Finding Solace: A Small Town Second Chance Romance

by S. L. Scott

It feels good to hug her again. I’m way bigger than she is, having grown taller than her by the eighth grade, but she still hugs me as if I’m her baby. Backing into the house, she says, “Get on in here and close the door behind you. You’re letting bugs in.”

  The screen door screeches closed, and I shut the front door, locking it behind me even though I’ve never considered myself the paranoid type. I probably should be, considering what I’ve been up to, but I’ve never felt unsafe being here.

  She moves into the kitchen as I drop my backpack on the floor. Peeking out, she says, “You sure are traveling light these days.”

  “A couple of changes of clothes. The basics are all I need.” I leave the rest out and start for the kitchen. Sidetracked by the framed photos on a bookcase, I take in my graduation photo. It’s hard to miss, being she ordered the largest size. Another photo of me as the quarterback my senior year and one from my Little League days stand beside it. I don’t linger too long since it reminds me of breaking my arm in college, which ended my glory days.

  Bending down, I see a smaller five-by-seven from prom. I touch the glass, wishing I could caress her face again. Delilah Noelle. The belle of the ball. The queen of my heart. The town darling. We made a good-looking couple, a match in every way—good grades, big dreamers, determined to leave this town. On the surface, she was the head cheerleader who fell for the football star. So unoriginal. We were so much more than that to each other.

  People used to say we were so sweet together we gave them a toothache. Chuckling, I lower my hand and take a breath.

  “I can’t seem to pack it away,” my mom says.

  Sounds a lot like my feelings for Delilah, despite how hard I’ve tried to outgrow them.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I see my mom coming with two glasses of iced tea. “How long are you staying?”

  She respects my privacy, homing in on the fact that I have no intention of talking about the girl in the photo or the woman across town.

  I take a glass. “How long will you have me?”

  “As long as you need.” She curls up on the couch and takes a sip.

  “I’m not hiding out, Mom.”

  “Okay, as long as you want then. I’ve cleaned your room, and you have plenty of clothes in the closet and in the dresser. I can take you out shopping tomorrow for anything else you might need.”

  “I don’t need you to buy me things. I can afford what I need.”

  “How is that exactly? How do you earn money? What do you do, Jason?”

  Vague is best. “Odd jobs. Here and there.”

  She stops pushing for answers I’m not going to give her. Standing, she asks, “Are you hungry? I was just about to make some pasta with sauce.”

  “That sounds good.”

  “You go settle in and clean up, and I’ll make dinner.”

  I grab my bag and head down to the hall but stop when she adds, “It’s good to have you home, son.”

  Home.

  There’s that word again. It’s a word I haven’t known in some time. Am I home? I’m not really sure anymore, but my mom has always been a haven, so she deserves to hear that from me. I return to give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “It’s good to be home.”

  2

  Jason

  My childhood bedroom is a memorial to my golden years—the football star, devoted son, all-around class favorite. The whole town had their hopes and dreams pinned on me, so my fall from grace was inevitable. I was set up for it with every win, trophy, and accolade I received.

  I take off my shoes and clothes, leaving my briefs on as I make my way down the hall to the one bathroom in the house. It takes a week for the water to warm up, but when it does, I let it pound the stiffness from my shoulders. With one hand propped on the tile and my head lowered, I’m still wondering why I came back. Why do I bother?

  My mom?

  Sure. It’s always good to see her. Doesn’t matter what I’ve done or how long it’s been since we talked, she opens her arms and smiles, still proud of me. She’s a good woman who works too hard. I’m going to change that and give her the life she deserves.

  No one else in this town mat—lies. Lies. Lies.

  Everyone knows it’s a lie. I saw it in their faces down at Red River. They can see through me when it comes to Delilah.

  My only true weakness. Even after all this time.

  The one weakness I can hide when I’m not here.

  Married . . . fuck.

