12. Unexpected Questions

UNEXPECTED QUESTIONS

P ine Grove Care Center looked exactly like it had last week, and the week before that - all muted beige walls and carefully cultivated cheerfulness. The antiseptic smell never quite masked the underlying scent of age and endings, though they tried with lavender diffusers and fresh flowers at every nurse's station.

"Morning, Jake.” Nancy, the morning nurse, touched my arm gently. "It's been a rough few days. She's pretty confused today."

The warning felt like a physical blow, but I nodded. "Thanks for letting me know."

Room 214 hadn't changed since my last visit. Same pale yellow walls, same landscape prints Mom would have hated in her old life, same worn armchair where I watched her slip further away each week.

She stared out the window when I entered, her hands folded neatly in her lap. The woman who'd raised me, who'd fought for me through every scrape and stupid decision, looked so small in her hospital gown.

"Morning, Mom." I kept my voice soft, approaching slowly like I'd learned to do.

She turned, her eyes vacant but polite. "Are you the doctor?"

"No, Mom. It's Jake. Your son." The words scraped my throat raw.

"Oh." She smiled vaguely. "That's nice. I have a son named Jake. He's the sheriff, you know."

My chest clenched. "Yeah, I know."

I settled into the chair beside her bed anyway, taking her fragile hand. She allowed it with the passive acceptance of someone used to strangers touching her.

"Beautiful morning," she said to the window. "Is it time for breakfast?"

"Just had breakfast, Mom. Nancy says you ate well today."

She nodded absently, then turned to me with sudden concern. "Have you seen my little boy? He should be home from school soon."

The Jake she remembered was still a child. Still needed protecting. "He's okay, Mom. He's all grown up now. Doing good things."

"That's nice." Her attention drifted again. "Are you staying for dinner?"

I started talking then, filling the quiet room with stories about the town, about my life, about everything and nothing. She didn't respond much, just smiled politely at this stranger telling her about Oakwood Grove.

"There's this new guy in town," I found myself saying, maybe because it was easier to admit things to someone who wouldn't remember them. "Elliot. He's... different. Makes me feel different, which is kind of terrifying."

Mom picked at her blanket, humming tunelessly.

"He's got these green eyes that see right through bullshit, and this way of challenging everything I thought I knew about myself." The words spilled out, secrets I couldn't voice anywhere else. "And I don't know what to do with that."

"My Jake likes green," she said suddenly. "It's his favorite color."

My heart stuttered. "Yeah, Mom. It still is."

"He's such a good boy." Her voice wavered. "Have you seen him? He should be home soon."

I swallowed hard. "He's okay, Mom. He's safe."

She patted my hand absently, already focused on something beyond the window. The mother who'd taught me strength, who'd believed in me when no one else did, was lost somewhere I couldn't follow.

"Mom?" My voice cracked, something inside me breaking. "I don't know what to do anymore." The words spilled out, raw and desperate. "There's this feeling I can't shake, this person who makes everything I thought I knew about myself feel different. And I'm scared, Mom. Scared of what it means."

She continued staring out the window, and I nearly laughed at myself. Here I was, pouring my heart out to someone who didn't even know who I was anymore.

But then her hand tightened on mine, so suddenly it made my breath catch. Her eyes, clear and present for just a moment, found mine. "Follow what feels right, baby. That's all I ever wanted for you."

My heart stopped. "Mom?"

"Such a good boy," she murmured, her gaze already drifting. "Always trying so hard to be what everyone else wanted."

Tears burned behind my eyes. Even lost in her fog, she still saw right through me. Still knew exactly what to say to the scared kid inside the sheriff's uniform.

"But what if I'm wrong?" The question emerged broken, barely a whisper. "What if this isn't who I'm supposed to be?"

Her free hand reached up, touching my cheek with that familiar gentleness that used to chase away childhood monsters. "Love is never wrong, Jake."

My name on her lips felt like a miracle and a knife wound all at once. I covered her hand with mine, holding onto this moment of clarity like it might slip away any second.

"Even if it's not what people expect?"

"Especially then." Her smile, for just this moment, was pure Mom - the one who'd bandaged my scraped knees and held me through teenage heartbreaks. "You deserve to be happy, my sweet boy."

Then, like a candle flickering out, the fog rolled back in. She blinked at me, polite confusion replacing that brief recognition. "Is it time for bingo?"

But her words echoed in my chest, unlocking something I'd kept chained so tight I hadn't even known it was there. Love is never wrong. Such simple words, but they felt like permission. Like absolution.

I stood on shaky legs, bending to kiss her forehead one last time. She smiled vaguely, already lost again in whatever distant world held her mind. But for that one precious moment, she'd been my mom again. Had known exactly what her son needed to hear.

