by Naima Simone
There was something here. Something much more than a gazebo.
“This is Cole’s first year as mayor, and he would never admit it to me, but he feels the pressure of the position and the responsibilities it brings.”
“Why wouldn’t he admit that?” She hadn’t been around the Dennisons long, but just that limited amount of time had been enough to see how tight they were.
Though hair covered his jaw, Nessa couldn’t miss the flex of it or the jump in his cheek. “Rose Bend is a good town with even better people. But like any place, we have those assholes who see others who aren’t the same race, gender, religion or sexual identity as them as inferior or subhuman. We’re not immune to that kind of rot just because we’re a small town. And as Rose Bend’s first nonwhite mayor, Cole has faced some opposition and pushback simply because he’s Puerto Rican. You remember meeting Jenna last night?”
Nessa nodded, a soul-deep sadness and weariness weighing her down. A sadness born of knowing even in this day and age there were people who still clung to that harmful, racist mentality. A weariness that originated from fighting in the same trenches Cole battled in. As a nurse, she witnessed it every day. Experienced it more often than she should.
“Her father is the town’s former mayor. Cole actually beat him in the last election, and he’s one of the main instigators. The fact that the man’s on the town council only makes it worse. Cole doesn’t think I understand—and to be fair, I probably can only to a certain extent—but he doesn’t just carry the weight of being Rose Bend’s first mayor of color on his shoulders. He carries the burden of expectations for every nonwhite person who comes behind him who wants to be mayor. If he fails in any way, then people will look at him and say, see, we gave them a chance and they blew it. This is why they shouldn’t be in positions of leadership. They can’t handle it. He feels that weight. And though we’re brothers, I am white. No matter how much I sympathize with him and want to fight on his behalf, I can’t fully grasp what it is to live as a man of color in the United States. In this town. In a position of power. And though me and my brother are close, he doesn’t share that with me because he believes I can’t understand. And the truth is, I can’t.”
Silence fell between them, and words crowded into her mind in a jumbled mess that she struggled to parcel out. Give her medical terms to decipher or orders she needed to carry out, and she was in her element. But with emotions? Her tongue might as well be quicksand.
Staring at the stark lines of his face, the harsh set of his full mouth and the almost self-protective crossing of his arms, she pushed past her personal hang-ups and insecurities.
“Or,” she slowly said, “maybe you, Moe, your father, your family—you’re all his haven. The one place where he doesn’t have to face the world with his guard up. Having to explain and justify your—” she frowned, twirling her hand as she scrambled for the appropriate word “—personhood is exhausting. And often, it seems like that’s what we have to do day in and day out—defend why we exist, why our lives are just as valuable and valid as others. But when he’s with you, he doesn’t have to. He’s safe. He knows he’s valued. He’s seen. So what you take as him not believing you capable of understanding him—maybe he sees as you being his place to be understood. To simply be.”
The three quick beeps of a horn, the festive melody of “Jingle Bells” playing from the PA system from the Christmas tree lot at the far corner of Main and the chatter of pedestrian voices floated around them. Heat flooded her stomach before scaling her chest and streaming into her face. This awkward-as-hell silence was why she didn’t give in to emotions. They were messy, sticky bogs that left her floundering, with no control.
She hated having no control.
An image of her huddled against that hospital wall, shaking, terrified and gasping for breath, wavered in front of her face and disgust spilled through her.
So did fear.
“Thank you.”
The raspy note in that deep sin-and-sex voice was overkill. And it cut through the thick self-recrimination. It slid beneath her layers of clothing and caressed her like calloused fingertips over bare skin. But even more alarming, it reached inside, grasped her heart and squeezed so hard, she barely managed to smother a gasp. She lifted her coffee cup to her mouth, her arm hiding the hand that rubbed at the ache behind her chest bone.
“You’re welcome.” She sipped from the cooling brew, bending her head to blindly peer at the blueprint again. “So all this for your brother, huh?”
“Pretty much.”
“It’s amazing the things we’ll do for them, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” he agreed.
She paused. Sipped again. “We’re such suckers.”
“Yeah.”
Seven
WOLF STEPPED OUT of the post office’s front entrance into the cold afternoon air. Smiling and nodding at a passerby, he headed down the sidewalk to his truck, the envelope with the money order inside, a leaden weight in his hand. That weight echoed in his chest and he curled the fingers of his other hand hard around his keys, the ridges biting into his palm through the gloves. He relished the dull pressure that carried the faintest hint of pain. As a matter of fact, he focused on that promise of pain, because it helped him focus. Helped him switch his brain to something other than what the next few minutes would hold.
As soon as he reached his truck, he unlocked it, stretched across the bucket seats to the glove compartment and retrieved a pen. Almost on autopilot, he fished the money order out of the envelope, leaned over the truck’s hood and started filling out the fields.
Carol Brandt
33 Willow Bark Ln, Rose Bend, MA 01236
His hand hovered over the memo line. As it did every month when he filled out a money order to Raylon’s mother. The most accurate description would be “Recompense for your son’s life.” Or “Meager absolution for my unforgiveable sin.” Instead, he quickly jotted down “Monthly payment” on the line, tucked the money order for just under three thousand dollars in the envelope and sealed it. Poor restitution for a life and a shattered promise, but it was all he had to give.
