13. Aiden

Chapter Thirteen

AIDEN

Aiden was popping a breakfast of ibuprofen and Skittles when he pulled into his mother's neatly paved driveway the next morning.

His body was stiff and cranky, like he'd been ridden hard and put away wet, and not in a good way. The headache that had been brewing the night before had percolated into a potent cluster in the center of his forehead that made his left eye twitch.

It was another bright and clear winter day. Sunshine poured down over his childhood home, highlighting the warm peach tones of the fresh paint job he'd finished for his mother that summer. The property grew increasingly picture-perfect with each passing year, from the cobblestone path winding through the lush green lawn, both buried in snow this time of year, to the enormous wreath of red berries decorating the front door.

It wasn't much of a hobby farm. Other than a small stable and two-acre pasture for Bandit, there was a single chicken coop constructed in a style of quaint Americana. It sat behind the house, pristine, picturesque, and empty. Barbara Doyle wasn't the type of woman to allow chickens to make a mess of her landscaping. The place hadn't looked so much like a gingerbread house when Aiden was a kid. If it had, his mother wouldn't have had to kick him out. He'd have gone willingly.

A matching pair of golden retrievers romped through the snow to greet him, tails wagging. They swarmed his legs as soon as he hopped out of the truck, pawing wet marks onto his jeans, but he didn't mind.

"Goofy hairballs," he told them affectionately, ruffling their floppy ears.

The mutt he'd grown up with was long dead, but he didn't blame these two joyful airheads for replacing her. He wrestled with them a bit, scampering through the snow and laughing at their antics, dragging out the inevitable as long as possible. Eventually, he heard the front door open and knew his time was up.

"Belle! Lucy! Away!"

All three of them froze guiltily. Lucy even left her paw stuck mid-air.

"Now," Barbara commanded in a tone that brooked no disobedience.

The goldens slunk off with their tails between their legs, trotting toward the shed at the back of the house where they spent their afternoons until his mother wiped their paws. They wouldn't be allowed back in the house until she could guarantee a spotless floor. Aiden clucked his tongue sympathetically. It had been the same for him when he was a kid.

"Aiden, darling!" His mother's smile was sugary as she lifted her cheek for a kiss. "I wasn't expecting you so early. Come in."

He carefully wiped his boots on the outdoor mat, then the inside rug, and then tugged them off in the mud room before setting a sock foot on the polished floors. Then he dropped his keys in a little brass tray by the entrance, precisely as he'd been trained to do. The scent of lavender and lemon polish filled his nose, sweeping him up in a complicated wave of nostalgia. It was a childhood smell, pleasant and confusing at the same time.

"I thought we'd eat in the breakfast nook," his mother was saying as she led him through a farmhouse-style kitchen. "No need to be formal with just the two of us."

"Sounds great," Aiden said half-heartedly.

He held out a chair for her before seating himself. Sunlight streamed through the bay windows, painting the flowery china in streams of gold. Aiden wasn't a particularly big man, but he'd always felt huge and clumsy in his mother's space. A bull in a proverbial china shop.

His mother shook a napkin into her lap and said, "Now we have time for you to explain this…sport… you've decided to participate in."

"It's not like I was drafted into the NFL," Aiden joked, reaching for the first platter and dishing a spoonful of fluffy scrambled eggs onto his mother's plate before helping himself. Camp meals and cheerios over the sink were more his style these days, but time couldn't erase old habits. "I'm just taking a shot at the prize money."

"Do you think you have a chance?" she asked.

He shrugged. "As much as anyone. None of the competing teams have any experience. We're all just doing it for fun."

"Hmm." She took a delicate bite of eggs and chewed thoughtfully. Aiden had been braced for more arguments, but she surprised him by changing the subject. "While you're here, I was hoping you could fix the sink for me. It's been leaking for weeks. I had James Owens doing some odd jobs a while back, but he only succeeded in wasting my time and money. I'd rather have you do it."

"Sure, Mom," Aiden replied, glancing toward the kitchen sink. A plunking sound was coming from the slowly dripping faucet. "I'll take a crack at it now."

"Finish your breakfast first."

"I'm not really hungry."

"But I made muffins!"

Aiden glanced down at the bite-size blueberry muffins arranged like a centerpiece on the table. His stomach was churning from the Skittles, but he popped two of them in his mouth and swallowed before he'd finished chewing. "They're great!" he said with his mouth full.

She didn't look like she believed him, so he took another one when he shoved back his chair and escaped the table. He unscrewed the cap on the end of the faucet and inspected it. "Simple fix," he said, rolling up his sleeves. "Just a worn-out washer. I'm surprised James missed it."

"Perhaps I forgot to mention it."

His gloom fell away once he retrieved the toolbox he kept in the supply closet under the stairs. He could never sit still long, and he loved having a purpose. It was easier to carry on a conversation with his mother when he was distracted with simple tasks. He dug through the box and found a washer left over from when he renovated her guest bathroom.

His mother sat at the table and watched while he worked, looking happy and peaceful, like she genuinely appreciated his effort. It was those little things that reminded him she had a heart. She truly loved him in her own way, and she wasn't lying when she said she'd dedicated all her time and attention to raising him. The least he could do was put up with her eccentricities.

