14. Ghost of the Past

CHAPTER 14

Ghost of the Past

CALEB

T he shrill ringing of my phone woke me up, the sound piercing through the hazy veil of sleep like a knife. I fumbled for it in the darkness, my mind still foggy and my body heavy with exhaustion.

"Hello?" I mumbled, my voice rough and groggy.

"Caleb, it's Jake. Sorry to wake you, but we've got a situation."

I sat up, rubbing my eyes and trying to force my brain into gear. "What kind of situation?"

"There's been a disturbance at the old Denison place. Someone reported hearing noises in the backyard, like an animal or something."

I frowned, my brow furrowing in confusion. The old Denison place had been abandoned for years, ever since the family had packed up and left town without a word. No one had set foot on that property in ages, as far as I knew.

"And you need me because…?"

Jake sighed, and I could picture him pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Because you're the closest, and because I'm up to my eyeballs in paperwork from the Wilson case. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important, Caleb. "

I groaned, but I was already swinging my legs over the side of the bed and reaching for my jeans. "Alright, alright. I'll head over there now. But you owe me one, Jake."

He chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. "I know. I'll buy you a beer next time you're in town, how's that?"

I snorted, but I couldn't help the small smile that tugged at my lips. "Make it two, and you've got a deal."

I hung up and finished getting dressed, my mind already racing with possibilities. An animal in the backyard of the old Denison place it could be anything from a raccoon to a coyote to a lost dog.

I grabbed my keys and headed out to my truck, the cool night air sending a shiver down my spine. As I drove through the quiet streets of Oakwood Grove, memories began to flood back, unbidden and unwelcome.

Memories of a time when those streets had been my whole world, when the old Denison place had been more than just an abandoned house on the edge of town.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles turning white with the force of my grip. I couldn't think about that now, couldn't let myself get lost in the past.

As I turned onto the old dirt road that led to the Denison place, I felt my heart skip a beat in my chest. Because there, parked in the driveway like a sleek, shiny beacon was a sports car. It stood out like a sore thumb against the modest, rural backdrop of Oakwood Grove, all gleaming chrome and polished paint.

Like something from another world, another life.

I shook my head, trying to push down the surge of unease that rose up in my gut.

I parked my truck and climbed out, grabbing my flashlight from the glovebox. The night was still and quiet, the only sound the chirping of crickets and the distant hooting of an owl.

I made my way around to the back of the house, my boots crunching on the gravel path. The yard was overgrown and wild, the grass reaching up to my knees in some places .

I swept the beam of my flashlight across the ground, looking for any sign of the disturbance that had been reported. But there was nothing, no tracks or trails or any indication that anything larger than a field mouse had been through here recently.

I was just about to give up and head back to my truck when I heard it. A small, pitiful mewling sound, coming from behind the old trash cans that were stacked against the back fence. I frowned, moving closer to investigate. And there, huddled in the space between the cans was a kitten.

My heart clenched in my chest, a sudden rush of protectiveness washing over me. I couldn't just leave the kitten here, couldn't walk away and let it fend for itself in the wild.

I reached out slowly, carefully, not wanting to startle the poor thing. But it didn't run, didn't even flinch as I scooped it up and cradled it against my chest.

"Hey there, little one," I murmured, stroking its soft fur with gentle fingers. "It's okay, you're safe now."

The kitten mewed again, nuzzling into my touch like it was starved for affection. And as I held it close, feeling the warmth of its tiny body seeping into my skin. Then I remembered the spare cat food I kept in my truck for the barn cats back at the ranch.

As I walked back to my vehicle, I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching me from inside the house. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and I glanced over my shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of movement in the windows.

But there was nothing, just the still, silent facade of the old Denison place, looming in the darkness like a ghost from another life.

I shook my head, trying to push away the memories that threatened to overwhelm me. I needed to focus on the task at hand, on taking care of the kitten and getting back to the ranch.

I grabbed the bag of cat food from the truck and headed back to where I'd found the little one. It was still huddled in the same spot, its blue eyes wide and wary as I approached .

"Here you go, buddy," I said softly, pouring out a small pile of kibble on the ground. "This should tide you over until morning."

The kitten sniffed at the food cautiously, then began to eat with a ravenous appetite. I watched it for a moment, feeling a small smile tug at the corners of my mouth.

It was a cute little thing, with its cream-colored fur and dark brown points. A Siamese, by the looks of it. I wondered how it had ended up out here, all alone in the middle of nowhere.

