by Noah Harris
“You’re leaving,” a soft voice stated from the shadows just past the truck as he reached it.
He hadn’t realized how tense he was until the voice had made him jump, whirling to the noise, “Hello?”
Lucille came from the shadows, her form seeming to melt out of them. Dean didn’t have the energy to tell her, but the display was really creepy thing for her to do. Then again, that was probably the point, “Lucille.”
His flat tone seemed to catch her attention, “You’re leaving.”
She had stated it again and he sighed, “It’s obvious that I’m not welcome here, least of all by the one person I thought—anyway, yes, I’m leaving.”
“Is that going to fix the problem?” she asked, her habit of giving nothing away in her tone staying strong.
Dean sighed, “The problem is me, it seems. I’m not meant to be here and I’m apparently only tempting Mikael to travel a path that he’s not meant to take. I’m saving your dad the trouble of having to deal with my presence and the same goes for the rest of the pack. You don’t have to spend any more time deciding if you like me or not, and Mikael can go on being the good son and heir without having to worry about me.”
“If you think my brother won’t worry about you, then you don’t know him at all,” Lucille told him simply.
Sighing in annoyance, he jammed the key into the lock and swung the door open, “Well, it’s not going to matter much if he does or doesn’t worry about me, Lucille. He obviously doesn’t want me around here, so apparently he prefers to worry about me from a distance.”
“He told you to leave?”
“He said it was for the best,” Dean replied, speaking through his teeth as he settled into the driver’s seat.
“That isn’t the same thing,” she said, and still there was no emotion, and in this case, no judgment either.
“What do you want from me, Lucille?” Dean asked, his voice tight and tired, “No one wants me around here. He told me it was for the best, and when I took him at his word, he didn’t try to stop me.”
“So, he’s the one that’s supposed to stop you? To take the step?”
Her complete neutrality was beginning to grate on his nerves, making him grip the steering wheel tight, “Look. The fact of the matter is, the last time we had to deal with him needing to be away from me, I was the one who took the steps. I hunted him down as best I could. I was the one who took all the risks to bring him back. I was the one who fought for it first, and kept doing it until he let me in. Now we’re having round two, and I’m seeing no effort out of him again. What am I supposed to do, fight every time because he’s not willing to?”
“Perhaps,” she mused, looking thoughtful, “or perhaps not. I cannot make that decision for you, any more than I can make his decisions for him. I can say that I have never seen him be the way he is with you. And I also know that bonds are not always balanced, nor do they balance immediately.”
Dean sighed, turning the key in the ignition and firing the engine, “And what does that mean?”
“That maybe you need to be the strong one again,” she told him simply, her voice still serene and calm.
Dean turned, “You’re giving me relationship advice?”
“I am offering perspective.”
“You are by far, one of the most frustrating people I have met here, Lucille. Do you know that? Seriously, can you just . . . take a side? Take a stand?” He asked her, his frustration finally loosening his tongue, and making him ask the question that had been burning in his mind since he had first met the strange woman.
“When I need to,” she supplied, again seeming totally unfazed by his anger.
“Well,” Dean retorted, shifting the truck into gear to leave, “you just keep going with that then. Just like he can go on through his life letting his father make all of his decisions. I’m tired of having to be the one putting myself out there, taking the risks. Take care, Lucille.”
“May Luna guide your path, Dean,” she replied, and he pulled away, aiming for the road that would take him away from this place.
Despite his efforts to block them, her words bounced around in his head throughout the drive. Without the radio to distract him from his thoughts, he felt adrift as he carefully drove home. Everything she said, or at least hinted at, had made perfect sense to him. He knew the give and take wasn’t always even, hell, it rarely was. Someone usually gave more at some point, and less at other times, but it never balanced out totally and completely. But it wasn’t about balance to him, it was about Mikael just . . . trying.
That was the worst of it, the fact that Mikael wasn’t even trying. Months ago, he had buckled at the first sign of pressure, but Dean could and did forgive that. For a relationship that wasn’t even a relationship yet, he could forgive it. But since then they had spent weeks together, living together, learning each other’s quirks and habits. They had grown together as a couple, learning the lines of one another’s bodies and minds. Promises were made, and now the first time they came across a serious problem on Mikael’s end, the man had buckled.
He had bailed, taking Dean’s hopes right along with him; the hopes that had made themselves known only as he found a slice of happiness for the first time in his life. He had learned what it meant to have a real relationship—to have fun, to laugh, to relax and just be with someone. It had been only a few months, but he had found peace in what they had. The peace had come from the combination, the interaction between his new life and the man that he suspected he was falling in love with.
Silly; Dean chided himself, to think that anything like that could really be in the cards for him. To think that he could somehow fit into the other man’s world, and think that they could make it work. That somehow, he was worth fighting for, that what they had was worth fighting for. That mistake had left him feeling once more abandoned by someone he cared about, and this time by their conscious choice.
