That was his one and only year he went hunting. It didn’t matter he had tried. He sat the entire weekend in the tree stand alone, shivering from the freezing temperatures, even with hand and foot warmers to help keep the chill away. And a deer had crossed his path. He lifted his shotgun, took aim, and…and well, he couldn’t pull the trigger. The deer had looked him in the eye and froze, daring him to shoot. But he couldn’t do it.

Maybe he hadn’t tried as hard as he could’ve.

Newman stretched out, sitting on the same couch his grandfather had owned when he lived in the tiny cabin.

He owned it now.

Even though he disappointed his grandfather—not the only time in his life he had—his grandfather left him his cabin when he passed away five years ago. Now it was his safe haven. His home. His escape.

Three months ago, his life disappeared. His livelihood. Everything he worked for…gone. One quick blink, and it all vanished.

Great job. Good friends. Almost a great relationship. Unfortunately, he damaged that months ago by cheating on a good woman.

Three long months ruminating, dissecting every part of his life, how it all went wrong.

There was so much he should’ve done differently, starting with Chrissy and his feelings for her.

Snapping his legs together, he stood up abruptly.

Nope. He didn’t want to think about her. Because every time his mind conjured her, it conjured the dangerous feelings he wasn’t ready to face.

Glancing at the punching bag hanging in the corner near the fireplace, he decided he needed to release some tension. A daily occurrence. So much tension. So much shame. So much rage consumed him. He liked to use sex and lies for an outlet, blaming others for his problems. These days, he used the punching bag instead. He rarely had contact with anyone, unless he made a trip to the grocery store, which meant he didn’t have many chances to lie. Or have sex. Not that he didn’t run across a beautiful woman or two when he went shopping. He usually smiled. They smiled back. Before it could turn into anything flirtatious, he hightailed it out of there as fast as he could.

He was done with sex.

For the time being, anyway. He wasn’t sure he could completely give it up. He was a guy, after all.

He’d have to join the real world soon. He couldn’t live off his savings forever. He needed to find a job soon.

Tossing his shirt off, he stretched his arms, rotating and removing the kinks before he demolished the bag. He never used gloves while punching. Sometimes, his hands hurt so intensely, he knew he should stop. He didn’t. Other times, he bruised his skin or even started bleeding. He still didn’t stop. The pain was part of his penance for his actions.

Throwing a punch, he let the thrill, the power in his hands fill him up. Every time he hit the bag, a part of his damaged soul released. He figured as soon as he freed all the bad parts, the good part of his soul would be free to live a normal life.

He only had to be patient like his grandfather told him.

Some days he didn’t think he’d ever live a nice, normal, carefree life. Honestly, he didn’t deserve one.

Punch after punch released. He moved around hitting different spots on the bag. The muscles in his shoulders and arms started to ache, his hands throbbed, but he kept hitting.

The bag, not swinging too much, almost connected with him when a loud knock sounded on his door.

Holding the bag to stop its motion, he glanced at the door. Nobody visited him. The only person who knew the location of his cabin, besides his family, was Sauer, his old partner and best friend. He hadn’t answered Sauer’s phone calls since he left, and he didn’t expect him to visit. His wife probably wouldn’t let him. She hated him as vehemently as everyone else did.

Whoever it was could leave. He didn’t want company.

Heading for the bathroom to grab a towel, another loud knock echoed in the small confines of the cabin.

And another knock.

And another.

Snagging a towel from the hallway closet, he wiped his face, removing most of the sweat, then slung the towel across his shoulders and headed for the door. If this person insisted on bothering him, then they could deal with his wrath. He didn’t punch long enough to release the tension boiling like a hot volcano inside.

He flung open the door.

The woman standing on the other side gasped, her eyes trailing around his chest as if mesmerized.

At one time, her blatant approval would’ve started his libido and so many fantasies he would love to perform with a beautiful woman. Now, it just further notched up his irritation.

He wouldn’t call himself a ladies man, but he had his fair share of women. He liked women. They liked him. Simple as that.

“I’m not buying, donating, or know directions to anything around here. Go away.”

