My run slows to a jog as I recall just how hard I was riding my bike that day I left it there.
I had just returned home from college after hearing about my younger brother’s death. Tears had been streaming down my face while my lungs felt like they were going to burst. I had been cycling as hard as my legs would take me, my grief consuming me. All I knew was that I had to get closer to him, so I biked to the spot where the tragedy unfolded.
Anderson had told me as much as he’d known at that point. That the twins had skipped school when no one was the wiser to catch up on work for our dad when they decided to take a joyride in the woods. Their horses got spooked by a deer and they both got thrown, but it was Ty who didn’t survive the fall.
Trapped in my thoughts, I hadn’t noticed the rise and fall of the hill, even though I’d ridden that same path a thousand times before. As soon as I caught air, I knew I was doomed. My bike came down too hard, bending the cheap metal in places that made it impossible to ride again. So I tossed it against the tree and continued the rest of my journey by foot.
It’s my first time back to this spot since I returned home, but everything feels different. Calmer. A knot tightens in my throat when I realize Anderson has kept up the memorial. At least that’s how it appears considering the freshly plucked wildflowers resting on the large boulder where my brothers and I took turns chiseling out an inscription.
To our brother.
Our rock.
RIP
Tyson Lee Bexley
1995—2010
He was only fifteen—a courageous boy with his entire life in front of him. Needless to say, the tragedy took a toll on us all.
None of us were the same after that. We tried. Anderson and I especially felt a responsibility as the older brothers to help our dad with the camp to keep our dreams and legacy alive, but the wounds proved to be too deep, and the veil we wore did nothing to escape the infection that swept us all.
I don’t know how long I stand there with a heavy heart and tears in my eyes, but it’s long enough for the temperature to drop significantly. Zipping my jacket up to my chin, I stand and dust off my pants then head back to the main campground.
With a quick glance at the time, I curse and head to the guest cabin I’ve been staying at near the main house. I should have been at the saloon by now, but no way can I go looking like this. I shoot a quick text off to Anderson.
Me: Running late. Cover me for thirty?
Anderson: No problem.
Sighing with relief, I quicken my pace. I don’t know how it happened, but what started out as an effort to help take the burden off my brother on the weekends is quickly becoming a responsibility I want to bear. It feels right. It feels good. I just wish that being here didn’t come with so many demons. It’s like I’m constantly wrestling with ghosts from the past, and there’s no hope in escaping them.
“There he is,” Anderson calls out with a grin the second I step foot in the saloon.
I tug off my jacket and join him behind the bar where he’s been covering for me. “Sorry. Stayed out there longer than I planned.”
Anderson lifts a curious brow. “Out where?”
“I was visiting Ty. It's good of you to keep up with his memorial site like that. I should have helped.”
Anderson nods, a seriousness flickering across his features. “It’s nothing. I try to visit every couple of weeks to keep him updated on everything going on. Silly, I know.”
I shake my head. “That’s not silly at all.” I clap Anderson on the back. “You have the right idea. Like I said, I should have been helping.”
“You’re here now. That’s all that matters. Anyway”—Anderson says, setting down the empty bucket of ice he just dumped into the bin—“I’m due for a visit to see Ty soon. Maybe we can go together.”
I’m mid nod when I find his statement strange. “Weren’t you just there?” There’s no way fresh wildflowers would last more than a day after they’d been plucked.
Anderson shook his head. “Not for a couple weeks. Why?”
It clicks. “That means Benny must have stopped by. There were fresh flowers and everything.”
The news seems to surprise Anderson as much as it surprises me. Ever since Benson came home, we haven’t seen much of him. He’s in and out so fast, only making pit stops to see Cayson and then to the saloon where he downs a drink, that it’s tough to have any sort of conversation with him. Anderson tells me it’s the same during the week.
“He’s visiting with Cay now,” Anderson says.
“Which means he’ll be by for his drink any minute. Maybe he’ll talk to us this time.”
Anderson chuckles. “Don’t hold your breath. I’ve been working on him for weeks. I’d give anything to know where he goes every day. Must be somewhere close by, the way he’s in and out of here.”
“Do you know if he’s been to the stables at all?”
Anderson shakes his head. “I’m certain he hasn’t. I would have seen something in the security monitors by now, but I know he’s been using a boat at the marina to get around the islands.” He shrugs. “At least he’s topping off the gas. I figure they’re his boats, too, so I don’t say anything.”
Sighing, I lean back and scope out the bar scene. We only have a couple of customers, which is great for me since I have interviewees popping in all afternoon and night. I just wish one of my interviews was with Violet. It’s been impossible to get her off my mind, especially during all the quieter moments. Nighttime is the worst. All I can do is think about the last time I saw her.
I close my eyes and can practically feel her body swaying against me, teasing my cock with her ass like a little vixen. Even her lavender scent is engrained in my memory like she’s in front of me now. And then there’s the unmistakable tease in her voice, as though she remembers our past sins right along with me.
It’s clear now that she was on a mission to drive me away that night, but she accomplished the opposite. None of it makes sense. The way I can want her, years after she broke my fucking heart. The way she can invoke these memories of our past like they’re happening right this very moment. The way her words and her actions fail to sync up. It all only fucks with my head further.
But more than anything, more than her body and sultry dance moves, I miss her. I miss our friendship and the rarity that it proved to be over the years. She was always the one I turned to and the first one to always stand by my side. It was like she knew when I needed her most, and I tried to do the same for her. No questions asked. Not even the gray lines we sometimes teetered over could shake what we had. Which is why the end of us felt like the end of me.
Growling, I scrub harder at the glass I’m washing in the sink. Anderson finally took off to meet up with Hope, and my afternoon job candidates are about to arrive. Last week I managed to hire two waitresses and a barback. Bartenders are apparently hard to come by around here, so I’m hoping someone I’m meeting with today is qualified, or at least willing to train for the job.
I’m bored out of my mind after interviewing some guy named JC when the saloon door bangs open, and in comes a stone-faced Benson. I’m almost surprised when he plants himself at the bar, looks up at me, and nods. “Hey.”