It was this thought that finally drove him to stop on the road, the stinging in his eyes growing too hot for him to resist. The truck’s engine died as his throat tightened, letting loose a small and helpless noise. The control he had over his emotions unraveled, and he found tears rolling down his face. His chest ached, his breath came in great sobbing hitches, and he finally let himself go, allowing himself this one pure private display of grief at the loss, safely alone where only the forest and the moon could witness his pain.
chapter
Eleven
It wasn’t that he hadn’t known he’d be unhappy after returning to the farm, but he hadn’t expected it to be this bad. Unhappy didn’t even begin to cover his actual mood. Downright miserable was a more appropriate description. The emotion seemed to sink into every fiber of his being almost instantly after setting foot on the property.
It was like going back in time to when he’d lost his entire family within the course of a single year. Just like back then, he found that getting up even became a struggle as he fought against the desire to merely stay in bed. He had to force himself to eat, even though he never felt hungry. The only escape he found was in working . . . losing himself in the process of manual labor. Of course, the working day had to end at some point, forcing him to return to his house, where he was alone with his thoughts and memories.
Jax even seemed to detect that something was wrong. Though Dean spent his time away from the fields and farm animals interacting with Jax and Nix, his cat, who slept with him and interacted with him of course, it wasn’t the same thing. It was a temporary fix that left him wanting the warm press of a certain man’s body even more than before.
Their breakup was likely for the best, he knew that much, though knowing that didn’t make him feel any better. He had so strongly believed that anything they went through could be faced down and dealt with so long as they had each other, yet it seemed that he had been wrong in that assumption, more wrong than he’d ever been about anything before. Being wrong was something he had always hated, this time more than ever before.
>
He could deal with the idea that Mikael’s family didn’t want him around—that they didn’t approve of their relationship. The dirty looks and even the low-key threats that had come his way from a few people around The Grove mattered very little to him. Sure, he would have sung a different tune if they had attempted to follow through on some of those threats, but nothing had gone that far. But no, in the end it had been Mikael that had ruined them.
Things could have been far worse if they had been together for longer, he knew that much. But for Mikael to throw away the time they’d had so easily . . . that, Dean couldn’t understand. To be able to look him in the eye and choose to be away from him, regardless of all they’d meant to each other, Dean just couldn’t make sense of it. For all of Mikael’s apparent acts of rebellion, it seemed that his courage only extended so far. Obviously not far enough to drive him to do whatever it took to be with the person he wanted to be with.
His mood dropped every time he thought about it, and despite his efforts to push through it, the thoughts seemed insistent on hanging around, no matter how much he tried to avoid them. The pain in his chest was too great for him to really muster up the energy to even be angry about the whole thing, though he knew he probably should be. Mikael had so easily thrown it all away, thrown him away, he should be mad. But his mood only darkened as the days went on, making the whole property feel as if there was a dark cloud hanging over it.
By the time a few days had passed, and he hadn’t had to deal with another person, his mood had only become worse. It was almost completely dark by the time that the headlights shone in his driveway, lighting the path and eventually the whole of the porch that he sat on. He had been trying to decide if alcohol would help numb him a little, and barring that, at least help him get to sleep tonight. Which was exactly why he sat on the porch, watching the day die and the night come alive, with a bottle of beer held tightly in his fist. He’d already finished a few, and was bound and determined to see the task through to the end.
The visitor in the truck turned out to be Mr. Williams, which was a little surprising to Dean. The man hadn’t struck him as the type to just drop in unannounced; that was more the style his wife preferred. The fact that he had shown up in the truck probably meant the man had already been in Town for the day. The last couple of times he had stopped in, he had come on foot, despite living a mile or more down the road.
“Evening Dean,” the man’s voice floated up from the deepening darkness of the approaching night.
“Evening Mr. Williams,” he responded, as politely as he could.
“Enjoying a cold one I see,” the man noted as he climbed the steps, his watchful eyes on Dean’s face.
“Yes sir,” he responded, belatedly remembering his manners, “would you like one?”
Mr. Williams waved a hand at him before shuffling over to a seat across from Dean, “Naw, don’t need one. Looks like maybe you are needing it though.”
Dean smiled softly, “It’s only a couple Mr. Williams, just trying to relax after a long day of working in the sun.”
The man’s eyes fell to the collection of empty bottles beside Dean’s chair, “Seems like you are needin’ an awful lot of relaxing then.”
Dean didn’t need to follow the man’s gaze to know what he was looking at, “Eh, maybe more than a few then.”
“In my experience,” the older farmer said, as he sat down and made himself comfortable, “when a man drinks alone, it’s usually meant he’s got something on his mind. And before you get smart, drinkin’ alone means more than just a couple. From the looks of it, you’re aimin’ to have more than is needed for relaxing after a hard day of work.”
For such a quiet man, Mr. Williams was certainly sharp eyed. Dean wasn’t really the type to believe that the man’s occupation made any difference in his ability to notice things, but it was still a little irksome to be so easily analyzed. The older man’s gaze was more than a little penetrating, and seemed to know more than he let on. That gaze was unsettling when it turned on you just right. It had certainly been enough to make Mikael squirm beneath the scrutiny. Dean supposed the only reason why he hadn’t was because his grandfather had sometimes directed a similar gaze at him, and so he was a little more accustomed to it than Mikael had been.