Blood money.
The accusation whispered through his head as shame sloshed in his gut like sour liquor. He stalked to a nearby mailbox and slipped the envelope into the slot. Standing there for several seconds, head bowed, he rested his fist on the top of it.
The monthly routine should’ve been cathartic, like slipping into the confessional with a priest. But instead of emerging unburdened by his sins, he always left heavier, guiltier. Like a man chipping away at a mountain of pain and regret.
Eight years. It’d been eight years since he’d returned home from the military hospital, his knee a mess, his head even more of one. And his heart? There’d been a hollow hole where it’d once existed. A hole the size of the best friend who’d died in that village in the desert. The best friend he’d failed to protect.
It’d been Wolf who’d convinced Raylon to enlist in the army.
It’d been Wolf who promised Carol, his mother, that he’d protect her son.
It’d been Wolf who failed both mother and son.
So that monthly combat-disability check he received because he’d lived and Raylon hadn’t was the very least he could give Carol Brandt. Because in the end, it didn’t come even close to what she desired most—her son.
A howl of old pain clawed at his chest. Out of habit, he rubbed at the inside of his right forearm, directly over the spot where he’d had a tattoo inked several years ago. The same ache that bloomed in his chest pulsed there. Past experience had taught him the uselessness of trying to knead the pain away. Didn’t stop him, though.
“Wolf?”
Dammit.
He lifted his head, deliberately straightened his fist and lowered his arm to his side. Of all the people... Just...damn.
Turning, he met the con
cerned gazes of Olivia and her mother, Regina. Not today. Not when he was so raw. That envelope was a reminder of how he’d failed one of the most important people in his life when he’d needed him most.
And as if the universe wasn’t through with him, here stood the other example of how he hadn’t measured up. How he hadn’t been enough for the person he’d loved.
How he’d disappointed yet again.
With a force of will that deserved some kind of blue ribbon, he smiled at the women. Though from the deepening worry in their identical violet eyes, he must’ve failed in the endeavor.
Sighing, he nodded. “Olivia. Mrs. Allen. It’s good to see you.”
“Why so formal, Wolf? I know it’s been a while, but I’ll always be Regina to you.” She smiled at him, and hers was a hell of a lot more genuine than his. “And it’s wonderful to see you, too. I hope your mother told you I asked about you when I saw her the other day.”
“She did. And thank you.”
“Wolf.” Olivia tilted her head to the side, peering up at him from under the bill of her pageboy cap. She was still beautiful. And at one time, that familiar gesture had been endearing and adorable. But now, it just left him... Fuck if he knew. “Are you okay?”
“I’m good.”
She didn’t look convinced, her glance clearly skeptical. Well, she’d always been a smart woman. He smothered a sigh. Too smart.
“Mom.” She laid a hand on her mother’s arm. “Would you mind if I met you at Mimi’s?”
“Not at all, honey. I’ll order your usual.” Kissing her daughter’s cheek, Regina wiggled her fingers at him. “Bye, Wolf. Please don’t be a stranger. You’re always welcome at our home.” She gave him one last smile as she strolled away.
Jesus Christ. “Look, Olivia—”
“What’s going on?” She stepped closer to him. So close her familiar lavender scent teased his nose. “And don’t try to tell me nothing or you’re good. You looked like you were in pain a couple of minutes ago. I know you too well.”
Anger shot through him like a struck match, hot and quick. “Olivia, I don’t want to disrespect you when I say this. But you forfeited the right to ask me that three years ago. And suddenly showing up back in town doesn’t mean you get to reclaim it.”
“Forfeited the right to ask if you’re okay?” she demanded.
“No, the right to expect answers.”
Silence crystallized between them like diamonds, bright, unbreakable and sharp.
Finally, he dragged a hand over his hair, not bothering to swallow this sigh. He hadn’t wanted to do this right now, and definitely not right here on goddamn Main Street. Already, they were receiving looks from several people. And if he weren’t mistaken, that was Wanda Mason’s nose pressed to the window of Price’s Pharmacy right between the greeting cards and the bifocals rack. Fuck. That meant this little confrontation would hit the Rose Bend grapevine by dinner.
“This might sound horrible,” Olivia said softly. “But part of me doesn’t care if you yelled at me. That part of me says go right ahead and do it. Because then it would mean you at least feel something for me. I can deal with hate or spite as long as it’s something, Wolf. It’s when you look at me and I don’t see anything in your eyes that I worry.”
He stared at her. An emotion should beat in his chest at this moment. Elation. Rage. Disgust. Sorrow.
Anything.
But all that climbed up his throat from the empty husk that was his rib cage was the inane urge to laugh. And when it escaped him, he suspected it would sound faintly hysterical. And he still retained enough pride to know that wouldn’t be a good look.
Well, that confirmed it.
He didn’t have the emotional or mental bandwidth for this.
“Olivia, I don’t know what you expected when you came back here. Especially from me. But I can’t give it to you.”
You broke that in me when you left. That piece that trusts, that loves without reservation. I can’t give it to you. I can’t give it to anyone.
