34. Aiden

Chapter Thirty-Four

AIDEN

Aiden plunged his hands into the kitchen sink, hissing as the hot iodine bath seeped into the cracks of his abused hands. He stared down, flexing his fingers beneath the water, fascinated by the way his magnified fingers looked like raw sausages in the dimly lit bunkhouse.

A single bulb hung from the exposed beams of the ceiling, flickering every now and then as if it might give out at any moment. The bunkhouse wasn't much more than a glorified shed, sparsely furnished, and the melting thaw of spring filled the place with the heavy scent of damp wood.

"What happened to your gloves?" Josh asked, leaning against a doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. At least, he thought the kid's name was Josh. Aiden had only been at the Idaho ranch for seven weeks, but turnover was so quick that he was already one of the veterans in the bunkhouse, and he'd stopped paying much attention to the flow of cowboys around him.

"Lost, I guess," Aiden muttered.

Josh shook his head, pushing off from the doorframe and strolling over to peer down at Aiden's chapped hands. "I wouldn't have done a lick of work until I found a new pair," he said smugly. "This outfit doesn't pay us enough to sacrifice our own well-being."

Aiden's lips twitched in a humorless smile. "Yeah, well, logs don't split themselves."

Josh snorted, grabbing a clean towel from the spindly kitchen table and tossing it to him. "You've got to take better care of yourself, man. Ain't nobody else gonna do it for you."

Aiden caught the towel and carefully dried his hands. The soft cotton fibers stuck to his tender palms, and he winced. Josh wasn't wrong; Seth would have said the same thing. Only he'd have added a crooked smile, the one that set a warm glow in Aiden's belly and made him feel like he was being looked after, even when he didn't want to be.

Seth wouldn't have just scolded him, though. He'd have taken Aiden's hands in his own, rubbed salve into the cracks, and lent Aiden his own gloves before heading back out. That was just the type of man Seth was, looking out for everyone around him and taking on their burdens as if they were his own. He needed someone by his side to ensure he cared for himself, too.

Aiden's chest tightened with longing.

Two months had passed since the day he walked away from Sweetwater, and it never got easier. He missed Seth more with each passing day. The ache was constant now, a dull throb beneath his sternum that he couldn't shake, no matter how hard he worked. Bone-deep exhaustion had settled in every corner of his body, the kind of tiredness that sleep couldn't touch, but he couldn't quit. Physical labor was the only thing that switched off his brain and kept him from thinking too much—or worse, feeling too much. Emotions had never been a problem before. They'd flowed through Aiden like water, readily embraced, and never any reason for shame. Now, it felt like every scrap of joy had drained from his life, leaving nothing but shame and regret. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt genuinely happy.

The only thing that kept him going was relentless, punishing work. He pushed his body to the limit every day, hoping that physical pain would help him forget what he'd thrown away.

It wasn't just the warmth of Seth's lingering hands that he missed, or the way he'd catch Seth watching him from across a room with such quiet intensity that it seemed like Aiden must be his whole world. It wasn't the scent of hay and leather that clung to Seth's clothes, or the way he'd let Aiden nuzzle into the hollow of his throat for warmth. He missed the sense of belonging, of being wanted and needed by someone who didn't expect him to be anything other than who he was. Seth had seen through all his bullshit, never buying into the bravado, and he'd loved him anyway. Loved him fiercely, without reservation.

Aiden truly believed Seth was better off without him, but that didn't make it any easier to live with his decision. The thought of Seth was always there, lurking in the back of his mind, a constant reminder of what he'd lost—and the knowledge that he'd never find anything like it again. Every day, his decision weighed on him more. He'd been forced to block Seth's number for his sanity, but he lay in his bunk every night scrolling through their old conversations like an old man flipping through a photo album.

The boys from the Triple M texted occasionally, but Aiden was always cautious when he responded. Word spread fast in a small town. All it took was one pair of loose lips, and even an introvert like Seth would find out where he was. He likely wouldn't care—he was probably furious—but Aiden couldn't risk it, so he kept his replies to his friends vague.

