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Unfortunately, text to speech will not work for this story. Otherwise, I'd have it activated.

First Time Reading (FTR) or Re-Reading (RR)?

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Garrett

Garrett Beaumont tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he navigated the familiar route to Alabama from D.C., a heavy weight settling in his chest. The city blurred by, but his thoughts remained in the past, recalling laughter, biting words, and vivid recollections. As he crossed the bridge dividing the north and south sides of Holden, a dark cloud rolled in, shadowing his thoughts.

His jaw clenched, and a bitter frown twisted his lips, transforming his face into a mask of resentment. At the downtown crossroads, Garrett paused, his fingers drumming an impatient rhythm against the steering wheel. His eyes flicked to the historical buildings lining the streets, their façades polished and inviting.

Even with the changes, an unsettling feeling enveloped him as he remembered his trip to Barkley's Jewelers─a place that now felt tainted by the past. Each memory stung like a bee, prompting an internal howl of frustration.

Why, in the name of God, did I return here?

The question continued to echo, taunting him as the light turned green. But instead of heading to the family home by the reservoir, Garrett felt an inexplicable draw toward Paradise Lounge. With a sharp turn of the wheel, he found himself pulling into the cracked parking lot, the familiar sight stirring something deep inside him.

The bar stood stoic yet shabby, a relic of his youth. The crooked sign, barely hanging on, creaked in the wind, and he chuckled, a brief spark of amusement illuminating his face. The musty air that greeted him as he stepped inside wrapped around him, while the scent of stale whiskey lingered like an old friend. He reveled in the dimness, the absence of change─his old sanctuary.

Garret slid into the farthest seat, pushing aside a damp coaster, and paused, allowing himself a moment of reflection. He felt the world's responsibilities lift as he rested his arms on the counter. The future seemed distant, a whisper, as memories of his youth swirled about him.

"What can I get for ya, fella?"

Standing before him was a towering figure, donning a faded black tank top that clung to his muscular shoulders and arms, revealing the strength beneath the fabric. His long mustache and thick beard framed a canvas of tattoos that stretched around his neck, each inked design telling a story of its own. His freshly shaved head gleamed with sweat.

Garrett's gaze drifted to the far end of the bar, his lips parting as he muttered under his breath, searching for a familiar face in the crowd.

"Is Suzanne around?" he asked, looking for the owner of the place.

The bartender rested against the gleaming surface of the bar, an old towel draped over his shoulder, the fabric frayed at the edges like the memories of the place. He squinted at Garrett, the corners of his mouth lifting, his brow knitting together as if searching for hidden truths.

"I assume you've been here before?"

Garrett shifted on his stool, the creak of wood echoing in the dim light. "Yeah, I grew up in this town but spent the last four years in D.C."

He let out a breath, glancing around as the weight of nostalgia settled in.

"Suzy's been on vacation and won't be back anytime soon," the bartender said, his hands moving with practiced ease, wiping away invisible dust from the counter's edge, his eyes sharp and curious.

Garrett felt a pang at the mention of Suzanne, picturing her behind the bar with her trademark smile and unsolicited life advice.

"Is she okay?" he pondered, a trace of worry seeping into his tone.

The bartender's gaze remained steady, revealing little. "As one might expect." He paused, breaking the tension with a simple question. "What'll it be?"

"I could use a shot of whiskey," Garrett replied, his voice steady but his mind racing.

Garrett's eyes flickered to the flickering screen above the cash register, where the bright jerseys of the Yankees clashed against the stark contrast of the opposing team. He cradled a frosted glass of Jack Daniels, the amber liquid swirling like a tempest inside, a stark reminder of the warmth he craved but couldn't find.

The clamor of cheers and groans from fellow baseball fans enveloped him, but he remained isolated, his heart tethered to memories he wasn't ready to face. The ice clinked as he raised the glass to his lips, the sharp burn igniting a fleeting sense of comfort. Each swallow made him feel the world sinking farther.

Halfway through the drink, a presence settled beside him, breaking the solitude.

Glancing at the mirror behind the bar, Garrett caught a glimpse of the newcomer: a man with a well-worn Falcons cap and a sturdy build, as if shaped by years of disciplined training. The inked designs snaked up his arms, whispers of a past he could only guess at, while a clean watch gleamed on his rich brown skin.

Garrett's interest waned, the shadows of his past still looming large. He turned his focus back to the screen, where the Yankees faltered.

The noise of the bar faded again, replaced by the comforting rhythm of his own breathing and the solace of his drink. He wasn't ready─no, not yet─to confront the ghosts that lingered just beyond the bright lights of the game.

"Hey, how's Suzanne?" The familiar voice cut through the low hum of the bar.

Garrett turned to see the man, his brows knit with concern, leaning against the polished wood counter. The bartender sighed, his broad shoulders slumping as he moved closer, the scent of stale beer mixing with the faint aroma of sweat.

