Broken Hero

His eyes catch mine again, and I know he feels what I feel. The pull between us is as strong as it ever was. I want to come closer, to be welcomed into his arms again. To feel the heat of his lips against mine.

My courage falters.

“I hope I see you later,” I say, and head out of his office without waiting for a reply.

Lucy leaves, and the ranch is all mine again. Quiet, and calm, and empty. I used to prefer it that way.

I work for another couple of hours. There are always things to do around the place-orders to place and invoices to pay. Working at the computer had become a refuge, a way to shut myself into my office and away from questioning looks or social interaction. It’s also a fucking bore. My body is used to manual labor, to walking for hours with heavy equipment and sleeping on the hard, bare ground. A screen is a paltry replacement.

Shutting down my computer, I grab my toolbox from the cupboard and lock the door to my office. A habit, perhaps, but it’s a good one. People are far too trusting.

A sharp ache shoots down my arm and I push a hand against my tense shoulder. Austin pads beside me as I head down the hall. I pass by paintings as familiar to me as the back of my own hand. Landscapes, placed in thick wooden frames. They’ve hung in this house for far longer than I’ve been alive. They’re from my grandfather’s time, when he ran this place with an iron fist. When the family was still big and thriving.

I stop at a gilded mirror at the end of the hall and run a hand across my face. The man staring back at me feels like a stranger. Too many sleepless nights and long days have left their mark.

When I returned, I had a couple of sessions of therapy. It was mandated, yes, but it was also widely encouraged in my unit. None of us wanted to become a statistic.

The therapist said a lot of things, but one thing in particular had stuck with me. You’ll feel like a ghost for a long time, Oliver, he’d said. But over time, the world will return to you in full colors. Let it take time.

Maybe it would. Maybe it wouldn’t. But looking in that mirror, all I can see is a shadow of who I’d been. Once upon a time, I’d run through this hallway, cousins in tow, struggling to stay upright when I turned the narrow corners. I’m not that boy anymore-not the same young man, either.

And maybe it’s time I stopped hiding that.

Austin and I walk through the small lobby and out into the afternoon sun. The day is warm. They’ll be happy about that, down at the fair. The image of Lucy strikes me again. Form-fitting denim shorts, long legs, and blonde curls that just beckon a man to bury his hands in them. I see her bright smile and there’s an unexpected tug in my chest.

She’d been so unbelievably cute when she came into my office earlier. Hesitant and careful, as if what was hovering between us might disappear with too strong a word. Almost like she wondered if the kiss had ever really happened at all.

It did, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.

Every single inhabitant of Claremont, plus a few extra, would be at the fair. It would be a never-ending parade of shaking hands, nodding to old classmates, answering asinine questions. Making small talk.

I haven’t been to anything like that for years.

It’s not hard to imagine her down there, eating a candied apple and laughing with some of the locals. Taking everyone with storm, just as thoroughly as she has up here at the ranch. Someone would make a lame joke, and she’d throw her head back and give that pealing laugh. I know, because she’s frequently graced me with it.

Seeing her smile again might outweigh the hassle of being at an event like that, being around so many people. Besides, Sarah and my nieces would be ecstatic if I showed up.

I push up from my seat on the porch and nod to my dog. “Stay here,” I say rather lamely. “I’m going into town.”

Austin blinks up at me.

Ten minutes later, I’ve showered and changed my worn button-down for a clean shirt. I’m turning the keys to the ignition before I can change my mind.

People will talk.

But they’re just people.

And I’ll be damned if I let that stop me from spending time with Lucy-with the one person who doesn’t look at me like I’m damaged goods.

I park right next to a van with the neon-bright logo of Whittaker Installations printed on the side. It shouldn’t surprise me that Gavin is here. For a moment, I think of flinging my car door open so hard it dents his. I don’t.

I tug my cap down low and walk up Main Street. The streets are lined with cars, but there’s not a person in sight. Shop after shop is closed for the day.

It’s not long until I can hear it; the sound of cheery pop music blasting from large speakers. The central square is packed to the brim with colorful stands, banners and flags. Someone must have brought a bubble machine this year, because soap bubbles are flying overhead. I can hear children laughing.This material belongs to NôvelDrama.Org.

My heart is beating fast and I haven’t even reached the fair yet.

Old Mr. Ronson is sitting by the entrance under a parasol. There’s a large stack of flyers in front of him, and he’s carefully folding each and every one.

“Good day, sir.”

He stops folding. “Oliver Morris?”

I nod. Mr. Ronson once worked up at the Ranch, when my grandfather was still at the helm, decades ago. Many of the men in this town have passed through our employ at one point or another.

“It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise.”

He nods towards the entrance. “I believe your sister is somewhere inside. Is everything alright?”

“I’m not here to pull her out,” I say. “Everything’s fine.”

“Alright, then. You have a good time now.”

I thank him for the flyer and head inside. Had I really been out of the town loop for so long that people thought something was wrong when I showed up?

The smell of popcorn is strong as I weave through the first throng of people. With each step, I’m heading further and further away from the entrance. It’s one of only two entry points to the fair, and the other is on the far end, by Third Street. There are eleven people around me. Four of them are children.

I should stop counting, but I don’t know how to.

Tammie Bennett waves at me from the waffle stand. There’s no one there, and I see the chance for a brief respite from the crowd.

“Hello, Oliver. It’s been too long.”

I can’t agree with her on that. “Hi, Tammie.”

“How’s the ranch?” She shields her face from the sun and flips over a waffle. “I heard that you’re expanding into the spa business.”

“Yes, we are.”

“That’s so great to hear.”

I tug at my cap. “Sarah is here, I believe.”

“Yes, I spoke with her earlier. I’m glad to see you out here too, though. It’s not good for you to lock yourself away up there.”

“Right.” The silence turns awkward, and I rack my brain for something polite to ask about her life. It takes me a minute to remember the name of her boyfriend. “How’s Mark?”