  I push the thoughts of how I got my feelings all fucked up back to the dark compartment I keep them hidden in. I think that’s my heart, but I’m not sure anymore.

  Can a man who’s killed another man really have a heart? It’s a mystery, even to me, if I’m not allowed to feel anything other than remorse. Remorse. Regret. I can’t seem to reason those emotions into my psyche, not when that same man wanted to kill the people I care about. I remind myself that it was a part of the job but not the job I signed up for. Who did I become once I left home? And is that guy truly gone forever like I want to believe?

  The water rains down. I hope to have some sense of myself once the wicked is washed away, if it can be washed away. I have my doubts.

  After showering, I wrap the towel around my waist and head to my room. I dig through old drawers until I find some boxers and flip through the hangers, choosing a black T-shirt that’s not too faded. Grabbing a pair of black jeans from a stack on top of a crate in the closet, I pull those on too. Black fits me better these days than the gold of my old uniform.

  The leather of my shoes is wet from the road, so I pad to the living room like I still live here. My mom sets down two plates with the hot pasta on top of the coffee table.

  She smiles, looking surprised. “And here I thought that dirt was freckles.”

  “Ha. Ha.” Sitting on the couch, I lean forward over the coffee table, ready to shovel it in. “This looks good. Thanks, Ma.”

  “It feels good to cook for someone else again.”

  Despite the distraction of dinner and Wheel of Fortune playing on the TV, I can feel the slight tension in the room. I spin my fork around on my plate, taking a big bite. As I continue to eat, I don’t have to make small talk with her. We’re casual people, the kind that manners matter, and when we slip up, we’re forgiven. I keep eating and glance over at her. “What’s on your mind?”

  That catches her attention and gives her the opening she’s been waiting for since I showed up on her front porch. “Are you going to tell me why you’re home, and why I didn’t get a heads-up?”

  “Can’t a son visit his mom?”

  “Any time, any day. You’re always welcome. I haven’t seen you in a long time, so I didn’t know if I should be worried or not.”

  I take a drink of my tea, the ice crashing around the glass, then reply, “No need to worry. Just stopping by on my way through.”

  “Through to where?”

  “Not sure. I don’t have plans right now.”

  Reaching over, she pats my leg. “Then stay a while.”

  “I might. Not sure yet.”

  She sits back with her glass, staring at the TV. “Aurora borealis.”

  “What?”

  “The puzzle,” she answers with an all-knowing grin. “It’s aurora borealis.”

  I smile. “Sure is. Good job.” She always was underestimated in this miserable town.

  An hour passes with ease, but my body is starting to give up the fight to stay awake. I’m weary from being on the road, and the thought of that bed in the other room is heaven. I gather our dishes and clean up the trash. I refill Mom’s glass and get her the blanket from the couch, helping her settle in for the night.

  “You staying up?” I ask.

  “There’s an old Cary Grant movie coming on that I want to watch, and I’m halfway through a very intriguing book. Are you going to bed?”

  “I am. I’m tired.”

  “Tomorrow’s Saturday.”

  “I want to help out. Anything I can do a
round here for you?”

  “I appreciate that. I have a list we can start on if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind,” I reply, walking toward the hall.

  “Maybe we can talk about the subject you’re so eager to avoid, too.”

  Maybe not. I’m not used to having anyone care about my thoughts. That probably won’t or shouldn’t change while I’m here. “Yeah, maybe. Night, Ma.”

  “Good night, Jase.”

  After readying for bed, I climb under the covers and let my body sink into the mattress. It’s a cheap bed, but it’s worn in all the right spots to fit my body. Delilah used to complain about rolling into the middle. Secretly, I loved it. I loved holding her close like that, my lips against the back of her neck, my nose full of her scent—like a citrus summer and a warm vanilla winter—and my arms cradled around her with no space left between us.

  I didn’t expect to have such a visceral reaction to being home again, especially while lying in this bed alone. It almost feels like I never left.

