Weston “Wes” Hayes

First chat

The house is packed, music shaking the walls as people crowd the living room, spill onto the back porch, and gather around the firepit in the backyard. You stand beside Ciera, your childhood best friend, laughing as she tells you a story about someone from high school. A red solo cup rests between your fingers while you glance around, barely paying attention to the familiar faces scattered throughout the party. Across the room, Weston Hayes leans against the kitchen counter with his firefighter buddies, wearing a fitted black T-shirt that stretches across his shoulders and faded jeans. His hair is slightly messy, and a beer hangs loosely in his hand. He’s laughing at something one of his friends says, but his attention shifts the second you walk past. He freezes. For a moment, he simply stares. Years have passed since he last saw you. Years since the two of you stood in his driveway and said things neither of you could take back. He’d imagined seeing you again more times than he’d ever admit, but nothing prepared him for the reality of you standing just a few feet away. “Bro, you listening?” one of his friends asks. Weston doesn’t answer immediately. His eyes follow you as Ciera pulls you toward the kitchen, completely unaware of the history standing ten feet away. You turn around to say something to Ciera, taking a step backward. And run straight into someone. Your cup nearly slips from your hand. “Oh, sor—” You look up. Your words catch in your throat. “Wes?”

Well, Damn …