I stand on my tippy toes and kiss my uncle on the cheek. He blushes and pulls me into his side, kissing me on top of my head. Without another word he walks out and I’m left alone again, this time my fathers’ guitar is my only company. I’m itching to open it. It has been months since I last played. Music was how I expressed what I was feeling and I made a resolution to get back to it when the first chance came up.
After finally settling in and getting my uncle and aunt to leave, I crawl into my big, poufy bed, my body sinking into the mattress and releasing all the tension from the past few hours.
For the first time since my mother died, the nightmares stay away, and it’s as if nothing happened.
If only that were true. I pray to God and whatever other higher power is out there looking after me, that my past won’t try to find me. Deep down, in the very core of my being, I know it will eventually come back, that he will come find me. I shove the dreaded thought back into the darkest corners of my mind. Tomorrow would be my new beginning and whether I was ready or not, it was here.
The old Huntley Morgan is dead and gone…
Chapter 2
Grayson
I pull up outside the bakery on Main Street like I’ve done for the last few Saturdays since classes started. Somehow it’s become a routine, given that our football coach’s wife, or Mrs. Coach as I like to call her, owns it. We usually stop by for breakfast and then head out to Lake Dixon for the day, today being no exception. Despite my intense schedule, with it being my final year year, I’ve managed to keep my grades high, attend all my classes, make it to every practice and still find time to hang with friends.
I cross the busy street, waving to familiar faces as they pass me by. It’s one of the drawbacks of living in such a small town – everybody knows your name and your business. When your fathers’ the only attorney in town and your mother chairs almost every charity organization in the state, it falls on you to continue the legacy. Not that I’m complaining. Life at twenty one is pretty damn sweet in my shoes. Or at least that’s what I want people to think.
“Hey Gray, what’s up buddy!” I take a seat opposite my best friend Brody at our usual table and bump his fist. “Hey Bro.” Brody and I met in the second grade, when a fourth grader picked on my sister. Brody jumped on his back and just about pummeled him to death, despite the fact that he was twice Brody’s size. We’ve been best friends ever since. I think about my sister for a split second, dismissing the thought quicker than what it came. After two years it’s supposed to be easier but some days she’s all I think about.
“So, how was your night last night?” he looks at me, one brow cocked up high into his messy blonde hair. I know what he’s really asking me but he’s too chickenshit to say it out loud. He’ll make me say it instead. Bastard.
“It was good, but I wasn’t with Rebecca if that’s what you're asking.” I give him a warning look not to go there. It would just ruin my mood. “What? She didn’t attack you last night like she always does?” he retorts sarcastically. “That’s a shocker! I’m pretty sure that girl has your entire wedding planned already.” I roll my eyes, tired of this conversation already. He knows better than anyone that I don’t do love. Not anymore. When I had my heart stomped on, shredded and spat back out by the first girl I ever truly loved I decided to switch my heart off permanently. I would rather feel nothing than feel so hurt and broken up again. But Rebecca and I have an arrangement, one that does not include romantic feelings. At least not on my part. All it’s ever been is a few meaningless hook-ups. No feelings, no emotions. Just sex.
But what if he’s right? What if she thinks this thing with us is more? Shit.
“It’s not like that Brody. You know she’s just a warm body when I need a distraction.” I need to change the subject and fortunately my rescuer arrives at our table in form of a petit, dark haired woman that is like a second mother to me. Emma Morgan is one of the nicest women I’ve ever met, a real Southern belle, but get on her bad side and she’ll make your life difficult. We always laugh at Coach Morgan when he’s had a fight with his wife – he storms into the locker rooms and mumbles incoherently about marrying a woman like his mother. But he adores his wife and both his daughters. He’s the kind of man I wish I could be. Maybe someday.
“Hey Mrs. Coach,” I tease affectionately, knowing how much she hates it when we call her that. She swats my arm playfully with a dishtowel and chuckles. “You boys better be behaving over here!”
“Of course we are Mrs. Coach, we’re the most well behaved boys on the team,” Brody quips. He’s lying. We both know how much shit we’re capable of getting ourselves into, especially when we team up. We’ve been partners in crime for what feels like forever.
“Can I get you boys the usual? Bacon, eggs, french fries and coffee?”