Thank you so much to those of you who commented, liked this story, and set an alert for future chapters. I'm so pleased with the response and I especially want to thank CileSuns92 for her wonderfully long review - you made my day!

I am posting this quicker than I originally planned, but I really want you all to read from Derek's POV. I'm hoping to update again tomorrow.

I hope you like it!

2014, Derek

I hate this town. I haven't been here in six years, but I can still remember everything I hate about this small, boring, blip-on-the-radar town. Growing up, everyone told me I'd get out of here, move on to bigger and better things, but somehow I manage to fall back into this place. I can't get away. The pull is too great. The opportunity too perfect. But it doesn't mean I want to be here. No one wants be here. This place is the end of the line and nothing good happens here.

The drive from the highway into town is much too quick and before I can even blink, I'm staring at the storefront my father once owned. I put my truck in park and I idle before the store. My dad carved the most incredible wood furniture. I used to sit beside him on his tool bench, watching his hands move precisely across mahogany, birch, and pine, artfully crafting intricate designs on the legs of chair and tables, the surfaces of end tables, and beautifully appointed cabinets for kitchens. I always smelled of wood shavings and my mom would have to wrestle me into the bath to get them out of my hair. I never wanted to wash the smell away.

I haven't smelled anything as perfect as my father's workshop in a long time.

I drive away from the empty storefront and head down the main drag, noticing how so many places I once knew—Darcy's Diner, Steinway & Grant Cinemas, The Book Nook, and Charlie's Tires—have been replaced by—McDonald's, AMC Theater, Barnes & Noble, and STS Tires. The town I own knew has commercialized. If I thought I hated this place before, I loathe it now.

When I graduated from medical school late last month, I had three job opportunities: a podunk hospital in Maryland, a hospital in the middle of the worst parts of Chicago, or here, right in California, only three miles from where I grew up. I'd done fine in school, good even, but jobs were scarce and I wasn't top of my class. The only reason I chose St. Mary's Memorial over the other two was Mark was returning home to work as an intern as well. One year. All I needed was to survive this one year and I could become a resident anywhere. I would work harder than anyone else and before long, I could be working in my home-away-from-home Manhattan, or Chicago proper, or Philadelphia. Just one year.

Mark arrived home yesterday and was holed up in his parents' old place. My family had moved in 2008, but Mark's stuck around until 2011. They moved out to Wyoming, but left the house for renters. As luck would have it, the renters moved out in April and Mark and I were moving in.

I bypass my old street and head right to Mark's house, only three blocks up the road. His road looks about the same, as does the old house, save for the shiny new Mercedes in the driveway. I roll my eyes at Mark's ostentatious spending and pull my old truck up behind his black car. I stare at the house for a long minute and find myself surprisingly emotional. We spent all our summers trailing from house to house. Whenever Mark's parents were away (which was often), we'd steal sips of booze from the dusty bottles in the basement and play endless rounds of pool at the downstairs pool table. I usually used his house as my sanctuary from my four very loud, very needy sisters. Mark was my brother in all aspects except blood.

The front door swings open and he shouts, "Get your ass in here!"

I climb from the cab of my truck, grabbing only an overnight bag I packed. The rest of my stuff will arrive tomorrow via courier. I trek through the overgrown front yard and take the front steps two at a time. Mark greets me with a hug before stepping back to overlook his kingdom. "How does it feel being back?" he asks.

Mark knows it all, he lived it all with me, so he must understand what breathing the air here feels like to me. "Different," I say because I don't want to tell him the truth. Terrible. Horrible. Worse than you can ever imagine. Like I'm drowning. No, don't think about that because then you'll think about—

"It's only a year, right?" He claps me on the shoulder.

"Only a year."

We head inside and Mark brings me upstairs. He's chosen to stay in his old bedroom, which was turned into a guest bedroom after he left. The room has its own bathroom and walk-in closet, so he's set. I have a choice between his parents' old bedroom or the other guestroom, but the guestroom doesn't have an adjoining bathroom; I'd have to use the one on the first floor. I don't really want his parents' old room—which is still decorated in his mother's, ah-hem, unusual eye, but I pick it anyway.

"We can paint it," Mark says to my relief. "And we can take down some of the shit on the walls."

When I step in, I see a painting of a cat hanging above the bed. "Yeah, that's gotta go."