"Barely hanging in there, DeAngelo. Things started going downhill very early this morning," he murmured, shaking his head, his expression heavy with worry.

DeAngelo's face fell, lips tightening. "Oh, damn. I'm really sorry to hear that. I'll pray for a speedy recovery."

As DeAngelo spoke, Garrett's gaze drifted across the room, landing on a figure wrapped in laughter and nostalgia─a ghost of his past. Garrett blinked, swallowing hard as memories of his hometown flooded back, his heart heavy with unspoken burdens.

"Garrett, you're leaving now. Don't think that you can come back. Good luck with your life. You're on your own."

Garrett shot upright in his seat, confusion clouding his gaze for a heartbeat. His grandfather's voice echoed in his mind, sharp and haunting, like a long-forgotten specter pulling at hidden wounds.

His hands clenched into tight fists, the pressure biting into his palms, a dull ache blooming around his left ring finger where the faint tan line lingered─a ghost of a ring he could barely remember.

Garrett exhaled, a weight settling in his chest as he pushed his half-empty glass away, its once enticing warmth now cold and uninviting. He stood up from the barstool and took out some cash, slamming it onto the counter without a glance.

A nod to the bartender was all he offered before he turned to go, but an iron grip on his shoulder halted him in his tracks─DeAngelo's voice, filled with an urgency he couldn't ignore.

"Garrett Beaumont! It's been a long time since we last saw each other," he exclaimed, his bright and infectious smile invigorating the room. He tipped his cap, revealing a flash of sun-kissed hair before extending a hand.

Garrett grasped his hand, feeling the firm grip and warmth that spoke of old friendships. Yet, beneath the surface, a swirl of memories tugged at him─the heartache of his old friend's family lingering like a shadow.

"It's been eight years, hasn't it?" he replied, trying to mask the weight on his heart.

DeAngelo's smile faltered, the sparkle in his eyes dimming. "Yeah, it feels strange to be back here without my sister. I keep expecting KiKi to walk in, you know? Chill with us and get us free food." He glanced around the room, the laughter and music now feeling hollow. "Sometimes I hang out with the guys, but it's not the same. Two years have gone by since she passed, and I find myself missing her each day."

Garrett nodded, his chest tightening at the mention of DeAngelo's baby sister. "Sorry to hear about her. She was a sweet person."

"Thanks for that," DeAngelo murmured, his gaze dropping. "But why are you back? Your grandfather's health, right?"

"Yeah," Garrett mumbled, the words heavy. "He's in a senior home down in Montgomery." Silence hung between them, and he shifted, the weight of unspoken thoughts suffocating. "No one knows I'm here. So, I'll catch you later."

Garrett's instincts prickled, a familiar sensation that crept up his spine like a chill as he spoke. His gaze drifted past DeAngelo, scanning the dimly lit bar once more. A flicker caught his eye─a flash of movement at the entrance.

The door swung open, flooding the room with harsh sunlight that illuminated the dust motes swirling in the air. In the glare, a shadowy figure lingered, an older woman's silhouette obscured but her animated conversation with an exiting patron unmistakable.

"You may have heard that she's back in her old house. She has been here for a few months now," DeAngelo stated, unaware of the internal conflict within Garrett.

His pulse raced as he focused on the door, the man's words haunting him.

"What are you saying?" he asked, his voice low and steady, betraying none of the tension coiling in his gut.

"I'm talking about Imani, Garrett. She's home."

The name felt like a jolt, electrifying the atmosphere. It had been years since he had said it aloud, years of silence that now threatened to shatter with the weight of its significance. His pulse quickened as he turned his full attention back to DeAngelo, the reality dawning on him like a storm cloud gathering on the horizon.

"I last heard she was in New York." Garrett's throat strained, and his chest heaved. The thought of encountering his ex after such a long time weighed on him.

DeAngelo's gaze lingered on him, the silence stretching like a taut wire between them. After a moment, he broke it with a nod, his voice low and measured. "Yeah. Imani's tenure with that fashion magazine has come to an end. You two were once engaged, right?"

Engaged? The word hung in the air, foreign and inadequate. A rush of warmth surged through him, fierce and undeniable, igniting his veins like a wildfire.

Imani was more than just his ex-fiancée; she was the spark that ignited his soul, a warm fire that would glow within him always.

"Gray, I want to grow old with you."

Moonlight spilled like silver across Imani's jet-black hair, which flowed in soft, cascading waves that shimmered with a life of their own, framing her dark shoulders. The night wrapped around them, amplifying the quiet intensity in her deep brown eyes, which held a mysterious depth that seemed to pull Garrett in, inviting him to explore the uncharted territory of her soul.

"I'm in love with you," she whispered, her voice trembling like the first notes of a haunting melody.

She averted her gaze, and Garrett felt a rush of emotions surge within him─a mix of exhilaration and something deeper, something that spoke of connection and purpose. The universe seemed to have orchestrated their meeting, and he came to understand that she was the missing element in his puzzle, the core of his dreams.

