Southern Sunrise Read online

Maybe this was a bad idea, I think to myself. Maybe coming here wasn’t the right thing to do. I should have just gone to my cabin and waited for my next orders. I have no idea what to say to my father, so I just go with the basic, “Hey.” He just nods at me and stands there with his hands on his hips very much the same as Beau. His look is closed off, and I know it has to do with him being a sheriff and hiding his feelings, but he was the best father you could have asked for, and not once did I ever feel not loved by him.

  “Oh my god, you got so big,” Kallie says, and I look down at her. She left town when my mother was pregnant with me, thinking my father had cheated on her. Coming back when I was eight, she and my father couldn’t fight their pull to each other, and as soon as they ironed things out, she was all in. She came into the house and not once did she not take care of me. Not once did I feel she had any resentment toward me. Not even one time. “Look at how big he is, Jacob.” She looks back at him, and all he can do is stand there.

  “Yeah.” He answers with one word, one little word, and the tension around this reunion is so thick you can cut it with a knife. Everyone’s trying to tiptoe around it.

  “I have to get home,” Casey says. “And I promised that I would get him settled before.”

  “Oh,” Kallie says. “But…”

  “I’m not leaving just yet,” I say and then look up at my mother who just looks at me.

  “You can come to the barbecue on Sunday,” Kallie says, smiling, looking around, then looking back at me. “Billy and Charlotte have one every Sunday so we can all get together.”

  “Um,” I start to say. “That sounds good.” I look at Casey, who just stares at me. Kallie’s arms fall away from me.

  “They are going to be so happy to see you,” Kallie says. “You know that she is going to be baking and cooking all your favorite things.” I swallow down, thinking of how I’m going to face all these people.

  I turn and walk back to the truck, getting in while Casey talks to them. Quinn gets into the truck now. “That was rough,” he says from the front, looking over his shoulder.

  “It was,” I answer, the back of my head starting to throb.

  “It has been rough,” Quinn says. “With Aunt Kallie and Aunt Savannah.” My eyes open as I listen to him. “Christmas is the worst. They spend most of the day pretending not to cry, but you can tell.” The burning in my stomach comes on now. “And your birthday.” I don’t have time to answer him because Casey climbs into the car, and we drive away. I try not to look, but for a split second, I look.

  Jacob has a shaking Kallie in his arms, and Beau is holding my mother. Chelsea continues to glare at me. “That wasn’t bad,” Casey says, driving away, and it’s Quinn who says something.

  “That wasn’t bad?” He points back at the scene we just left. “Were you not watching what I was watching? All that was missing is Grandma.”

  “I mean, it could have been worse?” Casey looks over at him, and Quinn laughs.

  “What could have been worse was Chelsea shooting his ass.” He points at the back, and I’m shocked she shoots guns.

  “She shoots?” I ask, and Quinn looks over at me.

  “She’s got the best shot out of all of us,” he says. “Even me, and I’m older than she is.”

  I look out the window, my head going around and around, and my eyes suddenly burning. We pull up to the house, and I whistle. “This is new.” I look at the one-story house with gray brick stone and a gray roof. The white trim around the windows and the door, and a covered porch in the front with two Adirondack chairs.

  “Yeah,” Casey says. “We gutted the last one, and well …”

  “Mom went crazy,” Quinn says, getting out of the truck, and I see that he's really tall. He’s got his mother’s model looks, but his father’s build. “It was not a good time.”

  “She didn’t go that crazy,” Casey says. Only when the door closes, and it’s just the two of us does he look over at me. “She went crazy.”

  I laugh, getting out of the truck and walk over to the trunk getting out my green army bag that holds my clothes. “You joined the Army?” Quinn asks, shocked when he sees me with the bag. “What division?”

  “Delta Force,” I say, and he just looks at me.

  “That is so badass,” he says, whistling, and he’s about to tell Casey something.

  “No,” he says. “Your mother would find you on the battlefield and drag your ass home.” He shakes his head. “Now wait here while I show him around.”

