Homecoming

Dani Sorrel writes slow-burn love stories with lots of yearning, speaking glances, and awkward main characters. When she’s not writing, she reads cozy mysteries and historical romances and works a corporate job to support her cat’s lifestyle.

Homecoming 

by Dani Sorrel

I paced the wood-plank porch, my boots scuffing the fresh layer of frost. I caught myself humming again. When you see me next, you’ll call me Stranger. Those damn lyrics had been haunting me all week. It was just like Charlie to write a melody I couldn’t escape, even when I changed the radio station. In my weaker moments, I pretended he wrote it for me, but that was foolish. I tried not to let myself wonder about Charlie like that anymore.

Cash must have heard the car approach before I did because he took off running toward the road. A second later, a black SUV turned into the driveway. The vehicle parked, and for a moment, all I could hear was my pulse in my ears between Cash’s excited barks. The rear door opened, and there he was. The eager Labrador immediately jumped at Charlie, wagging his tail and whimpering until Charlie squatted down to pet him. Hearing Charlie's laugh again was a spot of warmth I hadn’t expected to find on a dreary November day.

I couldn't help but stare at him while he was distracted by Cash. Charlie wore a pair of sunglasses and a baseball cap stuffed over his wavy blonde hair. It had never been so long before, and I wondered if it would be soft between my fingers. I shook my head at the thought. I needed to stop letting the foolish thoughts in. I knew where that road led. 

“Darren,” Charlie called as he walked over. The right side of his mouth curved into a smirk when he saw me glaring at his hat.

“I won’t rub it in about the postseason,” he said. I shook my head and laughed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I thought it was just a misguided fashion statement,” I said. Charlie barked a laugh.

“You’ve always been hard to impress, Dare.” The old nickname made my stomach flutter. 

“It’s simple: just stop rooting for the Cubs, and you’ll have my undying loyalty,” I quipped, fighting a smile.

Charlie grinned and pulled me into a tight hug. I all but froze. It had been nearly three years since I’d seen him last, and he hadn’t hugged me then. And yet there I was: leaning into the damn hug. He didn’t smell like wood smoke and coffee anymore, like he had when we went camping by the lake as teens. Whatever scent he wore now smelled warm and expensive, like a cozy month at a ski lodge. 

“I told your dad you were on your way when you called. He’s inside,” I said, pulling back from the embrace. Charlie’s eyebrows drew together.

“How is he feeling?” Before I could answer, Cash barked, running toward the house this time. Carl, Charlie’s dad, had opened the front door. He still wore the pajama pants and Charlie Dawson Tour hoodie that he’d been in when I’d arrived that morning. The look of joy on his tired, pale face made me smile. Charlie strode up the porch stairs to greet him, and Cash stood by, wagging his tail and barking as father and son hugged. Carl beamed at me through tears and mouthed the words, thank you. 

I nodded and slid my hands into my pockets, looking down at the frozen ground. Another lyric surfaced, unbidden: You said you’d do anything to make me feel whole again. Those were the words I’d told Charlie after his mom died, fifteen years ago. When I first heard the song on the radio, I fought with myself, desperate to pick up the phone and call him and tell him I still meant it, but I couldn’t do it in the end.

Carl ushered us inside, and I left them alone to catch up while I preheated the oven for dinner. I had come armed with a week’s worth of freezer meals to make things easy on Carl since he didn’t cook much for himself. Afterward, I sat at the dining room table, which was covered in unopened mail. Massaging my temples, I wondered what the hell I'd say to Charlie about why I hadn’t reached out sooner. I had only called him two days before, when the hospital discharged Carl, and I wondered if that had been a mistake.

A sudden creaking sound startled me, and I looked up.

“Whatcha doin’?” Charlie asked, leaning a hip against the door frame and crossing his arms. He had taken off his denim jacket, and his black T-shirt hugged his biceps in a way that made me swallow hard. I blinked, realizing how strange it was to see him standing there in the dining room where we’d played football with paper triangles instead of doing our homework.

“Just sifting through your dad’s mail for him. He asked me to help him figure out some of the medical bills,” I explained. 

“Medical bills already? But he just left the hospital,” he said with an incredulous laugh. I avoided his eyes. 

“Let me see,” he said, taking an envelope from my hand and tearing it open.

“This can’t be right,” he said. I looked up at him and tried to ignore the tightening in my chest.

“He hasn’t been in the hospital for two weeks. Is this a mistake?” I took a deep breath and met his gaze, and then he knew. His eyes turned the color of the sky before a summer storm. 

“You kept this from me?” I opened my mouth and closed it, knowing what I was going to say would be like adding a live match to a kindling pile.

“You were on tour. Carl asked me not to tell you until-,” I started, but he cut me off, his face flushing red.

“You had no right to promise him that. What if he had died?” His voice cracked on the last word. 

“Charlie, I’m sorry,” I whispered. My heart ached at the hollow look in his eyes. He shook his head.

“Would you have told me if he had died? Or would you have waited for the goddamn tour to be over?” He threw the words at me before turning and walking to the back door. The sharp slam of the screen door felt like a slap in the face. I went after him, propelled by a sudden rush of anger, and caught up to him halfway across the yard. 

“You don’t get to throw a fit and walk away when you don’t know what these last weeks have been like,” I called after him.

He stiffened and stopped walking, turning to face me.

“Well, how could I have known when you never called to tell me?”

“I didn’t ask to be put in this position, Charlie. You weren’t here, and I was, so I helped,” I said. He clenched his jaw and stepped closer to me. I could see his breath in the cold air.

 “You’re trying to punish me for staying away,” he snapped, poking a finger at my chest. I crossed my arms, trying to gain control of myself.

“I’d never do that, and you know it. The only person who wants to punish you for any of this is you, Charlie. I know I have no right to insert myself into your life, and I’ve respected that for almost ten years. But you’ve been gone, and Carl...” I started, trying to get the words out before I choked up.

“I was here when it happened. I saw him fall. I called 911 and did CPR, but I thought he-” I broke off, blinking furiously to quell the tears.

“When he woke up, the first thing he wanted to know was if he had missed your live show on TV. He refused to ruin your moment by making you worry, so I promised him. You can blame me all you want, but I don’t have to stand here and take it,” I said before turning to walk away.

I had almost made it to the back porch when a firm hand whirled me around by the shoulder. Charlie held the nape of my neck in a tight grip, and his eyes burned into mine through the blur of tears.

“Darren, I-” he whispered hoarsely before wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me into a tight, desperate hug. My breath caught in my throat at the contact.

“Thank you. I’m sorry, I just-,” a guttural sob swallowed the rest of Charlie’s words. My heart nearly broke at the sound, and I wrapped my arms around him as he trembled. We held each other that way for a few minutes until the rhythm of our breathing slowed.

“How I’ve missed you,” he whispered the words into my neck. I shivered at the warmth of his breath on my bare skin.

“I’ve missed you too, Stranger,” I said. I felt his mouth curve into a smile, and the sigh that followed was more beautiful than any chord he had ever played.