His heart raced as he enveloped her in his arms, the warmth of Imani's body igniting a fire within him that he couldn't ignore. "I love you," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. "Are you sure about marrying me?"

She leaned closer, her breath a soft whisper against his ear. "Of course," she said, the words filled with certainty. "I want to be your wife more than anything."

"And have my babies?" he countered.

A playful giggle escaped her lips, brightening the night. "Babies are definitely on the horizon."

Electricity coursed through him, setting his skin aflame while a cool breeze wrapped around them, intensifying the thrill bubbling inside him. Garrett felt a tremendous connection with her, as if she held the key to their future together.

Imani Washington.

My Mani.

His thoughts spiraled, and he shook his head, a nervous laugh escaping his lips. The love of his life was back in town? The sheer absurdity of it made him chuckle, but a tight knot formed in his stomach. With only seven hundred residents in this sleepy town just north of the Alabama capital, the chances of running into Imani seemed more like a curse than a coincidence. He could see his ex, dazzling as ever, with her husband and a batch of kids.

The idea twisted in his stomach, not out of malice, but because she was the one who had eluded him.

Garrett turned to DeAngelo, his words hinting at hesitation. "I didn't know. How is she?"

His old friend's gaze flickered over Garrett's shoulder, his brow furrowing. "You two will cross paths."

Garrett's heart thudded. "Not sure she'd be happy about that." The words tumbled out before he could rein them in, a rush of honesty he hadn't intended to spill.

DeAngelo's eyes narrowed, his expression shifting as if he sensed a storm brewing in the air. "Well, I suppose you'll find out now," he said, nodding toward the doorway.

Golden light illuminated Imani's black hair in a high braid across the bar. Garrett felt the air shift as she leaned closer to the bartender, her laughter ringing like a siren's call, and his heart clenched. Her smile, bright and effortless, showcased a familiar curve that had haunted him since their last night together at Holden Creek.

Garrett clenched his jaw, fingers tightening around his glass as she brushed her fingers against the bartender's arm, a simple gesture that ignited a firestorm of jealousy inside him. Sharp, searing memories flooded him like waves. He felt invisible in her glow.

"Let's leave town together, Gray," her voice flitted across his thoughts.

The night Garrett left, he slipped into his truck, its engine rumbling against the encroaching darkness that consumed him completely. Her sorrow and pleas for him pervaded the air. He could still hear her raw, biting voice ripping through the night, turning from a sob into a guttural scream that stabbed his heart. Each time he closed his eyes, that sound echoed in his mind─a remnant of a moment he wanted to erase.

Garrett watched Imani's graceful movements from the bar. Her fingers danced over the polished surface of the counter, a damp rag gliding as she cleared away the traces of the day. She paused to share a brief smile with a customer, the warmth of her gaze brightening the dimly lit space. Nevertheless, his thoughts stayed rooted in the past, a turbulent ocean of remorse and unresolved inquiries churning just beneath the surface.

Imani's gaze locked onto Garrett, and the world around them faded into a blur. Her eyes, as deep and enigmatic as a starless night, held him captive, stirring something within him that felt both exhilarating and terrifying. He had always admired her beauty, but here, in this moment, it radiated with a raw, unpretentious grace that took his breath away.

He rose to his feet and moved closer, his pulse beating as anticipation crackled in the air.

Her eyes expanded, a spark of wonder lighting up her exquisite face, as if she had just discovered a hidden jewel. Her hands rested on her chest, expressing her amazement. But she turned away, the tempting aroma of alcohol wafting from the beverage dispensers as she filled a cup, drawing her attention to the huge bartender, their conversation flowing quietly.

She then walked to the back room, lost in the beat of her own world, leaving him to grapple with the weight of her indifference.

DeAngelo leaned against the counter, his voice soft as he studied Garrett and Imani. "I take it that you two haven't patched things up."

Garrett's gaze dropped, a storm brewing behind his furrowed brow. "Far from it." His voice cracked, heavy with the weight of unspoken regrets.

"Perhaps this was a touch of fate that reunited you two, brother," DeAngelo said, a hint of encouragement breaking through his calm demeanor. "It's your time to make things right."

Silence stretched between them, thick and tense, as Garrett recalled Imani's distant gaze, veins of nostalgia and heartache intertwining in the air. Moments ticked by, feeling like hours, until he turned toward the door.

"I will catch you later," he said to DeAngelo, not waiting for a response.

As shadows enveloped the pickup, Garrett sank into the worn leather seat, knuckles white against the steering wheel. Memories flooded his mind, each one sharper than the last, whispering of mistakes better left buried.

What was I thinking coming home? 

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Hi, readers. Thank you for taking the time to read A Touch of Fate: Garrett and Imani's story from the Holden Series. This book introduces the characters and their world. The next installment in the series focuses on Garrett's older brother Grady and his interest for the person who has won over his heart. I appreciate you reading these books. It means the world to me. <3