tourists interested in fishing, hiking, biking, camping, day trips to the caverns or horseback riding expeditions. We had a few decent restaurants, and yeah, we even had a Starbucks.

I loved home the way you love nostalgic things, but I didn’t like being here for extended visits. A weekend here made me itch and long for adventure.

And I missed Wood Hollow. Weird.

I craved Clancy’s steak fries at Log Cabin diner, and two days without a latte from Rise and Grind felt like a day too many. I missed walking to work, I missed sparring with annoying Artie, and missed waving at the grumpy guy who resoled shoes. What was his name? Don or Dean?

And fuck, I missed Reg. I missed his body, the taste of his cum, and the way he managed to be commanding as fuck and putty in my hands at the same time.

Yeah…I wished I were there.

Maybe it was a family trait and maybe I was no better than Misty, but damn it, I really wanted to run away from home, hide out in Wood Hollow for a while with the sexy police chief, and pretend the world was a kinder place.

I continued on, passing the small house I’d rented on Shafer, two blocks from my childhood home. I nodded to Mr. Miller, the old geezer who’d ratted me and my buddies out for picking Mrs. Conifer’s tomatoes, and who used to yell at us for leaving our bikes on the grass willy-nilly instead of using our kickstands like nice kids.

I parked Dad’s truck in the steep driveway under the basketball hoop that had been missing a net since 1998. The tire swing attached to the tree out front had been there for thirty years and the welcome mat on the porch had faded to read, “We-me.”

Nostalgia was both therapeutic and stifling. Nothing had changed and yet…everything was different now. Mom’s spaghetti was the same recipe she’d used for decades, but she needed help lifting the heavy saucepan. Dad watched TV, same as he always had after dinner—except now, he fell asleep with his mouth open and snored like a grizzly bear.

Emmett snickered and cuddled closer to my side, smelling like shampoo, soap, and little boy.

“I’m coming to visit you next time, right?” he whispered, handing over a worn copy of a Captain Underpants book that had once belonged to his mom or me.

“You are.”

“Don’t tell Grandma, but I wish I could go with you tomorrow.”

I kissed the top of his head and started reading.

CHAPTER 18

WAYLON

Monday morning, I was on the first flight out of town and at my desk by eleven a.m.

Artie’s feathers were ruffled, of course. “I had to take two calls for the lumber department. I hope you know that Albany expects their shipment first thing tomorrow.”

I thanked Artie instead of reminding him it was his job to take over in my absence, then worked my ass off for the remainder of the day, helping my crew haul lumber in between meetings and phone calls. There’d been no chance to grab a latte, but Beau brought extra donuts from Dexter’s—maple bars and some weird concoction with bright-green icing.

“Matcha,” Beau reported, curling his lips in a universal ew. “Looks fuckin’ nasty. Stick to the maple, man.”

I braved the matcha specialty and chuckled at his grossed-out expression. “It’s not that bad. Try it.”

“Hell to the no.” Beau popped the last of his maple donut into his mouth, adding, “We could have used you on our flag football team last Saturday. I heard you were out of town.”

“Yeah.” I didn’t extrapolate. Beau didn’t need to know that my weekend had been depressing. We were new friends, and the best way to alienate a new buddy was to overshare personal BS.

“We’ll catch you next time.” He slugged my shoulder and headed for the door. “Are you going to the game Friday?”

“Game?”

“Yeah, the Hornets are playing the Fallbrook Falcons. We’re gonna kick their asses.” Beau slapped high fives with one of my loggers who passed by with a, “Fuck, yeah!”

“Sounds fun, but⁠—”

“Oh, no, no. You’re going. You can’t be the new guy who doesn’t play flag football and doesn’t support the high school team. That’s just asking for trouble. You gotta go.”

“I—” I opened my mouth, prepared to argue, but I was too damn tired. It was easier to agree. “Sure. Okay.”