  “I don’t need you to show me around,” I tell Casey, and he just shakes his head, walking up the two steps toward the brown wooden door.

  “Everything is wired tight,” he says, walking inside and turning on the lights. It’s my turn to whistle as I look around.

  “He was not kidding. This looks like …” I look around at the all-white family room that opens to a huge white kitchen with white and gray marble countertops. “I can’t stay here,” I say, afraid to even dirty the floor. “Why is everything so clean? I’m a military guy, and I’m clean, but all I can see is me dragging in the mud.”

  “Good,” he says. “Then I can replace all this shit with normal fucking furniture.” He puts his hands on his hips. “If you repeat that to Olivia, I’m going to deny it until my last breath.”

  “Your secret is safe with me,” I say.

  “The fridge is stocked, and so is the freezer. TV remote is there.” He points to the middle of the table.

  “How bad was it?” I look at him, and he just looks at me.

  “Bad,” he answers. “But it’s not my story to tell.”

  “Did you ever tell them where I was?” I ask.

  “Only Beau and Jacob knew,” he answers. “I think they shared it, but I never asked.”

  “Fuck,” I say, shaking my head.

  “Yeah,” Casey says. “That is what we all said. Call me if you have any questions.” Casey starts to walk out of the house and then stops. “They don’t know everything.” I close my eyes. “Figured that was your story to tell them.” He walks out of the room, and only when I hear the front door slam do I allow my shoulders to slump.

  Chapter Seven

  Emily

  I don’t bother wiping the tears from my face as I drive away. I’m on autopilot as I head back to my house. Parking in the driveway, I don’t even bother grabbing my bag before I drag my ass into the house. As soon as the door closes behind me and I’m in the safety of my own house, my body gives out.

  I collapse against the front door, and my legs give out at the same time the sob rips through me. I lie here in the fetal position as the tears pour out of me, and my body shakes with the sobs that come with it. My eyes remain open, so I can’t replay this afternoon and seeing him again over and over in my head.

  I hear car doors shut, and then I hear my best friend Jenna start to yell. “She’s home. Brett, get my keys in my purse.”

  I try to move, but I only have enough strength to get away from the door and sit with my back against the wall. I hear the key in the lock and just wait for the door to open. She spots me right away. My best friend since we were seven, and she moved in next door to us. We have been through everything together—first kisses, first periods, and the first time we got caught sneaking out. The first time we decided to do homemade perms that made our hair look like poodles.

  “Oh, shit,” she says when she spots me. Rushing to me, she squats in front of me and takes my face in her hands. “That fucking piece of …” she mumbles before I hear Brett behind her.

  “She doesn’t need this shit.” I hear her husband, Brett, behind her. “Move out of the way, darling.” The two of them started dating at the same time Ethan and I did. We would go on double dates, but Brett was younger than Ethan, so they didn’t have much in common. “I gotcha,” he says, leaning down and picking me up like a baby.

  “I can walk.” I lie to them, and Brett just rolls his eyes. He walks me over to the couch and places me down while Jenna rushes to
the kitchen and grabs the bottle of whiskey that I keep on hand.

  “I don’t think drinking is the right thing to do,” Brett says, looking at Jenna. He’s six foot five, and she is five foot two. He has blond hair and blue eyes while she has black hair and black eyes. They are complete opposites, yet together they are one.

  “Where is Drew?” Brett looks at me.

  “He’s at his place,” I say, and he looks up at the ceiling. “I told him to go.”

  “I don’t care what you told him,” Brett says. “How could he just leave you like that?”

  “Douchebag,” Jenna mumbles. The two of them are like oil and water, and Drew has told me time and time again how he doesn’t like her. Jenna, on the other hand, tolerates him just for me.

  “I told him to go home.” I look at her, trying to defend him.

  She slams the bottle of whiskey on the counter. “I don’t care if you told him to go home. The point is, you needed him. How could he not see?”

  “Jenna,” Brett says in a warning tone. “Now is not the time.”

