Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

Morgan

Iknow the drive like the back of my hand.

My suitcases are in the back because I knew if I didn’t go ahead and check out of my room, I would find an excuse not to.

Every dip in the road is a blend of memories and dread, until I’m turning down the driveway that leads around the side of the home I lived in most of my life.

It looks just like it always did—a two-story, white house with columns on the large porch that’s not quite a wraparound but runs the length of most of the front. There’s gray stonework accents, the yard the perfect shade of summer green, leading down to the short dock for lake access. It’s like a dream, the kind of place that from the outside looks like nothing bad has ever happened here, but the inside of my head tells a different story.

I get out, the scent of fresh water teasing my nose as I make my way to the door of the place I swore I would never see again.

The stairs creak, which surprises me. I can’t believe Dad allows the slight imperfection to stay. There’s a swing hanging from the end of the porch—not the same one Mom used to sit on. When it got too old, he replaced it, but though he doesn’t use it, he always makes sure there is one there.

My arm feels like it’s made of lead when I lift it and knock on the door.

A frown pulls at my lips when a short, white woman I don’t recognize answers. Jesus, had there been another car out there? I hadn’t even noticed.

When I take in her scrubs, it all makes sense.

“You must be Morgan. Your dad is looking forward to seeing you. I’m Rosie, the home health nurse. I come in twice a week.”

I hold my hand out for her, and she shakes it. “Nice to meet you.”

At a shuffling behind her, I look over her shoulder to see my dad. I can tell there’s a slight difference in how his left arm hangs compared to his right, but other than that he looks like he always has…only older, of course, with more gray mixed into his black hair. It’s freshly cut because Dad won’t have it any other way. He’s wearing a black polo shirt, khaki pants, and has his cell phone in his grip.

“I don’t need a nurse to check on me.” His speech is slower, words measured like he has to concentrate to get them right.

“Well, your son is worried about you, and he pays me.” Rosie winks at me before turning to Dad. I like that she doesn’t take his shit. “You should be happy you have kids who love you so much. Rhett is like a mother hen, and Morgan flew all the way out here from California.”

I notice she doesn’t mention East. What the fuck is going on with him?

“Come here, son,” Dad says, not acknowledging what Rosie said. She steps out of the way, and I go inside the entryway. The same crystal chandelier hangs above it, and to the left there’s a table with a vase and a bowl for keys. “Good to see you, Morgan.” Dad holds out his right hand, and we shake. He has never been much for displays of affection, and I guess that didn’t change after not seeing each other for ten years.

“I’m done here,” Rosie says. “I’ll grab my stuff and see myself out.”

“Um…thank you.” I run a nervous hand through my hair, hating that I feel on edge. I should be over this shit by now. “Do I need to do anything?”

“Nope. Everything on my end is organized through Rhett. Just enjoy seeing your father, and welcome back to Birchbark.”

I nod and watch her walk away. What does one do when for the first time in ten years they’re in the room with the father who is never satisfied with them?

“You didn’t have to come.” Dad’s limp is obvious as he slowly moves toward his office.

“I love you too,” I say sarcastically as I follow.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it, but do you have much room to talk? You left us. You fought with your brother, and you left us, Morgan. Swifts don’t abandon their family.”

My nostrils flare, teeth grinding together. “The way you were always there for us?” falls from my mouth. We shouldn’t be doing this. Not now. Now when he’s not well. But I can’t help it. He fills me with too much rage.

“I always took care of my family.” He tries to pull the chair from under his desk, but it gets caught. He tugs again but fumbles and can’t seem to do it. “Goddamn it!” Gone is the man who shook my hand in front of Rosie.

“Let me help you.” I walk over, but he shakes off my concern.

“I can pull out a chair by myself.” Whatever was hooked fixes itself when he yanks again, the chair almost falling before he rights it, and he sits down. His face is slightly flushed. He might look almost the same, but there’s no doubt in my mind that he’s not. “I need to get some work done. Your old room is ready for you if you plan to stay.”