"You know," she began casually, "you could always move back home. It would be much easier for you to handle these repairs, and you wouldn't be forced to suffer in that awful trailer anymore. It's miserable in the winter and an oven in the summer."

"I don't mind," Aiden said, mostly ignoring her.

"You'd have more space here, and Bandit would be so happy to have you back."

Aiden ground his back molars together. Bandit was pushing thirty by now; he didn't have many years left. Aiden had missed so much time with him, making do with only sporadic visits, especially in those first few years after his mother kicked him out. She hadn't even allowed him to say goodbye the night he left. While he was packing, she'd raced down to the barn and padlocked the door so he couldn't get inside. That had wrecked him more than anything else. Even now, when he could visit Bandit as often as he wanted, he still felt unsettled…like he was still waiting to say goodbye.

"I appreciate the offer, Mom, but I'm doing fine on my own," he said without looking at her.

Barbara sighed dramatically. "I just worry about you, Aiden. At the time, I hoped living on your own would force you to appreciate everything you had here. Instead, it only reinforced your worst habits. You've never been good at making responsible choices. Now you're spending time with Seth McCall again? After everything that happened?"

Aiden focused intently as he screwed the washer into place. He wished the leak was worse, so he'd have an excuse to avoid eye contact, but the drip slowly tapered off and then stopped completely. He sighed and wiped his hands on a towel.

"Seth's a good guy," he said wearily.

"Maybe." She propped her chin in her hand and quirked one perfectly filled eyebrow. "I'm sure he tries his best, but I think he's always been a very selfish boy. He and his father used you for manual labor, and then he abandoned you as soon as his father died. I suppose he realized how much work you can be. Are those the actions of a true friend, Aiden Nathaniel?"

Aiden groaned and rolled his head around on his stiff neck. "Not the middle name, Mom."

"I gave you that middle name," she said superciliously. "I'll use it when I feel like it."

Aiden chuckled; he couldn't help himself. Sometimes, her high-handed sense of humor was almost charming. It hinted at something beneath the brittle edge—hinted but never confirmed.

"Seth and I have a history," he said with a trace of affection still lingering in his tone. "It's complicated."

"Complicated?" Barbara echoed disdainfully. "'I see 'complicated' every day in my practice. It never ends well for the party making excuses for someone else's bad behavior. Seth has always tried to drive a wedge between you and me. You never talked back to me before he entered your life?—"

"Pretty sure that isn't true," Aiden said with a grin. "But it doesn't matter. I'll live my life how I see fit. You stopped having a say in that a long time ago."

Her spine stiffened like a piece of rebar. "I'm your mother," she said, eyes flashing. "I made you. I gave up everything for you. I'll always have a say in your life!"

"Okay," Aiden agreed, smiling slightly. "I'm going to check on Bandit before I leave, okay?"

Through the kitchen window, he could see the distant figure of a horse plodding, head down, through the small pasture.

"We aren't finished with this discussion!" His mother tossed her balled-up napkin on the table and followed him to the mud room.

"I'm finished."

"You don't get to decide that! It's high time you take accountability around here. I want you to move home and help when I need you." Her voice crept up in register, thinning to a tone that verged on shrill. He could practically see her shoulders tensing toward her ears beneath her fluffy cashmere sweater.

"I can't do that, Mom."

Her eyes narrowed to slits. "You're a very selfish boy," she hissed. "Just like your father—wherever he is. You'll see how much you've hurt me one day. I just hope, for your sake, that it isn't too late by then."

Aiden didn't even blink; he'd heard the same refrain his whole life. He squeezed gently past his mother and stepped into his boots before closing the door respectfully behind him. His heart was heavy, but the sight of Bandit trotting toward the fence lifted it.

He was a goofy-looking animal, but Aiden loved that about him. An adventurous local stable had experimented with breeding an Italian trail horse with a Mustang, resulting in a wonky cross of features. Bandit was a leggy, coal-black gelding with a small head, big ears, and a prominent jaw. He'd been a gift for Aiden's fourteenth birthday, and to this day, he'd never loved anything more.

Bandit stretched his neck over the gate, reaching for Aiden, and let out a welcoming chuff.

"Hey, old man," Aiden murmured, stroking his velvety muzzle. "Missed you."

He didn't ask if Bandit missed him; he knew he did. He studied his horse with expert eyes, taking in the condition of his coat and the tone of his muscles. He'd be healthier if he could be ridden regularly, but Aiden's mother had never been a horsewoman.

Aiden leaned against the fence and tangled his fingers in Bandit's mane, resting his face against his warm neck. He closed his eyes and breathed deep, lulled by the soothing rise and fall of the horse's breath. Bandit patiently tolerated the embrace, but he eventually grew bored enough to begin nibbling Aiden's hat brim.

"Okay, okay," Aiden chuckled, digging into his jacket pocket for the apple he'd tucked away. His eyes stung as he watched the horse carefully lip the treat from his palm, but he knew that returning to his mother with red eyes was the worst mistake he could make, so he clenched his teeth and willed the tears away. "I'd take you with me if I could, old man. You know that."