And then a thought occurred to me, one that sent a flicker of unease through my gut. What if the kitten belonged to the new owner of the house? What if they were looking for it, wondering where it had gone?

I knew I should probably knock on the door, let them know what had happened. But something held me back, some deep-seated reluctance that I couldn't quite name.

Maybe it was the memory of the last time I had been here, or maybe it was the fear of what I might find on the other side of that door. The fear that whoever had bought the house, whoever had brought that fancy sportscar and the ghost of my past back to Oakwood Grove.

I stood up slowly, the kitten cradled against my chest. And then I walked towards the front of the house, my heart pounding and my palms sweating.

I climbed the steps of the porch, the old wood creaking beneath my boots. And then I raised my hand, my fist hovering over the door like a question, like a challenge. And then I knocked, the sound echoing through the stillness of the night like a gunshot.

For a long moment, there was nothing. No sound, no movement, no sign of life from within the house. And then, just as I was about to turn and walk away, to chalk it all up to a bizarre coincidence and a case of mistaken identity the door opened.

And there, standing in front of me with a look of utter shock on his face was Liam. I remember that face even with my eyes closed .

He was shirtless, his chest and arms covered in tattoos that I had never seen before but he could also see the scars from the accident. His hair was longer than I remembered, his face leaner and more angular.

But his eyes, that deep, piercing blue that had always seemed to see right through me, right into the heart of who I was.

"Caleb?" he said, his voice rough and disbelieving. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I couldn't speak, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but stare at him like a deer caught in the headlights. Because it was him. It was really, truly him, standing there in front of me like a ghost, like a dream come to life.

The man I had loved, the man I had lost. The one who had haunted my thoughts and my dreams, the one who had never really left my heart, even after all these years.

"I…" I stammered, my voice cracking with emotion. "The sheriff called me about a disturbance at your place and I found this kitten. In the backyard. I thought maybe… maybe it was yours."

Liam's eyes flicked down to the bundle of fur in my arms, then back up to my face. His expression was unreadable, a mix of anger and confusion and something else, something I couldn't quite name.

"You thought… Jesus Christ, Caleb. You can't just show up here in the middle of the night, after twenty fucking years, and expect…"

He broke off, shaking his head like he was trying to clear it. Like he was trying to make sense of a world that had suddenly tilted off its axis, a reality that had shifted and warped around us like a funhouse mirror.

"I'm sorry," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to… I didn't know it was you. I never thought…"

"You never thought you'd see me again?" he finished, his voice sharp and brittle. "Yeah, well. That makes two of us."

I flinched at the anger in his tone, at the bitterness that laced every word. But I couldn't blame him, couldn't fault him for the resentment that had built up over the years, the pain that had festered and grown like a cancer.

"Look, I…" I started, then faltered, unsure of what to say. Unsure of how to bridge the chasm that had opened up between us, the gulf of time and distance and unspoken regrets.

Liam sighed, his shoulders slumping like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He ran a hand over his face, his expression softening into something that looked almost like defeat.

"You better come inside," he said, his voice low and tired. "It's fucking freezing out here."

I blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in his demeanor. But I nodded, following him into the house with the kitten still cradled against my chest.

The inside of the old Denison place was different than I remembered, the walls freshly painted and the floors polished to a high shine. But beneath the surface, beneath the veneer of newness and change, I could still feel the echoes of the past, the memories that lingered in every corner and crevice.

Liam led me into the kitchen, the harsh fluorescent light casting shadows on his face. He gestured to a chair at the table, his movements stiff and awkward.

"Sit down," he said, his voice gruff. "I'll make some coffee."

I did as he asked, settling into the chair with the kitten on my lap. It had fallen asleep, its tiny body rising and falling with each soft, even breath.

I watched as Liam moved around the kitchen, his back to me as he filled the coffeepot and rummaged through the cabinets for mugs. I couldn't help but notice the way his muscles rippled under his skin, the way his tattoos seemed to dance and shimmer in the light.

He had changed, had grown into a man I barely recognized. But underneath it all, underneath the ink and the scars and the hardened exterior, I could still see the boy I had loved, the boy who had captured my heart and never let go.

The boy who had been my everything, my whole world.

Liam set a mug of coffee down in front of me, the steam rising in lazy spirals. He sat down across from me, his own mug cradled in his hands like a shield, like a barrier.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The silence stretched out between us, heavy and thick with all the things we couldn't say, all the words that had been left unspoken for far too long.