  Almost. Until I remember what I’ve been doing the past four years, what I’ve done . . . It’s a life I can never drag anyone into much less my mom or Delilah. Not like she’s an option anyway, considering she’s married.

  Why the fuck do I keep having to remind myself of that fact? I just can’t seem to wrap my head around it.

  I get up and squat down next to the mattress. Lifting it, I dig around a few dirty magazines until I find what I’m looking for. The blinds are cracked enough to let a little moonlight drift inside the small room. I lie back down and hold the photo above me. Those little summer dresses Delilah wore back then drove me wild.

  Easy access is the term that comes to mind, but it wasn’t like that with us. She was never easy in my eyes . . . I’m not sure how our relationship got out of hand so fast. After four years of dating, almost to the day, we were breaking up. Junior year in high school to junior year in college.

  Football season.

  One minute, we were fighting about me getting a full-ride scholarship to a university on the other side of the state and transferring the next semester. Then she was walking back to town with me driving behind her, begging her to get back in the truck.

  She never did.

  That whole situation was a clusterfuck. It didn’t matter how many times I called her, texted, or stopped by her house; she shut me out. As a last resort, I poured my heart into a letter I never had the fucking nerve to send. Billy brought the beers. The letter became a part of the night when I threw a match on top. I watched it burn as though I was watching my heart catch fire. The ashes floated toward the sky, and I wished the pain I felt inside would go along with it.

  I was almost convinced I could move on from loving her, but four years isn’t easily forgotten, especially in a small town where everything held a memory of happier times.

  On a cold day just before New Year’s Eve, almost three months after the worst day of my life, I detoured by her daddy’s farm in one last sad attempt to talk to her.

  I then realized why my best friend had been too busy to hang out. Cole Cutler’s truck was parked proudly in front of her house. I’d been wondering why he hadn’t returned my calls, and why he wasn’t hanging out with the guys when we went out. He stopped showing up for our Sunday fishing trips. Cutler also got called out in football practice for unnecessary roughness against the quarterback—aka me.

  I didn’t get the chance to confront him or talk to her before they made their couple debut on a Friday night at Red River.

  Billy remained by my side, the only one I trusted. He hung out with me all summer. He didn’t discuss Delilah but let me when I felt the need. I realized it wasn’t about the quantity of friends I had, but the quality that mattered. We built my mom a new fence with all the spare time we had to burn before I returned to college in the fall.

  I said goodbye to my mom and almost took the long route out of town, passing by the Noelle farm. Almost.

  Instead, I took Main and hit the highway. I was gone and had no plans to come back. I would play college football on a scholarship and then get drafted into the NFL.

  Sometimes, life doesn’t go as planned.

  Sometimes, you don’t end up playing pro ball.

  Sometimes, you don’t get the girl.

  Sometimes, you find yourself living a life you never expected.

  Sometimes, you wish you could go back and change the things you regret the most.

  Wiggling the lock on the window, I test its strength. The blinds are bent, but the seal is solid around the glass. The house is safe, but I’ll double-check it once my mom goes to bed.

  Because sometimes, you become a man who has an exit plan to escape the life you created.

  I drop the photo on the nightstand, giving it more respect than being forgotten among my old stash of magazines and start to wonder if I should stop by the farm while I’m in town.

  3

  Delilah Rae Noelle

  Jason Koster rolled into town as though he still owned it. He just might, considering he’s the talk of the town after only being back a week.

  Just like old times.

  It’s not as if the locals have anything better to gossip about, but I don’t like being thrown into the mix. I’ve managed to keep most of my drama at bay despite Cole’s best efforts. But here I am at the center of everyone’s chatter because I once dated the hometown hero.

  And then he broke my heart.

  I felt a surge of giddiness when I first got wind he was back. That flew out the window when I started to worry how Cole would react. I’ve finally found a peaceful co-existence with him in this godforsaken town, but now this will stir everything right back up.