At the door, I turned back. She was humming to herself now, probably wouldn't even remember I'd been here. But I'd remember. Would carry her words like armor against my own doubts.

"I love you, Mom," I whispered.

She didn't respond, but maybe she didn't need to. She'd given me enough - one last gift of motherly wisdom when I needed it most.

Walking out of Pine Grove, my vision blurred but my steps steady, I felt something shift inside me. Mom had always seen the truth of me, even when I couldn't see it myself. Maybe it was time I started looking through her eyes.

The morning sun hit my face, and somewhere in the distance, a Porsche engine roared down Main Street. I smiled through my tears, remembering her words.

Follow what feels right.

My closet had never felt more inadequate than it did tonight. A sea of practical shirts - mostly various shades of blue and brown - stared back at me, none of them quite right for... for what? It was just another town gathering. The kind I'd been to hundreds of times.

Then why had I tried on three different shirts already?

"This is ridiculous," I muttered, running a hand through my still-damp hair. But I found myself reaching for the dark blue button-down anyway - the one Nina had insisted I buy last Christmas, claiming it "brought out my eyes" or some shit.

My reflection looked foreign somehow. The shirt fit better than my usual choices, highlighting shoulders built from years of physical work. I'd actually made an effort with my hair, and the jeans were my newest pair, still dark with minimal wear at the knees.

The drive to the ranch gave me too much time to think. My truck's headlights caught the sign at the entrance - "Welcome to Rolling Hill Ranch" written in warm wood tones. Caleb and Liam had transformed the place, strings of lights creating a warm glow that spread across the yard like fallen stars.

Music drifted through the evening air - something country but modern, probably Liam's choice. The barn doors stood wide open, more lights twinkling inside, and the paddock had been cleared for dancing. Everything looked like a scene from some small-town movie, perfect in its simplicity.

I parked between Nina's ancient car and Mrs. Henderson's pristine Buick, trying to ignore how my eyes automatically searched for a certain black sports car. Professional habit, that's all. Just the sheriff keeping track of newcomers in his town.

Right.

The gravel crunched under my boots as I approached the party. Familiar faces everywhere - Sarah from the diner chatting with old man Jenkins, Marge taking photos for the local paper, Tommy Morrison helping set up food tables with his grandfather. My town. My people.

"Well, look who cleaned up nice." Nina's voice carried across the yard. "That shirt still fits perfectly, I see."

Heat crept up my neck. "It's just a shirt, Nina."

Her knowing smile made me want to retreat to my truck. "Sure it is, honey. Just like those are just new jeans, and that's just product in your hair."

"Don't you have a bar to run?"

"Closed early for the party." She handed me a beer. "Caleb said they invited that handsome newcomer of yours. Elliot, right?"

"He's not my anything," I muttered, but took the beer anyway. "And I wouldn't know about Caleb's guest list."

"Mm-hmm." She patted my arm. "Well, when he shows up, try not to look too pleased about that shirt doing its job."

Before I could protest, she disappeared into the crowd, leaving me with burning ears and a desperate need for something stronger than beer.

The party was picking up, more townspeople arriving with covered dishes and easy laughter. This was what I loved about Oakwood Grove - the way everyone came together, no pretense, no performance. Just community.

So why did I feel like I was waiting for something? Or someone?

"Sheriff Thompson in actual clothes instead of a uniform? Mark the calendar."

Liam's voice pulled me from my thoughts. He stood by the makeshift stage, guitar strap across his shoulder, grinning like we'd always been friends. Sometimes it still hit me how far we'd come from those high school hallways.

"Had to give your fancy party the respect it deserves," I said, managing a small smile. "Nice setup you've got here."

"All Caleb's doing. I just provide the entertainment." He adjusted a microphone stand. "Though I hear we might have some interesting additions to the guest list tonight."

My stomach did that weird flip again. "That right?"

"Mm-hmm. Certain newcomer and his kid." Liam's eyes held no judgment, just warmth.

"Good." The word came out rougher than intended. "I mean, kids should have that kind of normal experience."

"Yeah." Liam set his guitar down, turning to face me fully. "You know, speaking of normal experiences - we're good, right? You and me?"

The question caught me off guard. "I thought-"

"We are," he assured quickly. "Just... seeing you try so hard to make things right, to be better than who you were? It matters, Jake. Shows people can change if they want it badly enough."

Fuck. My throat felt tight. "I'm still sorry about-"

"Ancient history." He waved it off. "Besides, you're not that guy anymore. Haven't been for a long time."

My throat felt tight. "Visited Mom this morning."