His mother had been radio silent ever since he left town. She'd made it clear that his leaving was just another in a long line of disappointments. He'd expected her silence, and for a while, he'd welcomed it. But when her name flashed across his phone screen a few days ago, his armor broke, and the homesickness he'd ruthlessly ignored began to leak through the cracks.

The message was clipped and to the point—just like her. No questions about how he was doing or mention of their last brutal argument. Just a question: Did you hear about the celebration of life for David McCall?

She'd attached a link to an article in the Gazette's online newspaper. The town had done little when Seth's father died. The loss was overshadowed by the scandal that nearly destroyed the Double Jay—the scandal Aiden had caused—and even David's longtime friends had distanced themselves. Aiden didn't blame them. He'd been one of them, after all. Seth had already cut ties between them by then, and Aiden had been smarting too badly from the loss to sack up and face him. He'd skipped the graveside service and snuck back later that night to pay his respects to the only father figure he'd ever known, however fleeting their time together had been.

It took years, but the town finally seemed ready to make amends. Aiden had no doubt Gus Awbry was behind it. Maybe it was his way of apologizing for how he'd treated Seth, or maybe he was just trying to ease his conscience now that the truth of that night had come out. He’d even been quoted in the article.

Sweetwater loved a shindig, and it had been months since Winterfest ended. About time for a new excuse to celebrate. Aiden could picture it now: the town square festooned with ribbons while people gathered around tables filled with pies and barbeque, sharing stories of a man who’d epitomized their dying way of life. Seth would be there, proud and stoic, accepting their belated apologies with a quiet grace no one deserved.

And Aiden…Aiden would be miles away, alone on this godforsaken ranch, nursing his wounds in solitude. But not if his mother had anything to say about it.

You should be there, she'd texted when he didn't reply. That man did a lot for you, whether I approved or not. It will look bad for us if you aren’t there.

She was right. He should be there, offering his support, standing by Seth's side like he'd wanted to all those years ago. The idea of Seth surrounded by the people who'd once turned their backs on him made Aiden's stomach lurch. But he couldn't face him. Not now. He wasn't strong enough. The distance he'd put between them hadn't lessened the pain; if anything, it was sharper and deadlier now. The longing was unbearable, but the knowledge that he was the cause of so much of Seth's suffering was worse.

So, he'd do what he'd always done—the bare minimum to assuage his conscience. He'd lurk on the edges of the crowd, pay his respects, and stop to see Bandit on his way out of town. If he was lucky, Seth would never know he was even there.

Aiden had still never asked Roberta for his things, so everything he owned fit neatly in a duffel with room to spare. He filled the rest of the bag with snacks and hit the road at four in the morning for the long, ten-hour drive through rolling hills and snow-capped mountains.

He pulled into the familiar gas station on the outskirts of Sweetwater by mid-afternoon, and as he climbed out of his truck, he could already hear the faint strains of music piping from the town square. He took a deep breath, and for the first time in weeks, his churning stomach settled. There was something special about hometown air.

He kept his ball cap low and avoided eye contact as he filled his tank, but people recognized him anyway.

"Aiden! You're back!"

"Long time no see, boy."

"We've missed you on Friday night! The pool tables aren’t the same without you."

He held a finger to his lips and waved them off, but the response shocked him. He’d never been a sports star or valedictorian, and he didn’t run a business or contribute in any meaningful way to the town. He was a dime-a-dozen cowboy, here for a good time if not a long time—and that was before everyone knew the truth. Word must have spread like wildfire after he’d confessed to mixing the wrong dose that night, but the town wasn’t reacting with the vitriol he’d expected. Maybe it was too long ago to work themselves into a tizzy over, or maybe they’d already taken their pound of flesh from Seth. Either way, their enthusiastic greeting warmed him.

The streets were quiet even for a Sunday afternoon. Shops he'd known his whole life slid by the truck's windows, seeming somehow new again. He spotted the old playground where he'd played as a child with Cal and West, and the high school football field where they'd cheered Nate and Tucker every Friday night. His home. He'd been so agonized over Seth he hadn't noticed how badly he missed everything else.

He parked on a side street behind Lily Mittendorf's candy shop, shoved his hands in his pockets, and hoofed it the rest of the way. The winter snowpack had melted, and the streets were clean and dry. The air smelled warm and green, with just a hint of frost blowing off the mountain peaks. The cobblestone square was strung with lights and filled with people laughing and chatting over paper plates of barbeque.

