Page 14 of The Rest is History

“Yes.”

“Family?”

“Friend.” I stick the journal back into the satchel.

“Well, enjoy your time in Linksfield. It’s too damn quiet out here, but the best damn place to be if that’s what you’re looking for.”

The GPS tells him to take the next left, which is a dirt road with a sign that says Big Trout Road. The overhanging branches of the tree-lined road scrape against the window as we pass. Where the town was bright and happy, despite the dull weather, the road leading to Asher’s cottage is less so. Not much sunlight – if there was any today – would be able to get through the trees, probably.

Although the town center is only a few minutes away, it feels like we’ve entered another world.

I lower the window, desperate to feel the freshness of this wooded area. The air is crisp and the smell of the earth is heady. If I were to imagine the scent of a new beginning, a fresh start, this would be it.

Dead branches crunch underneath the tires as the car rolls to a stop in front of a wooden structure the size of my living room at home.

Of all the ways I’ve imagined seeing Asher again for the first time after a decade, this is not one of them. Instead of a nice dinner somewhere in town – probably Al’s Diner – where we’ll catch up and forgive old hurts and fall in love all over again, I’m going to eat dinner with him and his husband in their little cottage in the middle of nowhere.

And I’m not here to make Asher fall in love with me again. That possibility exists in some alternate universe I’ll never have access to. I’m here because I just can’t be anywhere else right now. I’m here because I want to tell my old best friend about Abby and hopefully, seeing him again, will give me some courage to go on with the rest of my life.

There’s a stone walkway from the dirt road leading to three wooden steps and up onto a porch. On the left side of the walkway is a small square patch of grass, neatly trimmed, and on the other side three rows of what looks like a mini food garden.

I would never have imagined Asher settling down into a rural, domesticated life like this. He dreamed of big city lights, playing football in sold-out stadiums. He was good enough – more than good enough – and he would’ve gotten it all if it hadn’t been for my father.

So, how did Asher end up living my dream life?

Chapter 7

Asher

He’s here.

Almost here. He’s just down the road, according to the Uber app where he’d shared the details of his ride with me when he left the airport. He didn’t have to, but Reece can be. . . overcompensating like that. He shared his flight details and where he was staying yesterday, too, and assured me a dozen times he won’t get in our way. He just wants to get away from his life in the city.

I check on dinner. Steak with mashed potatoes and beans. I could have made chicken teriyaki – Reece’s favorite – but I would’ve fucked it up and, anyway, the only chicken teriyaki Reece ever ate was the one my mother made with her own hands. If you ever tried making it, you would hear him complain all the way into the next town about how no one cooked chicken teriyaki like my mother.

Maybe he’ll like the steak. He used to. Sawyer does.

I don’t know what he wants to get away from and I don’t know what good it’ll do him by coming here. I know nothing about his life – a conscious effort on my part. I don’t know how much he knows about mine.

We left in a hurry with no time for goodbyes, no promises to see each other again. My parents asked me to leave it alone no matter how much it hurt. I listened to them because I trusted them, and they were right. Everything got better, like they said. I moved on, like they said I would.

I’ll never forget my mother’s words: Sometimes you have to fight and sometimes you have to walk away. This is one of those times when we have to walk away.

I didn’t want to walk away. I wanted to fucking fight. I wanted to destroy Buddy Carter.

I check on the store-bought apple pie, which I'd placed in the oven so the crust can get extra crispy, the way Sawyer likes it. It looks good.

Looking back, it wasn’t as complicated as it felt at the time. Buddy Carter was the big, scary boss. My parents, his humble employees with dreams of giving their only child a better future in Arizona. He loved us and took care of us as long as we touched nothing of his.

Reece was his and I shouldn’t have touched him. I should’ve been ashamed of myself, he said. He didn’t believe in homosexuality. It’s as simple as that.

We were given a week’s notice to pack up and leave. Reece’s father’s golfing buddy was one of the big deals at Notre Dame. Two days after Reece and I were found out, my scholarship was revoked.

My father was a good man, but he was not a man who could stand up to such giants. He brought us back to his hometown – Linksfield, Iowa. I hate Reece’s father as much now as I did then, when he used his money and power and influence to humiliate my parents. I guess that’s the way the world is, but I’ll never forgive him.

My phone buzzes. Stepping away from the kitchen, I slide it out of my pocket.

Sawyer: You okay?

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