Page 3 of Plentywood
“I don’t think you’re supposed to say that, Ms. Brewster,” Jill claimed.
Agnes was halfway to the door when she turned around. “I wiped that boy’s ass when he was born. Yours too, Jilly girl, so I’ll say whatever the fuck I want.” She opened the door, delivering one more death glare. “Two PM sharp, Hunter.” And with that, she walked out.
Jill and I exchanged glances, both of us left shaking our heads. “Whattaya know about the new doc?” I asked Jill.
“Rumor has it, he’s an actual Hawthorne,” she stated, locking eyes with me. “As in Hawthorne, Hawthorne.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Hawthorne, as in his ancestors built that mansion. Their money has supported the medical center ever since,” she said. “Apparently, if you’re not someone fancy in that family, they disown you.”
Plentywood had been without a doctor since Doc Hughes retired three months ago. Agnes was keeping all of us going while we waited. She was a witch, but as an older and experienced RN, she was basically the entire medical team in our small town.
“Explain to me why a Hawthorne would move to our town?” I requested.
“Beats me, but I’m going over there with you this afternoon,” she replied, picking my breakfast plate up. Jill looked wistful as she stared out the front window. “God, I hope he’s single.”
“That ain’t happening,” I said, throwing ten bucks on the table. “I’ll pick you up later, sis.”
“Don’t forget. Two PM,” she yelled after me.
I confirmed I’d heard her with a wave over my shoulder. “Two fucking years already,” I mumbled, making my way to my SUV, a familiar pain pressing on my heart. Sometimes the pain pressed so hard I held out hope it might snuff me out one of these days. It’d taken all my strength not to fall apart in front of Jill today, even if she’d somehow managed to forget the date.
After turning the key, I rested my chin on the steering wheel while the engine idled. I spaced out, staring straight ahead. Sometimes, when I’d find myself stuck in moments like this, I found myself losing track of time, oblivious to the world around me. A world that had kept on going after mine had stopped. Leaning back, I glanced at the rearview mirror, eyes filling to the brim. “I miss you so goddamned much,” I muttered.
Voicing my pain tore another piece of my heart away. How many more levels of scars would I have to peel away before I could wake one day and not have me wanting this one to be my last? Something had to give for me. If this was my life from now on, I wasn’t sure I could do it.
CHAPTER TWO: Benedict
The further away from New York I drove, the more unpopulated the country became. Long desolate stretches of highway bisected the land. With civilization in my rearview mirror, the empty fields ahead frightened me. I’d never been out of the city other than on first-class flights to exotic destinations.
Europe, South America, and the continent of Africa. The best destinations with all the best cities in the world. But never in the middle of my own country. Never the rural areas where the middle class supposedly lived. Not once.Ever.
A roadside sign read,Culbertson Pop. 763. “No fucking way,” I muttered, returning my eyes to the road. Culbertson would be the third small town I’d driven through since exiting from I-90.
A few miles back, while still on I-90 heading west, I’d seen a sign that read Seattle was only nine-hundred miles ahead. I should’ve kept going. Seattle wasn’t Los Angeles, but at least it wasn’t some dot-on-the-map shithole named Plentywood.
To begin with, what kind of name wasPlentywood?I’d googled the town, andWikipediaclaimed that local folklore had it on record that nearby Plentywood Creek, after which the town was named, came from a search for firewood many years ago.
One day, according to the story, a group of cowboys watched in exasperation as the chuck wagon cook attempted to start a fire using damp buffalo chips, or wet bison shit, as I interpreted thestory. Finally, in frustration, Dutch Henry, one of the cowboys, said, “If you’ll go two miles up this creek, you’ll find plenty wood.” Apparently, the name stuck.
Thenot-so-greatnews? I was heading there right now. “Plentywood,” I scoffed, admiring myPradasunglasses in the rearview mirror, while desperately searching for a carwash or detail shop. Like the last two towns, there was neither.
However, I did see a gas station ahead named Skeeter’s. There was an old metal sign swinging in the breeze that advertised regular gas for $1.89. No way that could be correct, but I wasn’t concerned about gas prices. What I was concerned about was keeping my brand-newMercedes Benzsedan clean. Especially since I was less than twenty miles from my destination.
I waited next to a pump, thinking an attendant would be out soon. However, after watching six minutes tick away on my car’s digital clock, I got out to see what was going on. The station was dead quiet, an old dog asleep on a mat in front of the entrance door.
I stepped carefully toward the door, dodging grease, dirt clods, and the old dog who still hadn’t looked up since my arrival. Based on the dog’s gray muzzle, the mutt could be dead for all I knew. Before entering, I noticed a youngish guy inside through the window, leaning back in a chair, headphones over his ears, his eyes closed.
He was cute, in a country-bumpkin sort of way. He wore a denim button-down shirt, over jeans, well-worn in all the right places. His hands rested in his lap, cupping a huge bulge. I glanced around, wondering if we were alone.
My mind immediately went to a porn story idea. Upper crust city boy breaks down in a small town, only to be rescued by a country mechanic who seduces him and forces him to suck his dick in the storeroom.Get a grip, Ben.
“Excuse me,” I spoke, resting my hands on the countertop that separated us. He didn’t move. I watched as his chest moved up and down, his full lips slightly parted as breath slowly came and went. The guy was stunning to look at it. I looked around again, wondering if there was anyone else at the station.
“Ahem,” I coughed, pretending to clear my throat.
His hands moved slightly as he continued to hold his prominent bulge. I stared at him, my eyes moving up from what I assumed was a nice-sized cock. His stomach was flat, the denim shirt unbuttoned to nearly his belly button, smooth, tan skin visible underneath. He had a backward-facing baseball cap on his head, and bunches of blond hair sticking out the sides like he needed a haircut.