That’s my dismissal. Any time things get real, it’s what he does—shuts down the conversation. We all learned it from him. I guess in a lot of ways, I’m more like him than I wanted to be.

I head outside, grab my suitcases, and bring them upstairs to my old room. It shares a bathroom with Rhett’s old room. Easton had been across the hall, Ella beside him.

I put my things away, then walk over to the window. My room faces the water, the dock. This is where I’d been, pretending to count, but had been on my phone, talking to Dusty, annoyed I had to play a dumb kids’ game of hide-and-seek with Easton and Ella. Angry that Rhett was off on some pre-college trip before he got to leave for Harvard.

I’d been so angry and selfish that I didn’t go and look for them. I sat on the bed while they waited in hiding spots for a brother who wasn’t coming…Ella climbed into the small boat, which tipped over, and she got trapped and drowned, while I pouted in my room…and no one knows. No one knows why I took so long to find them.

Nausea sweeps through my gut, the bitter taste of bile in my throat as I step away.

Don’t think about that, don’t think about her. Not right now.

Even though I’m on a leave of absence, I still check my work email and reply to a few concerns, before ending up in Mom’s room. The same bed is there that she used to sleep in, same white bedding that’s been washed over and over through the years. Dad moved into the second master bedroom downstairs after she died, with some excuse I don’t remember. All of us kids stayed up here with her ghost.

“You would hate what’s happened to us,” I say to the family photo sitting on her old dresser, while twisting one of the two rings that always grace my fingers. I’d gotten them from her. They’d belonged to her father, whom we never met. She gave them to me before they fit, but now that they do, I always wear them. “We would have found a way to be okay if we hadn’t lost you.” She would have held us together. She would have forced Dad’s hand more, and she would have helped me and Rhett through our shit. She never would have left Ella and Easton hiding, so my sister would be here, and East wouldn’t be dealing with whatever shit he’s dealing with.

Dad stays in his office all day. His workaholic ways seem unchanged even after the stroke. I don’t know why I’m here, the specifics of what I’m supposed to be doing. Does he still go into the downtown Birchbark office? Do I need to cook? Give him pills? He seems pretty self-sufficient.

I fuck around the house, shoot a text to Rob, then to Spencer, who messages back much faster than my boyfriend.

Spencer: Hey…good to hear from you. Is everything going okay?

He might not know details, but he knows something’s going on. I appreciate having him there, even if I’m shit at opening up to him. I haven’t given all of myself to anyone except Dusty.

Fuck, there it is again.

Me: About how I expected. Listen…I’m sorry for not being better at this whole friendship thing.

Spencer: What are you talking about? You’re a good friend. When I needed help creating the perfect night with Corbin, you’re the one I went to.

Yeah, I’m good at things like that, but we both know I suck at other shit. Fuck, just look at how everything went down with Dusty.

Me: You know what I mean, but thanks.

I make tacos for dinner because I can find all the ingredients. I hear Dad in his office on the phone, so I knock, poke my head in and say the food is ready, but he waves me off.

I find myself outside, sitting on the edge of the dock, staying at the house of an aging father who is still too busy for me, while telling myself I don’t care and ignoring any other option. Maybe a part of me used to want to be loved by him, but he’s killed it over the years. Or he’s still killing it.

I don’t know how long I sit here, stomach grumbling, but I’m not going inside to eat. I try not to think about what happened here. It was so long ago, so much has changed, but thinking of Ella is still a festering wound not only in my chest, but in the family. Losing Mom was the beginning of our disintegration, and losing our little butterfly girl was the last straw.

The dock creaks with a footstep behind me. There’s a whole list of people it could be—Dad, Rhett, Easton—but somehow I know it’s not any of them. It’s stupid to feel like I can tell by the walk, by the feel of the air around me and how tight my chest gets.

“Hey,” comes Dusty’s deep, gravelly voice. I’ll bet he has his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He always used to do that when he was nervous.