I could feel the tension crackling in the air, could see the way Liam's jaw clenched and his fingers tightened around his mug. He was upset, that much was clear. And who could blame him? I had just shown up out of the blue, after twenty years of silence and distance, with a kitten in my arms and a heart full of unspoken apologies.

It was a lot to take in, a lot to process. And I knew that I needed to tread carefully, needed to give him the space and the time he needed to work through whatever he was feeling.

But I also knew that I couldn't just let this moment pass, couldn't just walk away and pretend like nothing had happened. Like seeing him again, being in his presence after all this time, hadn't shaken me to my core and stirred up a whirlwind of emotions that I had been trying to bury for longer than I could remember.

I cleared my throat, trying to find the right words. Trying to figure out how to bridge the chasm that had opened up between us, the gulf of time and distance and unspoken regrets.

"Liam, I…," I started, but he cut me off with a sharp, slashing motion of his hand.

"Don't," Liam said, his voice low and tight with barely-contained anger. "Just… don't, Caleb. If you want to talk about what happened, about the past and all the shit that went down between us… now is not the time. I don't have the capacity to not be mad at you, to not feel all the hurt and the betrayal and the fuck ing abandonment that you left me with when you walked away."

I flinched at the raw pain in his words, at the way they cut through me like a knife. For a moment, I was stunned into silence, my mind reeling at the accusation. When I had walked away? But that wasn't…

Sudden realization hit me like a bucket of ice water. Of course. In Liam's mind, I was the one who had abandoned him. The irony of it was almost laughable, if it weren't so painful.

I opened my mouth to argue, to defend myself, but the words died in my throat as I looked at him – really looked at him. The hurt in his eyes, the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands were clenched into fists at his sides. It was all so familiar, a mirror image of my own pain from all those years ago.

Because he was right, in a way. I had walked away, even if it wasn't in the way he thought. I had given up, had stopped fighting for us when things got tough. And no matter how much I had regretted it, no matter how many times I had wished I could go back and do things differently I couldn't change the past. Couldn't erase the scars that we had both inflicted on each other, the wounds that had never fully healed.

All I could do now was try to make him understand, try to bridge the chasm of misunderstanding and hurt that had grown between us over the years. But looking at him now, seeing the pain and anger radiating off him in waves, I knew that this wasn't the time. Pushing now would only drive him further away.

"Okay," I said softly, nodding my head in understanding. The word felt inadequate, but it was all I could manage past the lump in my throat. "I get it, Liam. And I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry for… for everything. But you're right. Now's not the time to rehash the past, to dredge up all the old wounds and try to make sense of it all."

I watched as surprise flickered across his face, quickly replaced by suspicion. He clearly hadn't expected me to back down so easily .

"I just…" I continued, struggling to find the right words. "I want you to know that there's more to the story. That things aren't exactly as you remember them. But I understand that you're not ready to hear it right now, and I respect that."

Liam's eyes narrowed, a mix of confusion and lingering anger in his gaze. "What's that supposed to mean? How could things not be exactly as I remember them? You left, Caleb. You walked out and never looked back."

I felt a flare of frustration at his words, at the certainty in his voice. But I forced it down, reminding myself that from his perspective, that was exactly what had happened.

"I know that's how it seemed," I said carefully. "But there's more to it, Liam. So much more. And when you're ready – if you're ever ready – I'd like the chance to explain."

For a moment, I thought he might argue further, might demand answers right then and there. But then he seemed to deflate, the anger draining out of him, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness that made my heart ache.

"I don't know if I'll ever be ready for that," he admitted quietly. "I don't know if I can handle reopening all those old wounds."

I nodded, understanding all too well. "I get it. And I won't push. But I'm here, Liam. Whenever you decide you want to talk – if you decide you want to talk – I'll be here."

He looked at me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine like he was trying to read my thoughts, trying to see into my soul. And then he sighed, his shoulders slumping like the fight had gone out of him.

"So," he said, his voice tired and heavy. "What brings you back to Oakwood Grove? Besides playing hero to stray kittens, I mean."

I felt a small, tentative smile tug at the corners of my mouth. It was an olive branch, a way to steer the conversation into safer waters. And I was grateful for it, grateful for the chance to talk about something, anything, that didn't involve the tangled mess of our shared history.

"I never left," I said, shrugging my shoulders. "After… after everything went down, there was an emergency back home. I had to come back, and then…" I trailed off, not wanting to delve into the details of Mom's illness. It wasn't my story to tell, and I was relieved when Liam didn't push for more information.