Something in my voice must have given me away because Liam's expression shifted. "Yeah? How is she?"

"She..." The words stuck. I took a swig of beer, buying time. "She doesn't know who I am anymore."

"Shit, Jake." All traces of teasing vanished from Liam's face. "I didn't know. About your mom, I mean. When did she...?"

"Started about two years ago. Got worse fast." The beer bottle felt cold against my palm, grounding me. "Some days she thinks I'm still in high school. Other days I'm just some stranger in her room."

"Man, I remember your mom. She used to bring those chocolate chip cookies to every school event." Liam's voice softened. "She always made sure I got extra, even after... well, you know."

"That was Mom." I managed a weak smile. "Always looking out for everyone, even when her own kid was being an asshole."

"She believed in you, though. Even back then." Liam set his guitar down completely, giving me his full attention. "I used to hear her at PTA meetings, defending you. Saying you'd figure it out eventually."

"Wish she could see that she was right." The words came out raw. "Wish she could know that I finally became someone she'd be proud of."

"Hey." Liam's hand landed on my shoulder, steady and sure. "She knows, Jake. Maybe not with her mind anymore, but somewhere inside? She knows."

The kindness in his voice nearly undid me. Here was someone I'd hurt, someone I'd tormented, offering comfort about my mom. The same mom who'd forced me to apologize to him all those years ago.

"Thanks, Liam."

"That's what friends are for." He squeezed my shoulder. "And we are friends now. Your mom would love that plot twist."

A laugh escaped me, wobbly but real. "Yeah, she would."

"Sheriff!" Mrs. Henderson's voice cut through the moment. "Those Miller boys are getting a bit rowdy by the punch bowl."

"Duty calls." I straightened, pulling my professional mask back on.

I broke up the Miller boys' scuffle with practiced ease, sent them in opposite directions with stern warnings. But my attention kept drifting to the ranch entrance, to the gravel road leading into town. Professional interest, I told myself. Just making sure everyone arrived safely.

The lie felt weak even in my own head.

Music started up - Liam testing the sound system. Couples gravitated toward the makeshift dance floor, and the fairy lights seemed to brighten against the darkening sky. It was the kind of perfect small-town moment I'd sworn to protect.

So why did it feel incomplete?

A car engine rumbled in the distance - not the one I was waiting for (not waiting for, definitely not waiting for), just Sarah's husband arriving late. The disappointment in my chest had nothing to do with that.

"Busy being sheriff even at a party?" Caleb appeared beside me, offering a fresh beer.

"Force of habit." I accepted the bottle, grateful for the distraction. "Place looks great, by the way."

"Thanks. Though you seem more interested in watching the driveway than the decorations." Caleb's knowing smile made me want to find somewhere else to be. "Expecting someone?"

"Just doing my job." The lie felt weak even to my ears. "Making sure everyone arrives safely."

"Right…” Caleb smirked at him like he knew something.

"I need food." I grumbled and turned toward the barn, ignoring Caleb's chuckle behind me.

The barn had been transformed, fairy lights creating warm pools of light between the rafters. Sarah's famous casseroles lined one table, while Nina's sliders filled another.

Something small and fast collided with my legs, nearly sending me stumbling. I looked down to find a kid sprawled at my feet, all gangly limbs and messed-up ginger hair.

"Whoa there, buddy." I reached down to help him up. "You okay?"

The boy raised his head, and familiar green eyes met mine. Something clicked in my chest, recognition hitting before I could place why.

"Sorry, sir!" He scrambled to his feet, brushing dust from his jeans. "I was racing my new friend to the food table and-"

"No harm done." Those eyes were really something - bright and earnest, reminding me of someone I couldn't quite place. "Though maybe save the racing for outside?"

He grinned, missing his front tooth. "Dad says the same thing."

The pieces started falling into place. Before I could respond, a familiar voice called out.

"Tommy! What did I say about running inside?"

Elliot appeared in the barn doorway, and suddenly those green eyes made perfect sense. The same eyes, the same hint of mischief. Like father, like son.

"Sorry, Dad!" Tommy bounced on his toes.

A small laugh escaped me. "Jake Thompson." I offered my hand to Tommy properly. "Nice to meet you."

"I'm Tommy Blue! Dad got pulled over by you." He said it with such pride that I had to bite back another laugh. "But it's okay because you were nice about it."

Elliot reached us, something soft crossing his face as he watched his son. "Making friends already, champ?"

"Dad! They have horses here!" Tommy bounced between us, practically vibrating with excitement. "Real ones! Can I ride them? Please?"

"We'll have to ask Mr. Caleb about that." Elliot's hand settled on Tommy's shoulder, steadying his son's enthusiasm. "Remember what we talked about?"

