The U-Haul traveling through town caused quite a stir. Everyone had heard, of course, about what had happened. It had been all over the news for a couple days, mainly because of how Brian had managed to avoid the media. Everyone knew about the death of the Backstreet Boy's wife, how there had been an accident on the way home from a friend's bachelorette party. They knew about Brian's sudden hermit-like existence, about Nick Carter staying at the Littrell home in Marietta, Georgia, and being the only one seen entering or exiting the house for weeks, bringing Baylee to the grocery store and back. They knew about Kevin's explosion in the face of the media, how he'd defended his cousin from rumors that were flying under the radar, rumors that were, he said, unfounded and pointless. Rumors like that it hadn't been an accident at all.
Likewise, the people of Lexington had heard that there was a chance Brian would come home. They basically expected it. Of course he would come home - that's what country boys did when they were in pain, when they'd experienced loss, wasn't it? And the Littrell family still had its roots in Lexington, even if Brian had left long ago. The town was a rage of wildfire rumors when the SOLD sign went up in front of the old Harris home on Pleasant Street. And finally, when the U-Haul drove through, and their expectant eyes landed on the driver, they were rewarded with their rumors proving true. They rushed to their phones, hung out second story windows, gaped at the truck as it moved through the town, past the stores on Main Street, down the side streets, wending its way until it was in the outskirts of town, and hand rumbled up the dirt driveway.
And one of the most eager to pass on the news was a petite girl who stood on the corner by the post office, putting mail into the blue box. She had short, short blonde hair and bright green eyes and she stared after the U-Haul for a long moment, trying to piece together in her head that it really was Brian Littrell she'd seen behind the wheel. She shoved the rest of her mail quickly into the box and turned and ran home, her sneakers clapping the sidewalk. She pushed her way excitedly into the small house, rushed by her husband, and grabbed the phone from the kitchen wall.
"Molly?" Jake, her husband, followed into the kitchen, his face knit with concern. "What's going on? What's the matter?"
"It's him, he's here, he's back, Jake," she gasped out the words in a rush, one chasing on the heels of the last. Her fingers flew over the keypad on the phone, her hand shaking with excitement, her eyes alight with hope. "He's here."
"Who's here?" Jake asked, confused.
"Emma Harris' room please," she said into the phone.
"Molls-" Jake sat at the table, still looking confused.
Molly covered the mouthpiece of the phone, since she was on hold, "Brian Litrell is back in town," she said matter-of-a-factly.
Jake's eyebrows nearly shot off his head. "What?"
"Brian's here, I saw him, with my own two eyes." Molly pointed at her eyes. "He's here with a motha of a U-Haul. He's here, Jake."
Jake stood up and neared Molly. "So you're calling Emma?"
"Of course I am."
Jake sighed and ran a hand down his face. "Is this really the time to bring this all back up with him?" he asked, "I mean, after what the guy's just been through and all? Is it even humane?"
"Don't you want what's best for Emma?" Molly demanded, raising an eyebrow. "This is her only hope. Don't you get that?"
Jake sighed. He couldn't really argue with that.
"Emma?" Molly's voice was pinched with excitement as she turned back to the phone. Jake lowered himself into his seat at the table again. "Em, you'll never guess what I just heard."
"I always liked Brian," Jake muttered.
Molly turned to look at him. "Brian's back in town," she gushed the words quickly, "And -- Emma, he bought your parents' old place."
Jake looked up. He what? he mouthed.
Molly turned away. "I know, I can't believe it either. The timing... Em, you need to come home. Now."
Jake stared at the table.
Molly's voice trilled through the kitchen, "This is seriously the answer to all our prayers."
Emma Harris hung up the phone, her heart pounding. The blood was rushing through her veins. She gripped the arm rest of her chair and closed her eyes. She tried to remember Brian's features. It'd been so long since she'd last seen him in person, and the features were muted, less prominent in photographs than they'd ever been in person. She remembered him, really, as a teenager, in high school, wearing his letterman jacket, leaning against the lockers in the hallway. She could still see him, glowing in the sun from the doors that loomed beyond their lockers at the far east wing of Tates Creek High...
"Wilson's gonna kill me if I'm late for Chem again," he'd drawled the last time she'd seen him.
"Well you wouldn't want old Wilson to try to kill you now would you? He'd definitely win that fight - you with your chicken arms..." she'd teased him.
"I ain't got chicken arms," he'd answered, flexing his arms for her to see. But not much happened so he pouted and leaned back against the locker laughing, that warm smile spreading across his eyes and mouth at the same time. He'd leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. "I'm going to miss you."
"You're only going to Chem," she'd answered, laughing into the kiss.
"Forty-five minutes with Wilson is like a lifetime," he muttered.
She swallowed and slid her hands off the arm rests, onto her lap and ran them along her thighs, breathing slowly, remembering for the first time in a long time the taste of his mouth on hers, the way he breathed between touches of their mouth, the way his hand slid along her waist, not daring to climb higher. He'd always been a gentleman.
"Miss. Harris?"
Emma nodded and turned around as a young girl placed a tray beside her on the table. "Thank you," she said.
Emma turned back to the window, staring out at the sunlight fading over the tops of the trees. Would he even remember? She reached into her pocket and pulled out the faded scrap of paper, stared down at his messy, high school handwriting, at the signature that had not yet been perfected by years of scrawling it out. Would he even care?
Of course he'd care. After all, he had always been a gentleman.
Molly wrapped her arms around Emma in a bone-crushingly tight hug. "It's so good to see you," she gasped, squeezing her best friend.
Emma hugged her back. "It's good to see you, too."
Jake carried Emma's bags in from the back of their SUV.
"You've lost so much weight," Molly said, holding Emma out at arm's reach.
"Well, you know," Emma laughed. She shrugged.
Molly pulled Emma into the house, "You look good, though, seriously. I mean it. You look good."
"I look like shit actually," Emma said.
They went into the house and Emma sank into Molly's kitchen table seat. Molly pulled a bottle of vitamin water from the fridge and put it down in front of Emma, grabbing a second bottle for herself as Jake thumped up the stairs beyond them. Molly studied Emma. "You really don't look like shit. Considering everything."
Emma smiled sadly.
"So.. have you seen him?" Emma asked.
"When he pulled into town with the U-Haul."
"Does he... look... like he did?"
"Well you know Brian," Molly replied, "He's always looked better in person than in the photographs." She smiled, thinking of the high school yearbook.
Emma laughed. "I barely remember what he looked like in person, God. It's been that long."
"Almost nineteen years," Molly said, nodding.
Emma shook her head. "I can't believe that." She took a deep breath.
"He looked good," Molly supplied.
Emma studied her vitamin water bottle.