  “It’s never the time.” She throws her hands up. “It’s now or never, Brett.” She looks at me. “Drew is an asshole.” I’m about to say something, but she puts up her hand to stop me. “And I know you say you love him, but do you really?”

  “Of course I do,” I say, but the words don’t even sound sincere to me. “He …”

  “He what?” She opens the bottle of whiskey, taking a pull and then hissing. “That’s so gross.” She points at the bottle. “How do you drink this?”

  “I don’t drink it,” I say. “Billy gave it to me.”

  “Jesus H,” Brett says. “Don’t drink anymore of that. It’s his special blend.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask the same time as Jenna.

  “It means you are going to get drunker than a skunk if you drink anymore,” he says, and Jenna nods her head.

  “Good.” She walks over to me and sits beside me. “Here, drink up.”

  “I’m going to go and get food,” Brett says. “For later.” He turns and walks out of the house. I take the bottle from her and bring it to my lips and take a sip. The amber liquid burns all the way down to my stomach.

  “That is so gross,” I say. “Maybe it tastes better cold.”

  “Maybe it tastes better after we’re drunk,” she says, taking another sip from the bottle. “Still not good.”

  I put my head down on the side of the cushion. “My heart is broken,” I whisper. She’s the only one I will tell all my secrets to. The only one I know will keep them locked up.

  “I thought I was okay,” I say, grabbing the bottle from her and taking a sip as the tears run down my face. “I thought I was over it. I thought, or at least I would tell myself, that seeing him wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t change anything. I have so much hatred and anger for him that there is no way I would care if he came back.” I close my eyes, and all I can see is him, but it’s the new him. The one who didn’t smile; the one who I don’t know.

  “I love Drew.” She just looks at me. “I love him, I do …”

  “You will never love Drew like that.” Jenna reaches out to hold my hand. “I hate that you can’t love him like that even though I think he’s a douchebag. I want you to love him with every single beat of your heart. But …” she says, looking down, and then she has her own tears in her eyes. “You never will. Ethan is the love of your life. He is a part of you.”

  I bring the bottle to my lips, and this time, I take a bigger gulp. “He was the love of my life, but that part of me is dead.”

  “That part of you will never die,” she says. “Just like if Brett were to leave me. I will forever love him with everything that I have. I will pretend I didn’t, but in my soul, I would cry for him.”

  “He doesn’t love me,” I say. “If he did, he never would have left me the way he did.”

  “You need to get the story.” She looks at me. “I hate him for what he did, but there has to be a reason.”

  I shake my head. “What reason?” I ask angrily, getting up. “What fucking reason could there be for leaving me behind if he loved me so much?” I take another sip, and I suddenly feel hot. “He was mad at his parents, and I get that, but me?” I point at myself. “Me? I had nothing to do with that!” I yell. “Nothing,” I fume. “He could have reached out after. He could have cooled down and called me. He could have done all of those things.” I look at her, stopping to pace. “And what did he do?” She just looks at me with tears in her eyes. “He did nothing. He just tossed me aside without a second thought,” I say, and the words hurt my heart even more today than they did before. “I am nothing to him,” I say again, and this time, I fall to my knees. “Nothing. How could I love a man who thinks I’m nothing?” My hands go to my face. “How could my heart still love him? How?”

  Jenna is beside me as the sobs rip through me over and over again. This time, she holds me in her arms on the floor as the tears flow down and so many tears come. I hurt from losing him just as much today as I did five years ago. For five years, I buried the hurt; for five years, I ignored the hurt. For five years, I pretended that I was okay; I was not okay. I am not okay, but I am going to be okay. “Why?” I whisper. “How could he do that to me?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispers.

  “Yeah, I don’t either,” I say, and when Brett comes back, his hands are full of food.

  “So,” he says to us. “I ran into Billy, and he said that if you mix that whiskey with some sweet tea, it’s even better.” He puts down the bag of food. “Also, he says your ass better be at that barbecue on Sunday.”

  “No way,” Jenna says, and I shake my head.