Tommy straightened, putting on what was clearly his 'best behavior' face. "Be polite, say please and thank you, and no running in the barn." He glanced guiltily at me. "Oops."

Something warm unfurled in my chest watching them together. The way Elliot guided without controlling, the obvious trust between them.

"Sheriff Thompson might put me in jail if you keep breaking the rules," Elliot teased, throwing me a wink that definitely didn't make my stomach flip.

"No way!" Tommy's eyes went wide. "Would you really?"

"Nah." I found myself grinning. "Think I can let it slide this time. But only if you promise to be careful around the horses."

"I will! I'm super careful with animals. Mom never lets me near them but Dad says-" He caught himself, glancing uncertainly at his father.

"It's okay, buddy." Elliot's voice carried a gentleness I hadn't heard before. "You can talk about the differences. Remember what Dr. Wilson said?"

"That it's normal to have different rules at different houses," Tommy recited carefully. Then, brightening: "Like how you let me have pizza for breakfast!"

"Thanks for that reveal, champ." Elliot ruffled his son's hair, but his eyes held a shadow of something deeper. "Why don't you go find Mr. Caleb? Ask him nicely about those horses."

"Can I?" Tommy looked between us. "You'll come watch if I get to ride?"

"Wouldn't miss it." Elliot's whole face softened looking at his son. "Just stay where Caleb or I can see you, okay?"

"Promise!" Tommy turned to me, suddenly shy. "Will you watch too, Sheriff?"

The request caught me off guard. "Sure, buddy. I'll be there."

Tommy beamed, then took off toward the paddock, remembering to walk until he cleared the barn doors.

"Pizza for breakfast?" I asked once he was out of earshot.

"Judge me all you want, Sheriff, but you try saying no to those eyes in the morning.” Elliot watched his son's progress across the yard. "Everything's been so structured with his mother. Sometimes he needs to just be a kid."

The warmth in my chest spread. "That why you brought him here?"

"Partly." His eyes met mine, something vulnerable flickering there. "Needed somewhere quiet to figure things out. Somewhere he could breathe."

"Somewhere you both could breathe?" The words came out softer than intended.

"Judge's orders came through yesterday." Pride and relief mixed in his voice. "Got him for four whole days."

"Four days?" The words came out before I could stop them. "You found a place to stay?"

"Working on it." He accepted a drink from Caleb - something non-alcoholic, I noticed. "Been at Clara's meanwhile."

Tommy's excited shout drew our attention. He'd joined the other kids by the horses, his whole face lit up with joy.

"He seems happy," I said softly.

"Yeah." Elliot's expression softened watching his son. "First time I've seen him this relaxed in months."

"Clara's isn't exactly kid-friendly long-term," I found myself saying, wanting somehow to help.

"That's actually what I need to tell you." He turned those green eyes on me, something almost nervous in his expression. "I, uh, might have already bought the place by the coast. The Old Miller”

"You what?" The words came out sharper than intended.

"Called my realtor yesterday morning. Made an offer they couldn't refuse." He ran a hand through his hair. "Crazy, right? Buying a house in a town I barely know?"

"No, I mean- that's great." And it was great. So why did my chest feel tight? "Tommy will love it there."

"Yeah, about that..." He glanced at his son, then back at me. "The thing is, it needs some work before it's livable. Probably a couple weeks of repairs at least."

"Oh." Something hopeful fluttered in my chest before I could squash it.

"I was actually going to ask... I mean, if you know anyone in town who might have a temporary place-"

"I've got space." The offer burst out before my brain could catch up with my mouth. "Decent sized house, couple spare rooms. Until the Miller place is ready."

Elliot's eyes snapped to mine, surprise and something else flickering across his face. "Jake, that's-"

"Just practical." My heart hammered against my ribs. "Better than a hotel room for a kid."

"You sure?" His gaze held mine, searching for something. "We don't want to impose."

"It's no imposition." Why was my mouth still talking? "Got a yard too. Room for him to play."

A genuine smile spread across his face - different from his usual smirk, softer somehow. It did strange things to my insides.

"Guess we're going to be neighbors then," he said quietly. "Once the house is ready."

"Guess so." The thought of Elliot and Tommy becoming permanent fixtures in Oakwood Grove made something warm settle in my chest.

Our eyes met again, and that electric current crackled between us. Neighbors. Just neighbors. Nothing more complicated than that.

Right.

"One more drink?" Elliot asked, leaning closer. The whiskey had softened his sharp edges, making him look younger, more vulnerable. "Keep the town sheriff company for a while?"

“You’re on, Speedster.”