Page 1 of Stopped
Chapter One
Elijah
I had just madeeither the best decision of my life or the worst. It was a fifty-fifty crap shoot and my nerves responded accordingly. I, Elijah Thompson, all of twenty-six years old, was officially on the emergency ballot for a replacement Town Supervisor. Sure, I had a fancy degree that said I would be good for the job. Practical experience, too. I was well-known around town. Mostly well-liked as a bonus. But being officially in the running? Maybe it wasn't as great a decision as I thought when I first went marching into Town Hall.
The act was an impulsive one. I was having coffee at Snacks-and-Sips with some friends when the owner of the local grocery store came in to share the news. Our town was one of those cliché places where everyone knew everyone, everyone talked about everyone, and everyone knew everything there was to know about everyone. Ergo, as soon as old Mr. Dickson announced his retirement, effective immediately, the news swept through Windhaven like wildfire.
Frankly, it was a long-overdue decision. Mr. Dickson had been town supervisor since I was still in diapers. Such was the way with small towns. Change was scary, progress was daunting, and it was better to leave things just the way they were for fear of upsetting the apple carts. I used to hate it when I was a kid. My surname was plastered all over the place. My relatives were just as prolific. It felt like I was related to half the damn population. To be fair, I sometimes thought I was. The great Thompson family, founders of Windhaven circa 1855, were a household name. They were some of the worst influencers on the “no change” policy.
But despite how much I resented it as a kid, I still found my way back here. That was the magic of Windhaven. People always ended up coming back. It wasn't all bad. Beautiful scenery, quaint shops, a warm and loving community. This is precisely why I marched my fabulous self from the coffee shop to Town Hall as soon as I heard the news. I loved my hometown. I just wanted to pull it a little further into the new century.
Filled with nerves and excitement in equal measure, I sat in the front seat of my car right there on Main Street and phoned my entire friend group, one after the other. I called a few cousins I was close with, my siblings, and my parents as well. No time like the present to feed the rumor mill. As much as I worried about how the news would land with some of the older generation, I hoped maybe the newer one would help soften the blow. Not only would I be the youngest Town Supervisor in history if I won, but I'd be the first openly gay one, too.
With the local radio blasting too loud and frissons of energy flowing through my system, I pulled away from the curb and started toward home. Home was a small cottage on the fringes of property my family owned about twenty minutes outside of town, but it was all mine. I tooted my horn as I passed the florist shop where my best friend worked. Again as I passed the inn myuncle owned. A third time as I passed the larger inn my parents owned. So on and so forth until the tiny town turned into wilder fields and forests. Like I said… we Thompsons were everywhere.
The August sun glinted off corn fields and meadows, maples and birch trees, old Victorian homes and weathered farmhouses. Rolling mountain peaks rose up in the distance on every side, hugging the small valley like a secret oasis of natural beauty. The winding curves of the road always inspired me to open up the throttle a little and cruise. Especially when it was hot like it was today. There would always be an appeal to cruising with the windows down, no matter how old I was. Good days or bad, driving along the country roads was a timeless tradition with magical healing powers.
About halfway home, my mood soured with the glimpse of a grill guard on a familiar white SUV tricked out in all the bells and whistles. I scowled at the rearview mirror, checked my speed, and swore under my breath before letting my foot off the gas pedal. There was only one person who could be behind the wheel of this particular Sheriff's Cruiser and he would absolutely delight in the fact that I was just caught speeding.
William. James. Doherty.
The sirens blooped as the lights started flashing and I cursed again. The man was hellbent on making me miserable. He'd been doing it ever since my impulsive actions had destroyed our friendship in our Junior year of high school. I swear, he found a reason to pull me over at least twice a week, every week. My irritation bloomed into full-blown anger as soon as I pulled onto the shoulder, put the car in park, and slammed the radio off.
With narrowed eyes, I watched in the mirrors as he climbed out of his Cruiser and swaggered toward my car with his stupid notebook and ridiculous sunglasses and lickable face. I hated him, but I could still admit he was attractive as hell. Maybe it was the uniform, or the memories, or the fact that he wasbuilt like a brick shithouse and had a Heath Ledger boy next door smile, dimples and all. I had crushed on him for years. Star soccer, basketball, baseball, all the sports balls player. No one could blame me for impulsively kissing him behind the bleachers after school. I would die on the hill that, even though I made the first move, hedefinitelykissed me back.
Our friendship went up in smoke the following day when I walked into school to jeers and taunting and shoving. We’d been caught. He claimed I kissed him and that hewasn'tlike that. All my visions of going to prom together and wearing his letterman evaporated. So did our friendship, as well as my self-esteem. Ten years later, I was still mad about it.
“Afternoon, EJ.” He sauntered up to my car and rested his forearm on the top of the doorframe, looming over the open window with his trademark dimpled grin. “You know why I pulled you over?”
“Because you're the biggest prick in all of Windhaven and you like to make my life a living hell?” I glared straight ahead with my hands firmly planted at ten and two on the wheel.
He tisked and opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.
“Or no, maybe it's because you're on a power trip and love to gloat?”
“EJ—”
“Better yet, you're obsessed with me and can't stop thinking about—”
“Elijah, your brake lights still aren't working.” He pushed off the car with a weighted exhalation and slapped the roof of the car once. “Get’em fixed. I can't keep letting it slide.”
Great. Now I was the one that looked like an asshole. I tentatively glanced toward him and he pushed his sunglasses up to the top of his head, sending the golden brown curls into a state of disarray. His face carried an odd expression that I couldn'tquite figure out. We’d been the best of friends once. Now, we were just people we used to know.
“Right. Sorry.” I rubbed the nape of my neck and looked away.
“Me too.” He stepped back and lowered the sunglasses again. “I can get them fixed up if you want to swing around later.”
“I'll figure it out.” My chin dipped toward my chest. “Thanks.”
“Here,” he mumbled with a click of his stupid pen. After a brief moment of scribbling, he tore a sheet from his notebook and held it out. “I have a new number. Gimme a call if you need help with the brake lights.”
My head snapped toward him and then the sheet of paper. My movements were like molasses as I took it from him with a mumbled thanks. The last thing on earth I wanted to do was call him for help.
“Home safe, EJ.” He flashed a grin, noticeably crooked and, if I had to guess, a little insecure. With a wave, he turned and strode back to his car. I watched him the entire time with a pit in my stomach and rocks in my throat. I might have all the reasons in the world to hate him, but I also felt a little bad about being so nasty. Especially if I wanted to paint myself as a man of the people and bring our backwoods town into this century. Be the change you want to see in the world and all that.
I released a long breath as I continued to watch Will climb into his Cruiser, turn the lights off, and pull a surprisingly skilled U-turn. I sat there even after the rear end of the vehicle disappeared around a bend in the road. Only then did I look at the paper in my hand. Ten digits. The name Will in painfully familiar handwriting. And a little smiley face. The same one he’d always drawn on every little note and sketch he gave me. I pressed my fingertips to my sternum as uncomfortable pressure built. I shifted the car into gear and continued the journey home. Suddenly, I had way too much to think about. The little sheet of paper I tucked under the visor should have been the least of myconcerns, but it was right up there with planning a campaign and potentially changing the path of my life and this town forever.
Ten years down the line and William Doherty was still fucking with my head. And maybe a little bit with my heart, too. If I were to be completely honest with myself.