He didn’t give her a full-on appraisal of her slim figure, something he had always done in his old life. Instead, he started to close the door. Her hand slammed against it, stopping him. He could’ve easily shoved the door shut, most likely with enough force to cause her to fall on her ass. He could be a dick. An extreme dick that said he had no conscience.

But he did have a conscience. He cared about people. He truly did.

He had to start acting like it.

Opening the door wider, he cocked a brow. He might not slam the door in her face, but it didn’t mean he had to be completely nice. She was bothering him at a bad time.

“Are you Detective Newman?”

Detective Newman…

He hadn’t heard those words in over three months. He didn’t think he’d ever hear them again. Because he wasn’t a detective. He would never be a detective again. He sabotaged his own job. Ruined his life. Destroyed relationships that meant something to him.

“Who the hell are you?”

This time he took a moment to look at the woman. She had bright-pink hair with a few light strands of purple mixed in. He had never seen such colorful hair…well, on such a beautiful woman. The color suited her complexion—light, pale skin with a few freckles sprinkled around. Sweet red lips. No lipstick. Natural red lips that looked perfect for kissing.

Which he wouldn’t be doing. No more kissing. No more touching. No more sex.

“My name is Amelia Benedict, and I need your help.”

“Not interested.” His hand tightened on the door, needing to close it. The urge was so strong, his hand clenched harder to stop it from shaking.

“My brother is missing. He’s only thirteen. I need your help.”

“Call the police. I’m…” He swallowed. “I’m not the police.”

She brushed her hair behind her ear, rolling her eyes. The gesture reminded him of Dee, Sauer’s wife. He wasn’t always a fan of her, but he always respected her. Now she hated him. Thought he was a douche. And he was. He wouldn’t deny it.

“I did call them. They said they needed to wait forty-eight hours.”

“For a kid? Highly doubtful.”

She rolled her eyes again, huffing. “Well, it’s not the first time he’s…” She shrugged. “That he’s…”

He cracked a smile, knowing exactly what she wasn’t saying. “He’s what?”

“That he’s missing, in a sense.”

“The only thing that makes sense right now is you’re bothering me.” He tilted his head as his smile grew. “And he likes to run away, am I right? Which is why the police told you to wait forty-eight hours. He’s done this before and they’re sick of it.”

“I’m sick of people not taking me seriously. Okay, so he’s left home before on his own accord. I won’t deny it. But not this time. He’s in danger. I need to find him.”

“I still can’t help you.”

Putting her hands on her hips, another gesture that reminded him of Dee, she narrowed her eyes. “Billy from the gas station said you’re a detective.”

Damn. Small towns could be annoying at times.

He had never lived in a small town before. He only ever visited Napleton when he was a young boy to see his grandfather. He never realized how much people enjoyed getting into each other's business until he came to lick his wounds.

“Billy’s wrong.”

“Rebecca Sue from the grocery store said you would help a person without blinking an eye.”

“Rebecca Sue’s wrong.”

Shifting her hips, a little too enticing to his deprived eye, she stared at him with the sadness bleeding from her gaze. “Mary from the post office said you’re a lying, cheating bastard who I shouldn’t trust for a second.”

Frowning, his hand fell away from the door. “Mary’s the only one right.”

Amelia suddenly clapped her hands, a beautiful smile adorning her exquisite face. “Great. You’re the perfect guy, then.”

Furrowing his brows even more, he tried to understand what she was saying. Perfect guy? He agreed he was a lying, cheating bastard. How did that make him the perfect guy?

“Look, Amelia—”

“Most people call me Mel.” She shrugged, swiping a strand of hair behind her ear. “But call me whatever.”

“I’m not a detective anymore. I’ll never be a detective again.” A sharp pain struck him in the chest. “I don’t help people. I lied to my friends. To my boss. I cheated on my girlfriend for no damn reason. I’m not perfect. I’m far from perfect. In fact, I’m the last person you should be asking for help.” He put his hand on the door again, ready to slam it in her face. “I wish you luck on finding your brother.”

This time, he did slam the door in her face.

Copyright © 2019 Amanda Siegrist.

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