“I believe that’s my business,” Dean replied coolly. He wanted to chide himself for being rude, but he wasn’t really in the mood for the man to start in on him over a few beers, either. If he wanted to drink on his porch after dark, then he was damn well going to. The past week had been a miserable affair, and to be honest, it was a miracle that he hadn’t started drinking before tonight.
“That it is, but you can’t blame a man for bein’ curious, seeing as I don’t think I’ve ever known ya to drink,” he mused, still watching Dean’s face carefully.
“You don’t know me that well,” Dean pointed out, hoping his voice sounded less petulant than he felt at the moment. Mr. Williams was right though, Dean had never been much of a drinker. Even in college he had been a fairly moderate drinker, especially compared to most of his peers. He didn’t like the feeling of being disconnected, of not having complete control over himself like he did when he was sober. The light and floating feeling of being buzzed was one thing, but the idea of being drunk had always been an uncomfortable one for him.
“You drinkin’ to forget thoughts . . . or feelings?” the man asked, after a moment of silence, seeming unfazed by Dean’s attitude.
Dean blinked, eyeing the other man in surprise, as Mr. Williams continued, “Yeah, I know the sight when I see it. Not hard to pick up on when you been around folk long enough. I seen you the past couple of days in passin,’ and I seen you when you went into town the other day. You got a mighty fine storm brewin’ on that brow of yours, and it don’t look like it’s goin’ away none either.”
Dean snorted, feeling even more stubborn, “Doesn’t matter. Isn’t gonna change anything. Don’t really feel like talking about it.”
The older man looked at him for a moment longer, looking for something. Apparently satisfied with whatever he saw, he turned to follow Dean’s gaze. The moon was beginning to come up over the horizon. Though it was only half full, the lit side was still bright, splashing its silver white light across whatever parts of the land it could touch. In truth, it was a beautiful summer night and only Dean’s foul mood prevented him from enjoying it.
“I imagine you know this, but . . .” Mr. Williams voice came through the silence, “the missus and I had a son.”
Dean had started to move when the man spoke but immediately froze when he heard the quiet words. Of course, everyone knew about their son and his death many years ago. Dean didn’t know the story and ironically, no one in this town full of gossips really spoke of it either. All he knew was that the man would be a handful of years older than Dean was if he were still alive, and that there was a great deal of sorrow surrounding the death. Though people could be terrible gossips about a lot of subjects, sometimes people really did respect the grief of others.
“I . . .” Dean began, unsure of how to answer, but knowing his own anger wouldn’t hold, “I heard.”
“The only child the Good Lord saw fit to give us,” Mr. Williams continued. His voice, normally so smooth and even, had taken on a halting, almost brittle tone. “The day Sebastian was born was the happiest day of my life. I’ve heard it said that a man don’t feel love for their child until they hold them, but that’s only sorta true. I loved that boy before he ever came out, feelin’ him move and kick in his momma like he did. I knew he was gonna be a handful once he was able. I loved him before he came into the world, but I never knew a love like I did when I held that . . . that small pink baby, looking up at me with those bright blue eyes.”
Dean had already leaned back into his seat, entranced by the story. He suspected this man hadn’t told this story many times, and only to a select few. Why Mr. Williams was telling him now was beyond him, but he listened all the same. He couldn�
�t help but wonder if Sebastian’s eyes had been the same piercing blue as those of his father.
“That boy was everything to me,” his voice grew quiet, a trace of love laced in the words, “I ain’t never had a day where I didn’t love him. He was nothing but energy and questions, from sunup to sundown; he was on the move and wanting to know everything about everything. He was smarter than his momma and I ever dreamed of bein’, and he learned quick, that boy. He could take just about anything apart and put it back together again, knowing exactly how it all worked by the time he was done. Well, not always, there’s a few things that he couldn’t get quite right. That boy cost me a TV, actually.”
Dean smiled, the expression feeling strange on his face as Mr. Williams continued in that same brittle, but loving voice, “Wasn’t just smart either. He was one of the nicest folk you ever met. Sometimes it don’t matter how good you raise em, kids are gonna be what they are anyways. Sure, he caused some trouble, but I think he was just . . . too bored to sit still sometimes. He was a sweet boy, always smilin’ and happy, knew how to make ya laugh, and he was the first there when someone was hurtin.’ Didn’t hurt for courage none, and he had my hard head, but he had a good heart that he wasn’t afraid to show the world.”
“Didn’t take long for him to start growin,’ comin’ into himself, you know? All the work he did on the farm made him big and strong, he filled out good. Took after his momma’s side, and came to be a real handsome young man. Didn’t slack in his schoolwork neither, and we wondered if maybe he might find his way outta this place and go somewhere else. In truth, I was a little afraid that he might find himself a pretty little girl around here first, and maybe get stuck here.”
Mr. Williams paused for a moment, looking down at his hands, his voice harsh again, “Guess I didn’t need to worry about them pretty little girls.”
Dean eyed the other man, wary as he began to guess how the story would end, “What do you mean?”
