Page 4 of Caught in the Axe
“At least you bought Maine beer. If you’d walked out of there with Sam Adams, I’d never be able to show my face again.”
“I love you, Mom.”
“And I’ve missed you, smart-ass.”
“Mom.” I snapped my head up, taken aback. My mother rarely swore.
“Eh,” she said, and I could practically see her wave a dismissive hand at me. “It’s fine. I’m living my truth now. Have you read anything by Brene Brown? I can lend you a few titles while you’re here. She’ll change your life, Owen.”
“I don’t have time for recreational reading at the moment. While I’m here, I’ll be working full time remotely while also managing the sale of the business.” Not to mention I had no interest in my mother’s brand of self-improvement.
“And dealing with Chief Souza,” she quipped.
Stomach sinking, I stopped a few feet from the entrance. “How do you know that?”
She laughed, the sound light and airy, once again lifting my spirits despite the circumstances. “I’m so happy you’re here. Your brothers need you. Are you coming for dinner tonight?You’ve already got a six-pack of beer to bring along.”
I sighed. “I’ve got to get myself settled and figure out how things are going to work here. I’m up to my eyeballs in work for Hebert Timber, as well as my actual job.”
Her hum was laced with disappointment. “I’m sure I’ll get word when the police leave. Once they do, I’ll swing by with something for you.”
And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why I don’t do small towns. Personal growth in a small town is impossible. A person’s childhood indiscretions will haunt them forever, and people make judgments based on the actions of past generations.
In this town, I was Mitch Hebert’s second son. That was it.
I wasn’t a real person here. I was an archetype. The smart Hebert brother. I wasn’t the tallest, or the mostathletic, or the one who wanted to take over the business. Each of us boys had been assigned a limited identity at birth.
I’d always pushed back against the confines of this place. Even when I was a kid, it was too small, too rural. I longed for wide streets, more than one option when it came to restaurants and shops, and blissful anonymity.
Once my mom had said her goodbyes, I pocketed my phone and took in my surroundings.
I’d never set foot in this building before. Crossing the threshold felt like a violation of everything that mattered to me, of my value as a person.
When I was a kid, Hebert Timber headquarters were housed in an old brick building on the outskirts of town. There were desks clustered around and my grandpa always had a bowl of candy on his. There was a shop in a pole barn out back and a massive parking lot for trucks and machinery.
It wasn’t fancy, but I spent my childhood running around the place with my brothers, causing mischief and climbing on all the trucks. Any fond memories I had of the business were set there.
A decade or so ago, my father built his headquarters. Rather than constructing a new building, he erected an entire campus. Multiple structures and state-of-the-art facilities, including a small hangar and an airstrip.
The office building was a modern mega monstrosity that was completely out of place in rural Maine.
I forced myself through the front door, and as I crossed the grand foyer, I took in the decor. It was ornate and dark and intimidating. I chuckled at the thought of my dad hiring an expensive interior designer out of Portland or Bangor andtelling them he wanted something that screamed “swanky law firm in hell.”
Bastard.
The money he’d blown on this ridiculous facility would have been better spent on updating the town library or the school or literally anything else. Even the highway sign welcoming drivers to Lovewell was faded and cracked.
But no, my dad’s ego needed a campus. If the new buyers wouldn’t purchase this building, no one would. In this part of the state, there wasn’t a single business that would want or need a facility like this. Not with the way it stuck out against the landscape. And it wasn’t like we could convert it into anything useful.
“Thank fuck you’re here.” Gus was striding toward me. He was a brick wall in human form, dressed in a dark blue plaid shirt, jeans, and boots. It had been his go-to look since high school. His beard was thick and wild, and his hair was on the longish side, curling up from beneath his gray wool beanie.
He pulled me into a hug and clapped me on the back with one of his enormous hands. In that instant, I felt like a scrawny kid again.
And totally freaked out and in over my head.
“So good to see you. Let’s get upstairs, play nice with the police, and then get to work, ayuh?”
Once we reached the floor that housed his office, he led me down a long, stark hallway. “The place is a mess,” he said. “But I’ve got faith in you.”
