Page 32 of Shattered Melodies
And there, in the background, was the house. Our house, the one Caleb and I had shared all those summers ago, before everything had gone to hell.
I felt a pang of longing so sharp it took my breath away. God, I missed him. Missed him with an ache that had never really gone away, no matter how much time had passed or how far I had run.
And so, before I could lose my nerve, I picked up the phone and dialed Claire’s number.
“Liam?” she answered on the first ring, her voice tight with worry. “Is everything okay? Your father just stormed out of here looking like he was about to have a stroke.”
I laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. “Everything’s fine, Claire. Better than fine, actually. Listen, I need you to do something for me.”
“Of course, anything. What is it?”
I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what I was about to say. “Starting tomorrow, I’m taking a leave of absence. Indefinitely. I need you to handle all my appointments, all my clients, everything. Can you do that for me?”
There was a long, stunned silence on the other end of the line. “Liam… are you sure about this? I mean, what about the company, what about your father? He’s going to be furious.”
I closed my eyes, picturing the look on his face when he found out. The disappointment, the anger, the utter, utter contempt. “I know, Claire. And I’m sorry to put you in this position. But I have to do this”
She sighed, and I could hear the concern in her voice. “Okay, Liam. If that’s what you need, then I’ll make it happen. Just… just be careful, okay? And call me if you need anything, anything at all.”
I felt a lump rise in my throat, a sudden, overwhelming gratitude for this woman who had been by my side through so much. “I will, Claire. Thank you. For everything.”
We said our goodbyes, and I hung up the phone feeling lighter than I had in years. It was really happening. I was really doing this.
But where to start? Where to go first on this crazy, reckless, utterly terrifying journey of self-discovery?
And then, like a bolt of lightning, it hit me. Oakwood Grove. I had to go back to Oakwood Grove, had to see the town and the house and the memories that had haunted me for so long.
I pulled up a real estate website, my fingers trembling as I typed in the name of the town. And there, at the top of the search results, was a listing that made my heart stop dead in my chest.
Our old house. It was for sale. After all these years, after all this time… it was on the market, just waiting for someone to snap it up and make it their own.
I stared at the pictures, at the familiar walls and windows and rooms that had once been my whole world. And I knew, with a certainty that went bone-deep, that I had to have it. Had to buy it, had to make it mine again.
Without even thinking twice, I contacted the real estate company.
CHAPTER 10
Town of Rumours
CALEB
“Goddammit, you little shit!” I cursed under my breath as I lunged for the chicken, my fingers just grazing its feathers before it darted away with an indignant squawk. “Get back here, you feathered menace!”
Behind me, I heard my dad chuckle, the sound deep and rumbling like distant thunder. “Language, son. You kiss your mama with that mouth?”
I shot him a grin over my shoulder, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. “Nah, I save that for the cows. They don’t judge.”
He shook his head, still laughing, and tossed me a pair of worn leather gloves. “Here, put these on before you lose a finger. That rooster’s got a mean streak a mile wide.”
I caught the gloves and tugged them on, flexing my fingers to get a feel for the supple leather. “Don’t worry, Pops. I’ve got this under control.”
Famous last words.
An hour later, I was covered in dirt and feathers and chicken shit, my hair sticking up in sweaty spikes and my clothes stained beyond recognition. But the coop was clean, the eggs were gathered, and the chickens were finally, blessedly quiet.
I leaned against the fence, catching my breath and watching as my dad scattered some feed for the hens. They clucked and pecked at the ground, their beady eyes darting back and forth like they were expecting an ambush.
“Paranoid little bastards,” I muttered, shaking my head.