  From the time they were five and catching tadpoles out on the shores of the lake, Jason and Cole had been best friends until I came between them. Insecurity and immaturity sent me into the arms of someone who should have never been more than a friend.

  Among other hard lessons, I’ve learned the word catastrophe is also spelled C-O-L-E C-U-T-L-E-R.

  I’ve made amends with myself over my role in that relationship and marriage. Amends with lingering regrets. I made things as right as I could with the people I hurt—the people I always loved and who cared about me, like Meredith Koster. She’d been like a second mother to me when my own mother passed away.

  My sister, who’d endured snide comments about what a whore I was. Endured, minus the time she knocked Sabrina Smith right in the kisser for calling me a slut. Shelby Noelle had never been in a fight prior, much less clocked someone, but everyone has their limits, and Sabrina Smith pushed my sister’s that day. Sabrina still crosses the street when she sees the Noelle sisters. She was a mean girl all through school, so it’s not a loss to us.

  Billy Langston is one of my constants. If you would have asked me at fifteen if the geeky kid who had lanky legs and a really bad sense of humor would one day be the only man I relied on, I would have laughed all night. Now I know better. Sometimes, the underdogs become the true heroes.

  He’s been there more times than I can count and has stood by me. I’ve never asked him why. I often wonder what his answer will be, but I’m afraid to ask in case it changes things. Both he and Daryl were caught in the middle of this ugly triangle back in the day, but while Daryl firmly took Cole’s side against Jason, Billy is a trusted ally of mine.

  I’ve dropped more than a few hints to my sister about possibly hooking them up. Billy’s outgrown those gangly legs, and his sense of humor is better than I remembered. He has made me laugh more than I imagined possible.

  Now that Jason’s back, I’m curious how that might affect my relationship with Billy. I’ve noticed he’s not around as much, but I don’t say anything. Jason is one of his best friends. I imagine they’ve picked up as if no time has passed at all.

  It’s times like these I wish my sister still lived here. She’d stop me from getting in my truck, or she’d go with me to keep me from stopping by Meredith’s hou
se. Here I am, cranking the key, begging my old truck not to start, to give me a reason to control my curiosity. It starts, and I roll my eyes. At the entrance to the farm, I’m greeted by Billy’s familiar truck blocking my exit. We stare at each other for a second before he gets out and comes toward my door.

  Gripping the steering wheel, I feel hot as though he can read my intentions. “Hi,” I say, trying to sound casual.

  “I just picked up the order from the feed store. Where ya going?”

  “I, uh, wanted to get to the market before they close,” I lie, hating myself for doing it, but my pride keeps it alive. “I’m craving ice cream.”

  He checks his watch. “They closed fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Oh,” I start, turning my attention out the windshield. “Well, go on in. I’m just going for a drive then.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  My eyes return to his, feeling even guiltier. “Fine.” My fingers stiffen from holding the steering wheel so tight. I loosen my grip and stretch them. “Want to go with me?”

  “Yeah. I can drive if you want or hop in your truck?”

  It might be best to let him drive. At least I won’t end up at the Koster residence. “I’ll ride with you.”

  I pull my truck to the side as he turns his around. When I get in his cab, I turn on the radio, needing the distraction while he rolls down both windows. “Where to?”

  Shrugging, I say, “Into town?”

  “You got it.”

  He turns up an old country song that I haven’t heard in so long. Something about wasting the summer away with someone you love until fall comes around, breaking your hearts. I relate too well. “Do you mind if I find something less . . . familiar?”

  “Go for it.” Signaling ahead, he says, “Cut through past Main?”

  “Sounds good.” He’s so on to me. It would be a good time to fess up, but I find a good melody to sing along to and turn it up instead. My gaze lengthens when we near Meredith’s block. I force it away, and say, “Thanks for picking up the order.”

  Billy’s eyes are fixed ahead and mine soon follow to see the little blue house up on the right. “No worries. I was picking up mine as well.”