He kept that gem to himself.
“Wolf.”
She placed her hand on his forearm. It used to be one little brush of those delicate fingers and he’d melt. He’d do anything for her. Now the steel forged over his heart by her rejection didn’t bend. Still, he shifted out from under her hand. And he pretended not to see the hurt that shadowed her eyes.
Just like she’d pretended not to see him three years ago, standing there at the end of his driveway, willing her to come back.
“You didn’t mind that woman from last night touching you,” she murmured. “What was her name? Nessa?”
If even the barest hint of accusation had colored her voice, he might’ve given in to the need to snap at her, to hurt her. But only sadness weighed down her tone, darkened her gaze.
He didn’t have any responsibility for her feelings. They stopped being his concern the second his ceased being hers. But... Hell, what was he doing here?
“Like Leo said last night, Nessa Hunt and her sister are guests at the inn.”
“So you two aren’t...?”
She didn’t finish the question, and he didn’t answer it. Maybe she figured that she’d gone too far because she nodded, and another tense silence descended between them.
And again, she was the one who broke it.
“I’m sorry, Wolf. I’m sorry for leaving the way I did. I—”
“No.” He cut her off, his voice harsh, sharper than her gasp at his interruption. “Look at me, Olivia. Really look at me. If you claim to know me as well as you do.”
He paused, the air rasping out of his nose, his chest rising and falling. This...this apology in the middle of a busy sidewalk struck him as wrong. And selfish.
Because in the end this I’m sorry was about her, not him. What she needed.
Just as her leaving had been about her, what she needed, and fuck him.
It was like déjà vu all over again only with Christmas carols on the PA system and Willy Wonka–size candy canes aligning the sidewalks nearby.
No, thanks.
“I am looking at you, Wolf,” she whispered. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”
He laughed, and the bitterness scraped his throat like sandpaper. “Then you would see I can’t do this right now. What am I standing next to, Olivia?” He thumped a fist on top of the mailbox. And as her eyes widened, understanding dawning in them, another hard chuckle escaped him. “Yeah. Not today. Not now. Maybe not ever. And you know what? You’ll have to be good with that because those are the consequences of the choices you made.”
He turned, ignoring her calling his name, and strode back toward his truck. Jerking the door open, he slid inside. A glance through the windshield revealed Olivia hadn’t moved from where he’d left her. But this time, it was him driving away.
And he took no joy in doing it.
In this moment, he took no joy in anything.
Eight
NESSA BLINKED.
Blinked again.
Slowly closed her eyes. Counted to five. Opened them.
Nope. Still a shit ton of Santas crowded onto Main Street like shoppers at Walmart on Black Friday during an early bird sale. Like, a lot of Santas.
Good God. She shook her head, more than a little awe winding through her. Boston had its own Santa Run, so she wasn’t a stranger to the event. And even when Wolf had explained Rose Bend’s version to her earlier that day on the town square, she hadn’t imagined this.
Aside from what appeared to be most of the town packed onto the sidewalks and street and dressed in varying degrees of Santa Claus costumes, the top of Main Street had been cordoned off. About halfway down, the avenue had been transformed into an honest-to-God obstacle course. Oh yes. Complete with tires, a huge bouncy castle with balls, a mini-climbing wall and that’s just what she could see. A
nother thing Wolf had neglected to mention.
She said it before, and she’d say it again. These people took Christmas seriously.
“Nessa!”
She glanced up and spotted Leo waving at her with the arm not bound to a younger woman with gorgeous, shoulder-length sister locs—Florence, Leo’s sister, who Nessa had met earlier.
“You joining in or what?” Leo yelled, her voice somehow booming over the din on the crowded street.
Nessa shook her head, pointing to her hot chocolate as an excuse for why she was abstaining from getting sweaty in a St. Nick suit and possibly dying somewhere between the tire course and balance beam. A half hour on the treadmill at Gold’s Gym did not prepare her for that.
Leo gave her an exaggerated pout but was distracted from Nessa’s lack of team spirit by Sinead, another sister, and Cher. Next to them, Ivy and Sonny laughed together, pulling at their wrists, apparently testing the limits of the tie that held them together.
Ducking her head, Nessa glanced away from them. Hating the tightening in her chest, she lifted her cup to her mouth again and sipped the hot chocolate. As if that could wash away the bitter taste of envy in her mouth.
This was why Isaac had sent them here, after all. So Ivy could have this experience. The fun and happiness he’d had here with her and her mother those years ago.
This isn’t about you.
It never was.
The more she reminded herself of that, the less she would feel these ridiculous feelings of petty, useless jealousy.
“Hey, you’re missing something.” A hat plopped down on her head, the brim falling over her eyes and momentarily blinding her. She shoved faux fur out of her face and met Wolf’s emerald gaze and wide smile. “There. That’s much better.” He clapped his big hands together. “Now for the rest of your costume...”
“Whoa, whoa there, Jack Skellington,” she drawled. “Slow your roll. Sorry, but hard pass on the holiday calisthenics. I’m good over here with my hot chocolate and below-average lung capacity, thank you very much.”