"Family stuff," I added vaguely. "It was complicated. And then, I don't know. This place, these people… they're a part of me, you know? A part of who I am and who I've always been. It just felt right to stay."

Liam nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Yeah, I get that. It's funny, isn't it? How the things we run from, the places we try so hard to leave behind… they have a way of pulling us back, of reminding us where we belong."

I felt a pang in my chest, a sudden, sharp ache of understanding. Because I knew exactly what he meant, knew the feeling of being torn between the past and the present, between the person you were and the person you wanted to be.

It was a feeling I had grappled with every day since he had left, since the world I had built with him had come crashing down around me like a house of cards.

"So, what about you?" I asked, trying to keep my voice casual. Trying to ignore the way my heart was pounding in my chest, the way my palms were sweating and my mouth was dry. "What brings you back to the old homestead?"

Liam's mouth twisted into a wry, humorless smile. "Yeah, well. Turns out the high life isn't all it's cracked up to be. Especially when you're living it alone, without the one person who always made everything make sense."

I felt my breath catch in my throat, felt a sudden, dizzying rush of hope and fear and something else, something I couldn't quite name. But I pushed it down, not ready to unpack what his words might mean .

"Sounds like we've both been on quite a journey," I said, aiming for a neutral tone. "It's… it's good to see you, Liam. Despite everything."

And it was true, I realized. Despite the pain, despite the years of silence and unanswered questions, there was a part of me that was genuinely glad to see him. To know that he was okay, that he had found his way back to Oakwood Grove, just like I had.

But I couldn't let myself dwell on it, couldn't let myself get lost in the what-ifs and the might-have-beens. Because that way lay madness, lay heartbreak and regret and a whole host of things I wasn't ready to face.

Not yet. Maybe not ever. For now, it was enough to be here, in this moment, with the weight of our shared history between us and the uncertain future stretching out ahead.

So instead, I focused on the kitten. On the tiny, innocent life that had brought us together again, after so many years of silence and distance.

"Speaking of making sense," I said, clearing my throat and nodding towards the ball of fluff in my lap. "What are you going to do with this little guy? I mean, I'm happy to take him off your hands, if you want. I've got plenty of room at the ranch, and I'm sure the barn cats would love a new playmate."

Liam looked down at the kitten, his expression softening into something that might have been tenderness, might have been affection.

"Nah," he said, shaking his head. "I think I'll keep him. It'll be good for me, having something to take care of. Something to remind me that there's still beauty in the world, still things worth fighting for."

I felt a lump rise in my throat, felt a sudden, overwhelming rush of emotion that I couldn't quite name.

I stood up slowly, the kitten cradled in my arms. And then I reached into my pocket, pulling out a scrap of paper and a pen. I scribbled down my number, my hand shaking slightly as I handed it to him .

"Here," I said, my voice rough with emotion. "If you need anything, if you have any questions about taking care of the cat, or if you just want to talk feel free to use it. Or not. It's up to you."

Liam looked at the paper for a long moment, his expression unreadable. And then he nodded, folding it carefully and tucking it into his pocket.

"Thanks," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I appreciate it."

I nodded, feeling a sudden, awkward tension settle over the room. I knew it was time for me to go, time for me to give him the space he needed to process everything that had happened.

But I couldn't help but linger for a moment, couldn't help but drink in the sight of him, the sound of his voice, the way his presence filled the room and made everything else fade away.

"Take care of yourself, Liam," I said softly, my voice rough with emotion. "And take care of the kitten. He's lucky to have you."

And then I was turning, heading for the door with my heart in my throat and my mind whirling with a thousand different thoughts and feelings.

I could feel his eyes on me as I walked away, could feel the weight of his gaze like a physical thing. But I didn't look back, didn't let myself turn around and see the expression on his face. Because I knew that if I did, if I saw the pain and the confusion and the longing in his eyes, I would never be able to leave, never be able to walk away and give him the time and the space he so clearly needed.

So I kept walking, kept putting one foot in front of the other until I was outside, until I was back in my truck with the engine running and the radio playing softly in the background.

And then I let myself break, let myself feel the full weight of everything that had happened, everything that had changed. I leaned my head against the steering wheel, my shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

Because seeing him again, being in his presence after so many years of absence and longing it had opened up a wound that I had thought had long since healed, had ripped open the scars that I had so carefully stitched back together.