  “I don’t know how long he’s in town for, and I don’t care.” I get up, leaning on the couch for support. “The only thing I know is that I’m not going to go out of my way to see him. So there will be no more barbecues, and there will be no more lunches with the family.” My heart hurts just a touch more. When he left, I got lost in his family; it was the only thing of him I could have so I took hold of it and made it mine. Now I have to step away. “I’m not doing it for him. I’m doing it for me.” I walk away from them and toward my bedroom. “I need a shower.”

  “Do you want us to stay?” Jenna asks, and I look down at the floor.

  “No.” I close my eyes. “But I’ll call you if I do.”

  “Promise?” she says, and I just nod. I walk to the bedroom and close the door behind me. Taking off the shirt that I put on this morning, I replay the day over and over in my head as the tears fall again. I slip into the shower and the tears mix with the water, and I remember the first time he told me he loved me.

  “Sunrise.” He called my name while I walked away from him. It was six months after he finally kissed me. We sat by the tree that night and looked at the stars. The sun had just started coming up, so we got up. He held my hand the whole time he walked me home.

  “Yeah,” I said quietly.

  “I love you.” He said the words that I’d been secretly telling him every single night. He stopped walking, and I looked at him. I was so head over heels in love with him. “I love you.” He cupped my face.

  I tried to hide the smile. “Do you now?”

  “I do, Sunrise.” He leaned forward, and right before he kissed me, he said, “Down to the last beat of my heart.”

  I get out of the shower and dry off. I avoid looking at myself in the mirror as I slip on pants and a tank top. Walking to the living room, I see that they took the whiskey, but they left food. I walk to the patio door and slide it open, walking into the yard and toward the hammock that I love.

  I slip into it as I look up at the stars. The tears don’t stop, they don’t ever stop, and finally, when I see the pink take over the sky, I get up and go inside, making myself a cup of coffee. Sitting on the back stoop, I watch the sky turn from a pink to a purple. I take a sip of the hot coffee and look off into the distance, seeing a figure walking my way. I just sit h
ere, not sure my eyes are right or if I’m imagining that this is happening. He gets closer and closer, and only when he looks up and sees me does his face fill with shock.

  “Emily,” he whispers. “What are you doing here?”

  “I live here,” I say. “This is my house.”

  “But …” He looks at the house. “This is my mother's house.”

  “No.” I shake my head, my heart racing like a horse at the derby. “It was her house, and then I bought it from her.”

  “But,” he says, and I look at him. He looks like he hasn’t slept either. He wears jeans and a T-shirt that clings to his chest. “But this is …”

  I stand, hoping that my legs don’t give out on me. “But nothing. You’re trespassing,” I say and turn to walk away from him, and he calls my name again.

  “Emily.” I shake my head and blink away the tears, not wanting him to see them.

  “Goodbye, Ethan,” I say over my shoulder before walking into the house and locking the door behind me.

  Chapter Eight

  Ethan

  “Goodbye, Ethan.” She says the words so softly, and all I can do is watch her walk into the house and listen as the sound of the lock echoes in the air. The last thing I expected was to find her sitting there when I decided to walk here. When I looked up and saw the redness in her eyes, I wanted to take her in my arms and tell her all the things. I wanted to tell her how much I missed her. I wanted to tell her how sorry I was that I left. I wanted to tell her that no matter what happened, I still loved her with every single part of me. I wanted to tell her that I would talk to her at night while I looked up at the stars. I wanted to tell her that I wished she was there every single day. I wanted to tell her that with everything, the one thing I wish I could take back was leaving her.

  Do I regret what I said? Yes, in some ways, I do, but it also made me the man I am today. And I’m proud of that man. I’m proud to serve my country. I look around at my childhood home and wonder why the fuck she bought this house. Why did my mother sell it to her when she always said she was going to keep it? I look at the backyard where I spent time kicking a soccer ball. The trees are so big now, and I spot the hammock. Glancing back at the house, I was thinking back to the time we lay on the grass.