Blackstone as he could.
Dylan faded away to a dot in the distance and Hayden saw the turnoff. He braked hard and flew onto the highway. He joined the flow of traffic, his foot down hard. He plucked at his seatbelt as it seemed to be crushing his chest, squashing the breath out of him.
****
Dylan walked back to his car. He kept his expression carefully neutral because the owner of the garage was standing there watching. He made a U-turn and set off back to his house, the only safe haven as far as he could see. He switched off the engine in the driveway and got out.
He unlocked the front door and stepped inside. He didn't kick his boots off, only sank down on the bottom step of the stairs and bent his head, hands dangling between his knees.
It's okay, he told himself. It's okay.
PART TWO
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hayden returned to his life and carried on much the same, apart from the fact that he was deeply changed, deeply scarred by that one fateful encounter. Time passed and his memories faded along with that sting of hurt, that pain, which had initially screwed him up beyond recognisable.
But he became quieter, withdrawn, taciturn. He let the world carry on around him and he didn't say anything about it. Nothing mattered that much anymore. Not now that he'd had a glimpse of what could have been, and had it all taken away as quickly as it had arrived.
He knew he wouldn't ever go back to Blackstone and look Dylan up. He had to be satisfied with his life.
But then fate intervened once again, ten years down the line, dealing its cards in the most terrible of ways.
Hayden waited two respectable years after the blow that befell him and then he set out to Blackstone on the morning of a summer's day, with an overnight bag just in case.
He was thirty-seven years old, too young to carry on forgetting.
****
Hayden drove into the centre of town with his palms wet and his heart furiously hammering against his ribs as though pleading to be let out. He felt it begging, the way it had continued to beg through twelve long years of denial.
He had fought with it and fought with it and finally it had won. It had brought him back here and he had followed, a slave to it, a prisoner.
But he didn't know what he would find. Who said Dylan was here? He could be halfway across the world, he could be shacked up with another guy, he could be dead.
That troublesome heart of his told him that Dylan was still here, though. He had been born here and he hadn't shown interest in leaving, so why shouldn't he still be here? And if he wasn't, what would Hayden do? Simple. He would search the world if he had to, until he found the man he'd left behind.
He let the air-conditioning dry the sweat on his brow another few bracing minutes before he got out of the car, not bothering to lock it behind him. He took the steps up to the police station slowly, taking his time, in no rush any more to confront his destiny. Especially not when he was unsure what he would find there.
He pushed open the glass door and stepped into cold air, approaching a desk sergeant who beamed at him instantaneously as though the opening of the door triggered the nerves in his face.
"Good afternoon, sir. What can I do for you this fine day?"
"Hi. I'm- er," Hayden stopped, cleared his dry throat. "I'm looking for Deputy, er, Hubble."
The man continued to grin like The Cheshire Cat. "You're out of touch, sir. He hasn't been deputy for a long time."
Hayden's hopes and dreams sank miserably into his shoes. "No?"
"No, he's sheriff now."
Hayden smiled hesitantly. He was still here. Maybe he still had a chance. "Can I see him?"
"He's at a funeral right now. Not sure when he's expected back."
"Oh. Right."
"Want to leave your number and he can give you a call?"
"I… n-no. It's okay. I'll catch him again." Hayden stepped back as he spoke. His courage was gone.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. It's fine. Thanks." Hayden turned and fled.
The heat hit him as he stepped outside. He
Dylan faded away to a dot in the distance and Hayden saw the turnoff. He braked hard and flew onto the highway. He joined the flow of traffic, his foot down hard. He plucked at his seatbelt as it seemed to be crushing his chest, squashing the breath out of him.
****
Dylan walked back to his car. He kept his expression carefully neutral because the owner of the garage was standing there watching. He made a U-turn and set off back to his house, the only safe haven as far as he could see. He switched off the engine in the driveway and got out.
He unlocked the front door and stepped inside. He didn't kick his boots off, only sank down on the bottom step of the stairs and bent his head, hands dangling between his knees.
It's okay, he told himself. It's okay.
PART TWO
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hayden returned to his life and carried on much the same, apart from the fact that he was deeply changed, deeply scarred by that one fateful encounter. Time passed and his memories faded along with that sting of hurt, that pain, which had initially screwed him up beyond recognisable.
But he became quieter, withdrawn, taciturn. He let the world carry on around him and he didn't say anything about it. Nothing mattered that much anymore. Not now that he'd had a glimpse of what could have been, and had it all taken away as quickly as it had arrived.
He knew he wouldn't ever go back to Blackstone and look Dylan up. He had to be satisfied with his life.
But then fate intervened once again, ten years down the line, dealing its cards in the most terrible of ways.
Hayden waited two respectable years after the blow that befell him and then he set out to Blackstone on the morning of a summer's day, with an overnight bag just in case.
He was thirty-seven years old, too young to carry on forgetting.
****
Hayden drove into the centre of town with his palms wet and his heart furiously hammering against his ribs as though pleading to be let out. He felt it begging, the way it had continued to beg through twelve long years of denial.
He had fought with it and fought with it and finally it had won. It had brought him back here and he had followed, a slave to it, a prisoner.
But he didn't know what he would find. Who said Dylan was here? He could be halfway across the world, he could be shacked up with another guy, he could be dead.
That troublesome heart of his told him that Dylan was still here, though. He had been born here and he hadn't shown interest in leaving, so why shouldn't he still be here? And if he wasn't, what would Hayden do? Simple. He would search the world if he had to, until he found the man he'd left behind.
He let the air-conditioning dry the sweat on his brow another few bracing minutes before he got out of the car, not bothering to lock it behind him. He took the steps up to the police station slowly, taking his time, in no rush any more to confront his destiny. Especially not when he was unsure what he would find there.
He pushed open the glass door and stepped into cold air, approaching a desk sergeant who beamed at him instantaneously as though the opening of the door triggered the nerves in his face.
"Good afternoon, sir. What can I do for you this fine day?"
"Hi. I'm- er," Hayden stopped, cleared his dry throat. "I'm looking for Deputy, er, Hubble."
The man continued to grin like The Cheshire Cat. "You're out of touch, sir. He hasn't been deputy for a long time."
Hayden's hopes and dreams sank miserably into his shoes. "No?"
"No, he's sheriff now."
Hayden smiled hesitantly. He was still here. Maybe he still had a chance. "Can I see him?"
"He's at a funeral right now. Not sure when he's expected back."
"Oh. Right."
"Want to leave your number and he can give you a call?"
"I… n-no. It's okay. I'll catch him again." Hayden stepped back as he spoke. His courage was gone.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. It's fine. Thanks." Hayden turned and fled.
The heat hit him as he stepped outside. He
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