“Rhett’s not here.” It’s immature, ridiculous even, that I’m holding on to this so many years later. They’re not together. I don’t know if they ever were or if it had just been a one-time thing. Every time I think about it, my heart tells me it had been going on for years behind my back, that it’s still going on. That my own brother hates me so much, he took my best friend from me. It doesn’t matter what my brain considers. It’s not nearly as strong as that one organ in my chest.

“Fuck off, Morg. That’s not fair.”

“I guess you’re right. You’ve probably been talking, so you know he’s not here.” My back is still to him, my legs hanging over the dock, bare feet in the water.

“Yeah, well, he didn’t walk away from a lifetime of friendship ten years ago without letting me get a word in edgewise, without letting me explain or apologize. If I’m talking to him instead of you, that’s your fault.”

My whole body goes tense, my muscles nearly spasming.

I shove to my feet, turn to face him, but nothing comes out at first. All my words are too damn jumbled up with the fact that I’m seeing Dusty James for the first time in ten years. His hair is a little longer, just a couple inches, and curly. He’s wearing old, threadbare jeans, a button-up shirt with paint stains that says Dusty’s Collision Repair, and work boots. He has sun freckles on his golden skin and his forehead is wrinkled in anger. He’s still about two inches taller, which is a dumb thing to think since obviously he hasn’t still been growing that direction since I last saw him at twenty-five.

He’s got thick-ish scruff along his jaw, body still broader than mine. Dusty hit a growth spurt when we were teenagers and wasn’t the gangly, scrawny kid anymore. But his blue eyes are still filled with fire…and like he’s always been, he’s fucking beautiful. That truth rubs me wrong.

“What are you doing here, Dust?”

He throws up his arms in frustration. “Hell if I know. Clearly, you’re not going to give me the benefit of the doubt. I guess I just thought that after all these years, we could have a normal conversation like a couple of adults. I see that your hate for Rhett is bigger than anything else. Goddamned Swift brothers. You’re all the same.”

He turns, stalking away, footsteps heavy.

Something scratches at my chest, words fighting to climb up my throat. Not knowing what they’ll be, I still open my mouth and let them out. “You don’t wear your glasses anymore.” Why the fuck that’s what comes out, I don’t have a clue, but I can’t do much about it now.

Dusty stops, and this time he’s the one with his back to me, shoulders stiff.

I can tell he sighs, before he turns around…hands deep in the pockets of his low-slung jeans. “I got the surgery a few years back. Makes it easier at work.”

He shrugs, then starts walking back toward me.

I don’t know what I’m doing here. All I know is I’m fucking tired. It’s going to kill me to be back here, and I don’t know how to handle that without my best friend.

“I fucked up, Morgan. I don’t know why I kissed Rhett that night, but we weren’t…we’re not—”

“No.” I hold up my hand to stop him, my insides feeling like someone poured acid on them. “I don’t know what I can handle as far as you and me, but I sure as shit can’t hear you talk about that night with Rhett or any other nights you might have had with him. Whatever happens, you can’t talk about that.”

I don’t know why it fucks me up so much, the thought of Dusty with him, of Rhett touching him and kissing him… I squeeze my eyes shut, pushing out the mental images. I can’t forgive Rhett for trying to take Dusty from me, for trying to steal the only person who has ever understood me.

“Okay, but I need you to know it’s never happened since then, and also that he is my friend now. I’m not gonna cut him off the way you did me.”

His words are the sharpest of blades right to my gut. My fingers twitch to grab myself there, but I don’t allow myself to do it. Rhett is his friend, and he’s letting me know that it won’t change because I’m back. That shouldn’t bother me, shouldn’t hurt, but it does.

“You were always mine, Dust,” I manage to say, hating the vulnerability in my words. He’d been the place where I didn’t have all those expectations on me that came with being a Swift. My best friend. The one who held all my secrets, whom I went to when everything else was shit.

