Page 8 of The County Line
“Tell me what?”
I can’t stand being left out, especially when it comes to my twin sister. She used to confide in me about everything—her secrets, her dreams, even her fears. But ever since I went away, something’s shifted between us. A wedge I don’t fully understand has settled in, and now I’m stuck trying to figure out how to bridge the gap between who we used to me and who we are now. How to bring us back to the way we were as kids: inseparable, like two halves of the same whole.
She sighs again. “I’ve seen Roxy quite a bit since I moved back… been walking her and she’s been spending a lot of nights at my house.” She shrugs as if that’s a perfectly normal thing to do. I stop my petting of Roxy’s head.
“Why would you do that?”
She shoots me a smile, and a soft laugh. “Because she needed help with all the traveling she’s been doing to Charlotte. Plus, you know I’ve always loved Roxy girl. We’ve gotten even closer the nights she’s spent in my bed.”
Roxy has always loved Molly. I can still picture those nights when I’d roll over in my childhood bed, expecting to find her at my feet, only to see her curled up on the floor between Maverick and Molly in a tangled heap. She’d rarely leave my side, butwhen the Patrick siblings were around, she’d trade me for their company without hesitation.
“I didn’t realize Regan was the one looking after her while I was gone.” I straighten up, rubbing a hand over my freshly buzzed head as I let that thought settle. Cash had always reassured me during his visits that Roxy was being taken care of, but he never mentioned it was Regan—or Molly, for that matter. Regan had never been close to Roxy, so it hits differently knowing that she stepped up. It means a lot knowing that my sister kept her safe.
“Yeah… I think Regan and her have bonded too,” Molly murmurs.
I nod my head, and then throw her another forced smile to change the subject. No use in thinking about the broken relationship with my twin that I still need to mend, or the things that she did for my dog while I was gone. “Well, damn, it’s good to see you again.” Because despite my inability to feel normal, human emotions, it's always good seeing Molly.
She smiles back. “It really is.”
“Have you seen Maverick since you moved back?”
“Unfortunately, no… was hoping to see him tonight for dinner but Dad’s got him doingerrandsI think.”
Damn, I hate hearing that. Molly and Maverick’s dad had always been knee-deep in illegal gambling—a destructive habit he never bothered to hide from the town or change. It kept a revolving door of shady characters at their house when we were kids which is why the Patrick’s often spent their time with me at Whitewood Creek Farm instead.
When I left for prison, Maverick was just starting to get sucked into his dad’s so-called ‘work’—strong-arming people who couldn’t pay their bets. I’d warned him against getting involved,tried to pull him back and keep him focused on working at our distillery, but it seemed like my absence had sealed his fate.
Knowing he’s fully entrenched in it now? That eats at me, adding another layer of bitterness to the years I lost, the years I couldn’t be there for him.
I glance down at my watch, checking how much time I have before the arbitrary curfew imposed by the state kicks in. I can’t risk some petty violation of my parole—even if all I’m doing is trying to rebuild a life and set-up my new home.
“Maybe we can catch up sometime?” I ask. Her eyes light up before I finish the sentence. "The three of us. Me, you and Maverick," I clarify and then instantly feel bad.
"Oh, yeah, that sounds good. Shoot me a text if you still have my number?” she asks.
When I got out, my big brother Troy bought me a brand new phone to take me into the current decade and I've yet to turn it on. I doubt any of my contacts have transferred from the phone that’s somewhere in my old bedroom.
“I’ll get it from Regan.”
She laughs again, the sound warm and lingering, curling around me like smoke before she waves over her shoulder and starts walking away.
I watch her retreating figure, something pulling tight in my chest, and then—a memory of Maverick from years ago two weeks after graduation.
“She’s gone, man. Just up and left for Louisiana.”
Molly had disappeared south, severing ties with just about everyone in Whitewood Creek. She hadn’t told me. She hadn’t told Maverick. No warning, no goodbyes. Gone like smoke.
The biggest shock, though? She got married. Barely six months after leaving. I never got the full story—just the scraps Maverick was willing to share. She’d enrolled in the police academy. Met a cop. Married him. That was it. Maverick never met the guy. Neither had her father. But from what little he’d heard, the man was a real piece of work.
Or, as Mav had put it—“a fucking tool.”
“Hey, Molly!” I shout, catching her attention as she turns, walking backward now as she moves towards the store.
“Yeah?” she answers, brushing a hand over her ebony colored braid.
“Where’s your husband?”
Her hand pauses mid-movement before she shakes her head.
