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Even though he already knew what to expect, Seth wasn't prepared for the gut punch of rolling past the Shirleen Trailer Park's crooked signpost later that morning. He parked crookedly to avoid an old bicycle with a mended frame and killed the engine, but he made no move to get out. He couldn't force his hands off the wheel. He could only stare numbly through the mud-speckled windshield at the trailer.
This was the last place he'd spoken to Aiden. He could still see Aiden's stony expression when he slammed the truck door, could still hear the crunch of gravel and ice under his boots as he walked away that night.
Now, there was only silence and stillness.
The inside of the trailer was worse. The door was unlocked, and the place looked like an empty shell without Aiden's clutter. What struck Seth most was how tidy it was. Aiden had never been the neatest or most detail-oriented man, but he'd left the place gleaming. The counters that had been cluttered with mail and dishes were spotless. The floor was swept. It was like he'd wiped away every last trace of himself.
Seth wasn't sure how he got there, but he found himself sitting on the worn bench in the dining area. His legs felt weak; maybe they'd stopped holding him up. He braced his elbows on his knees and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, but they wouldn't stop stinging. Heat flooded his throat, and he swallowed convulsively, afraid of the noise that might come out if he allowed it.
If only he'd been honest. If only he'd held Aiden close and helped him through the tragedy rather than trying to protect him. Aiden would have grown, lived, laughed, and suffered with him through his most challenging times, and they'd have years together by now. They could have been each other's armor in the storm. Maybe then Aiden would still be here, filling the hole in Seth's chest where his heart used to be.
With shaking fingers, he dug his phone out of his back pocket and compulsively scrolled through the endless unanswered texts he'd been sending Aiden for days.
Come up to the ranch today, and we'll talk.
I know you want some space, but you don't need to be alone.
Did you sleep?
Have dinner with me.
Answer your phone, dammit!
Aiden, please.
His vision was so blurry he could barely see the keyboard, but autocorrect did him right for once when he hunched over the phone and tapped with clumsy thumbs: I love you. Don’t do this to us.
The first few messages he'd sent had a read checkmark beneath them, but that had stopped yesterday. Now the messages sat unread. Aiden had either blocked him or changed his settings to stop delivering notifications. Neither option boded well for their future.
On his way back to his truck, he noticed a woman watching him from the neighbor's front porch. She was hunched in a thick jacket with a cigarette dangling between her lips. He couldn't remember her name, but he remembered her watching him with the same skeptical expression the day he'd hauled the trailer into the park for Aiden all those years ago.
"You missed him," she called once she caught him looking.
Seth stopped politely, fist clenched so tight around his keys that they cut into his palm. "I know," he said gruffly. "I was just…seeing what was left."
She blew a stream of smoke through her tightly pursed lips and then stared at him for an uncomfortably long time. He returned her look calmly, but he couldn't help but feel judged. The woman's shrewd eyes seemed to read every failure on his face.
Eventually, she said, "I've never seen that kid so torn up. Whatever you did to him, it ain't something he'll get over quick."
"Do you know where he went?" Seth asked hopefully.
"Nope." The word was said with obnoxious relish. She briefly examined the glowing tip of her cigarette, then added, "But I guess he'll be back for his things sooner or later."
Seth followed the line of her pointed finger to the small stack of boxes at the end of her covered porch. They were bent and torn at the corners, as if they'd been hastily packed, and the tops had merely been folded over to keep out weather rather than taped. Seth approached the top box and pulled back the flap to reveal a jumble of random objects piled on top of a nest of old t-shirts. He shifted aside a coffee can full of old beer caps to reveal a scuffed zippo lighter, a broken wristwatch, and some wrinkled ticket stubs. Nothing was worth much, but he couldn't resist reaching inside and running his thumb over a worn pair of work gloves, searching for some leftover trace of Aiden. These things belonged to him. They were precious.
The neighbor observed him with a critical eye. "You think you can patch things up with him?"
"I'll never stop trying," Seth said quietly.
She stubbed out her cigarette on the step and stood up, brushing off the seat of her jeans. "You can take those boxes off my hands if you want."
Seth looked up hungrily. "Yeah?"
"He trusts you. I'm sure of that much. He's just scared right now. At least those boxes will give you an opening someday." She shrugged, already headed back inside, as if she didn't care what happened to the boxes. But Seth wasn't fooled. She paused at the threshold and turned toward him with a severe expression. "I've known a lot of men like Aiden Doyle over the years. Good men. Kind hearts. But scared to death that they'll never live up to whatever it is people think a man ought to be. He'll keep running unless you find a way to stop him."
Seth already had two boxes in his arms, ready to load into the bed of his truck, but he paused to look her in the eye. "I will," he promised, giving her a grateful nod.
He meant it with every fiber of his soul. His eyes kept stinging, no matter how many times he wiped them with the back of his sleeve, but he felt a renewed sense of purpose as he drove away with Aiden's belongings. He'd pushed Aiden away once, and he'd learned his lesson. He'd never make the same mistake again. He had a plan, and he was going to see it through. For Aiden. For them both.