He spotted Seth instantly, and it knocked the wind out of him. He slipped into the shadow of a quilting shop's awning and just…watched. His heart ached. He'd wondered if he might see the strain of separation in Seth's face, like he saw it on his own features when he looked in the mirror. But even from a distance, Seth was shockingly handsome. He wore a tie and dress shirt tucked into his nicest pair of jeans, and his hair was combed into unruly waves as he bent his head to catch something Tessa whispered in his ear. He nodded, listening intently, but his eyes searched the crowd restlessly, as if he sensed he was being watched. For a moment, his gaze seemed to linger in Aiden's direction.

Only the squeal of a sound system saved Aiden from being spotted.

"How do I work this thing?" Gus Awbry croaked into a microphone. He stood on top of a makeshift podium someone had erected in the center of the square, directly beneath the statue of a bucking bull. His weathered face was somber and cranky as he studied the crowd. "I don't know why they shoved me up here," he grumbled, "but I guess it's because I should be the first person apologizing to Seth McCall. We should've done this a long time ago. David was a good friend, a man dedicated to his family and community. He's always been remembered, but he deserves to be honored. I can't think of a better way to do that than to allow his son to say a few words."

There was a rustle as heads turned in unison toward Seth. His shoulders were stiff, and his jaw was set in the determined way Aiden knew so well. He slowly and deliberately made his way up to the podium, and the crowd parted around him.

Aiden shrank further into the shadows, heart pounding. The last thing he wanted was to be seen, but he couldn't have lived with himself if he didn't come. Maybe it was a need for closure, the pull of loneliness, or something deeper that he was afraid to name. Whatever it was, he felt small as he tucked himself against the storefront, watching the only man he'd ever loved as he prepared to speak in front of the town that had once turned its back on him.

Seth gripped the microphone so hard that his knuckles turned white, but that was the only sign of his unease. He looked every bit the man Aiden had always known he was—strong and fearless. The weight of the world had rested on those broad shoulders for a long time, and he'd never once faltered.

Seth cleared his throat and said in a low, rough voice, "Thanks for coming, y'all. We kept things small and private when Dad passed, but maybe that was the wrong decision. More people mourned his loss than just me and my sister. I think Dad would've been surprised by the fuss. He wasn't a man who liked the spotlight. He believed in doing the right thing, even when it was hard and thankless, and he passed that lesson on to everyone who knew him."

Seth paused. His gaze grew unfocused, turning inward on itself, and his expression tightened into something that looked like resolve. His eyes moved back to the crowd with a searching intensity. "My dad taught me that strength isn't about how tough you act or how much you can lift," he continued in a firm voice. "It's about how much you can bear and how much you can give, even when you think you've got nothing left. It's about being grateful for the people who stand by your side, no matter what, even when you're too damn stubborn to let them."

Aiden's chest tightened as he realized where Seth was heading. His pulse quickened, and a cold sweat prickled across the back of his neck despite the cool breeze. The impulse to run grabbed him by the throat, but he felt rooted to the spot, unable to do anything except listen.

"There was one man who tried to stay by my side through everything," Seth said. His voice was thick with emotion. "Even when I pushed him away and made it impossible for him to stay, he never gave up on me. He was right there waiting as soon as I stopped being too blind to see it. There's been a lot of talk about that man lately, about things that should have stayed in the past, but I know you're all smart enough to look past that for a man like Aiden Doyle. A man who would give the shirt off his back for any of you, just like my father did. Before he died, my father told me something that I'll never forget. Mistakes happen. One blink of an eye can change our lives forever. We can't control it any more than we can control who we fall in love with or who falls in love with us. It took me a while to accept that, but now I know it's true. It just happens…and when it does, it changes everything."

Seth’s dark eyes locked on him, boring into him from across the square, and the blood drained from Aiden’s face. He stood, frozen, pinned like an insect on an old-fashioned collector’s board, living out his worst nightmare.

Seth's eyes softened, and his mouth curled into the faintest hint of a smile. "Welcome home, Aiden."

That was when Aiden turned—and bolted.