But horses couldn't talk, so Aiden wasn't sure about that. It was just something he told himself.

He stayed as long as he could, stroking loose hair from Bandit's neck with nothing but the calluses on his palms. Then he fetched a curry comb from the barn and worked the old hair and dried mud from his coat. He talked as he worked, rambling about nothing, just bathing his spirit in the peace of his longest and truest friend. It was easy to lose track of time, but eventually, he gave Bandit one last pat and headed back to the house.

He didn't look back when he left—he never did.

Once he'd completed the mud room ritual and removed his boots, he realized his keys were missing from the brass tray. He patted his pockets, but they only turned up the empty bag of candy from that morning. Retracing his steps turned up nothing, and neither did checking the floor, toolbox, and kitchen. A sinking feeling began to settle in his gut.

"Mom?" he called as he poked around the empty house until he found her working on her laptop in her home office. He hung on the door frame and poked his head inside, asking, "You seen my keys?"

Barbara looked up from the screen, reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. "Your keys?" she echoed, innocently puzzled. "I haven't seen them. Did you misplace them?"

Aiden gritted his teeth. "I put them in the tray when I came in. They're not there now."

Barbara, elaborately thoughtful, tapped one manicured nail against her pursed lips and said, "Are you sure you didn't drop them outside? I've told you to be more responsible. You're always losing things."

Aiden made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat, but he didn't waste breath replying. He beelined back to the kitchen and began searching the usual hiding places from his childhood. He checked the top of the fridge, the decorative vase on the living room bookshelf, the laundry room, and the sofa cushions. He was in the middle of examining a flour canister when his mother reappeared.

Her posture was solicitous, and her smile was hopeful and sweet. "You're always in such a hurry to leave," she said. "Maybe this is nature's way of telling you to slow down. We never finished our conversation."

Aiden took a deep breath and tamped down on the anger beginning to trickle into his bloodstream. "Mom, I don't have time for this," he said, biting back his aggravation. "I need my keys."

"Then you shouldn't have lost them," she said haughtily.

"Jesus Christ!" he exploded. "We both know I didn't lose them! I'm going to be late for work if you don't give back my fucking keys!"

His mother's eyes widened with shock and fury. "How dare you use such language around me? I raised you to be a man of honor!"

"Right now, I'm a man without his fucking keys!" Aiden repeated, blood pressure surging. His face grew hot, and his temples began to pound. He took off his hat and raked his hands through his hair, trying to cool off, but it did no good. He nearly bent its shape when he jammed it back on his head. His hands kept trying to ball into fists, so he shoved them in his pockets. He didn't want her to feel threatened. Despite everything, she had raised him to be a man of honor, and he prided himself on always treating women gently. Even the ones who didn't deserve it.

"I would never stoop to such infantile tactics," his mother said, hard-eyed and thin-lipped in her displeasure. "I'm only trying to help you, and this is the thanks I get?"

Aiden took a deep breath and tried to calm his pounding heart. His earlier headache had returned with a vengeance. "I just want my keys, Mom. I'm not moving back in. I can't. I have my own life."

She sniffed. "Some life. No one will ever take you seriously when you live in a tin can and act like a clown."

There it was, the same voice that echoed in the back of his own head, the one that told him every day that he was a piece of shit. Aiden knew it sounded familiar. He laughed bitterly. "I'm not asking for your approval, Mom. We're way beyond that. I just need my keys."

Barbara's face softened, and something that looked like uncertainty flickered across her expression for a moment. Then her resolution hardened. "If you leave now, Aiden, you'll be making another big mistake. You're going down the wrong path. You're almost thirty years old, single, aimless, and without assets. You need stability. You need?—"

"I need to live life on my own terms," Aiden interrupted in a raw voice. "I haven't needed your permission in a long time."

"Fine! Go, then!" She stepped aside, flinging her arm out dramatically toward the door. "Don't come crying to me when you realize your mistake!"

Aiden hesitated, weighing his options, but there weren't any. Just like always. He knew from experience there was no getting through to her when she was like this, and she wasn't above calling the sheriff to trespass him from the property if he stuck around. She'd cool down eventually. His keys would turn up in the mail or on his doorstep in a few days, with no explanation or apology. He could bum rides to work in the meantime.

He avoided looking at his mother when he stepped back into the biting cold. The wind had picked up, bending the branches of the naked oaks that speckled the property. He popped his collar against the wind, tipped the brim of his hat low, and began the long trudge back into town.

He had plenty of friends he could call for a ride, but that felt strangely like admitting defeat. Right now, he was walking on nothing but pride.

The house wasn't too far in the boonies. He'd been able to ride his bike into town for lemonade when he was a kid, but it was still far enough to be an uncomfortable walk in bad weather.

He made a quick call to the Triple M to let Celia, his foreman, know he was going to be late. Once that was handled, he buried his hands deep in his pockets and hunched his shoulders against the wind.

The road was dead quiet except for the crunch of snow under his boots. If he concentrated on nothing but his steps, he could count them until his mind went blank.