The truth is, I don’t really think he’s gonna drive me into the woods and murder me. He doesn’t have that serial killer vibe. But I’ve watched enough true crime to know you never see it coming.
“I thought we’d go for a walk. Somewhere quiet with a view. After that, if you’re up for it, maybe a drink. Just… not at Callan’s.”
“You don’t like it down there, huh?”
“You caught that.”
“You don’t exactly seem close to the Crawfords.”
He huffs a soft laugh through his nose. “Yeah, well… I’m not. But they’re still family, I guess.”
“Families can be complicated,” I murmur, more to myself than to him.
“Can’t choose ’em, right?”
We continue chatting about small-town life as we wind our way up a narrow gravel road, the trees thickening around us, when I spot the sign for Christian’s farm, and just like that, my stomach drops to somewhere around my knees.
“Wait… why are we going to your dad’s place?”
He glances at me quickly, then returns his focus to the road. “You’ve never been up there?”
“No,” I say, my heart battering against my ribs.
“It’s beautiful, especially this time of year. The way the sun filters through the trees right before it sets… I don’t know. It’s peaceful and kind of romantic. I thought you might enjoy it.”
“That actually sounds… really nice,” I admit, swallowing the nerves crawling up my throat. “Do you think he’ll be home?”
“Probably,” he says. “I didn’t tell him we were coming.”
“Is he going to be okay with that?”
Travis grins, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel. “Honestly, I never really come up here, so I’m hoping he’ll actually be glad to see me for once.”
I feel my shoulders tense as we finally turn onto Christian’s driveway, the tires grinding softly over the gravel as his home reveals itself.
A farmhouse with weathered gray siding and dark-green shutters sits at the base of a gently sloping hill, flanked by neat rows of pine trees stretching as far as the eye can see, some barely past seedlings, others tall and full and almost ready for winter.Grassy paths wind between the rows of trees, with wildflowers edging the trails in soft bursts of color. The horse stables sit quietly to the side, while a paddock and feed pasture stretch out beside them. Beyond that, cattle are scattered in a separate field.
Travis jumps out of the car and takes the steps two at a time, his boots thudding against the wooden porch. The windows are open, curtains shifting in the breeze, and I figure Christian must’ve heard us pull in, especially with how Baby Crawford was revving his engine.
I trail behind Travis, watching as he swings the door open and walks straight in like he owns the place, but I hang back because barging into Christian’s house without so much as a knock feels all kinds of wrong. Travis is his kid; he can just stroll in and make himself at home, but I’m not family, and it feels a little intrusive.
Travis stops halfway inside, turns around with his hands shoved in his jeans pockets, and gives me a look that says,Well? Aren’t you coming?
“I’ll wait here,” I say, easing onto the porch swing instead.
I rest my hands on my lap and try not to eavesdrop, but it’s not really my fault if their voices carry when every door and window in this house seems to be thrown wide open to the world.
“Dad?” Travis calls out.
Footsteps thump down wooden stairs just beyond the open door. “Travis… what are you doing here?”
“Good to see you too.”
“Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you. I’m on my way out.”
Thank God.
“Where are you going?”