“Yeah, I was.” He tugs his hands from his pockets and looks out in the distance, sun glinting off his hair. “But you threw me away.”

“You were fucking my brother!” jumps from my mouth in a loud bellow, but he doesn’t even flinch.

“I wasn’t fucking him. I’ve never fucked him. It was one dumb kiss, a mistake. But why would you care so much if I did? We were friends, not lovers.”

“I said I don’t want to talk about this.” I turn and start heading toward the end of the dock, Dusty hot on my heels.

“But you brought it up. Why does it matter if we hooked up?”

“Because you were mine,” stumbles from my mouth again. “My best friend. My…person. And you knew how I felt about him. How he felt about me.” My heart runs a marathon in my chest. “He wanted to hurt me, and he used you to do it. I don’t… I can’t…” The words are trapped inside me, all of them thrown together and shaken up so I can’t make sense of them.

“Jesus, this family. None of you talk to each other. You’re all so fucked up, blaming yourselves and blaming each other. Do you know how hard it is for me to see your dad and not tell him what I think of him? I fucking hate that man for the things he’s let happen to you.”

And this right here, this is what Dusty has always been to me. What I lost. What we lost. Because before that night, he always had my back, and I always had his. I never would have thought it possible for him to hurt me, and I would have cut out my own heart before hurting him.

But he’d gone to Rhett instead of me. Whatever was going on that night, he chose my brother, and I don’t know how to make peace with that.

Dusty keeps coming closer, doesn’t stop until he’s right in front of me. He smells a little like paint, but also like sugar maples, a mixture of sweet cherries and spice.

“You were leaving,” he says, the words bouncing off my heavy breaths.

“I had to leave. I couldn’t stay here. I wanted you to go with me.”

“I couldn’t. Not unless…”

I frown. “Not unless what?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. This is my home. You know this will always be my home.”

It is his home. Birchbark is in Dusty’s soul. He loves the UP, is made up of it, and my skin itches to get out. “So you kissed him to punish me for leaving?”

“What? No.” He paces the dock in front of me. I know I said I didn’t want to talk about it, and I don’t, but I’m afraid it’s going to eat me alive either way. “I don’t know what that was, other than a mistake. We were drunk, and I had all this shit in my head. You were leaving, and you can say I was yours, but that also means you were mine, and I didn’t know how to deal with that. I was hurting and alone and I fucked up.”

Dusty stops, looks at me with those eyes of his that feel like they’re so open but hold a world of secrets too. “It made me lose ten fucking years with the person I care about most in the world, and I regret that every day. I do, but I’m also not going to let you keep punishing me for it. I hurt you, and you hurt me…and somehow in that, Rhett became my friend too. If we’re gonna do this—try to get our friendship back or whatever it is you’re willing to give—I need you to understand that.”

I feel my jaw tighten, feel the pain bubbling up in my chest…the feeling of not being enough, of not being good enough, of having to prove myself to Dad and to Rhett. That’s how I spent my whole life except with him, and now my brother has a piece of Dusty too. “I don’t know how to share you with him.”

“I’m not to him who I was to you…and he’s not to me who you are to me either, but he is part of my life.”

How, I want to ask. After everything, how can he care about Rhett and ask this of me, but I know the answer. I didn’t mean to throw him away, but in his mind, I did, and Dusty is a good man, with a big heart. He cares about people. That’s why he made himself my whole world, and why he’s helping East now, and why he cares about Rhett. Taking care of people is how he’s built, and it’s why he’s always meant so much to me.

I turn around, look at the water, block out the memories as best as I can. “I don’t know how to be here without you.” It’s why I left so quickly. Being in Santa Monica without him, I learned to handle it, but I can’t be in Birchbark without Dusty.

Dusty takes two steps forward, until we’re standing side by side, the warm skin of his arm brushing against mine. “I’m right here, Morgan. I’ve always been right here. You just have to reach out and grab me.”