Mark laughs and tugs the painting from the wall. "Bless his heart." He meets my eyes. "My dad has put up with this shit for over thirty years." Mark tosses the painting aside and looks around the room. "This is bizarre."

I nod and set my bag on the bed. "Tell me about it."

"What do you want to do tonight?" he asks.

Knowing Mark, he wants to explore our former haunts—the high school parking lot, Big Steve's Roadhouse, the coffee shop shaped like a donut named Donut Hole, the river…but I don't think I can go to any of those places. Mark is watching me and he needs some sort of answer. "Can we just hang around here? Build a bonfire and get really, seriously drunk?"

Mark breaks into a slow grin. "You are a genius. You start the fire. There's some wood back by the shed and I'll go get sustenance."

Once Mark leaves, I head to the shed and carry harmfuls of wood from the shed to the old fire pit. Mark's parents were the king and queen of bonfires and we used to have one almost every other night in the summer. I lay down enough wood for a good, steady, 4-5 hour fire, grab some chairs from the deck, and carry down a cooler. I start building the fire, making sure to keep my mind on the task at hand.

Within 20 minutes, Mark is back with eight hotdogs and buns, chips, a 30 rack of beer, and two big bags of ice. We put the beer on ice and begin cooking hotdogs over the fire. He doesn't say much and I say nothing, so our bonfire is a quiet affair. Somehow I manage to plow through three hotdogs and two handfuls of chips, plus two and a half beers, in just 10 minutes. Mark isn't far behind me and cracks open his third beer to wash down his third hotdog.

We have three days before we have to report to the hospital for our first day—a long 48-hour shift. I plan to get really, seriously drunk the next two nights and then try to sleep on the third. After that, my life will be tied to the hospital.

"How your mom taking Amelia leaving?" Mark asks.

We've positioned ourselves so we're looking over the fire, through the backyard, with the river not far beyond. I can't hear the water moving over the sound of the crackling fire, but I can bet it's just as strong as it was six years ago.

I take a swig of beer. "She's okay. She's pissed Amy headed to San Diego, but what can she do?"

"I thought she was staying in Rhode Island?"

"No, she wanted to come back out west."

Mark nods slowly. "Must be hard on her. You're back here, Amelia's in San Diego, Lizzie and Nancy are in New York, and Kathy is in Pittsburg."

"What's your point?" My voice is harsher than I intended.

He shakes his head. "Nothing, just must be lonely."

"Well, I didn't get job offers in Rhode Island, so I didn't have a choice."

"Yeah, I know man."

We're quiet then. Mark gets up to grab another beer and relieve himself, and I sit by the fire staring at the river. I spent all my time back there during the summers. Mark and I commanded those woods as confidently as we did our own bedrooms. I knew every rock and tree between his house and mine. I knew every single dip in the river and the best places for swimming. I knew the river was high in the spring due to snow runoff, but it was low by the end of summer. The best time for swimming was late September, when the water was the warmest.

I'd spend nights lying along the riverbank with my feet in the water. My arms would be folded behind my head and I'd try to find the stars through the dense canopy. Sometimes, wildlife would explore the area around me. Twice I'd seen a mountain lion. But I wasn't afraid. The big cat had bowed to drink water, keeping its eye on me both times. I just watched it before it ran off, climbing up over the big rocks and disappearing into the forest.

Mark returned and I knew I had to go to the river.

"I'm going to the river," I announce.

Mark stares at me. "You sure?"

I nod even though I'm definitely not sure.

"Want me to come?" Mark asks.

I shake my head. "No, I'm good on my own." I finish off my beer and toss the can into the growing pile. I'll grab another one once I'm back.

As soon as I reach the edge of the property, Mark calls out, "Hey man." I turn. He's standing now not too far from where I sit. "She still lives back there. That's what my parents said at least, when I asked. So, if you don't want to see her, stay close."

I make no comment and turn away from Mark.

The grass feels the same beneath my feet as I kick off my shoes beneath the big oak tree. I step beneath the canopy and it's already colder. The sun is setting so the light is wavering, but I still know these woods. I walk down to the water's edge and step in, my toes curling beneath the cold. I sigh and begin walking down the length of the river. The water is slow from the hot summer sun, so it's weak against my ankles. I keep my eyes on where I'm walking though, just in case I step on something unfamiliar.

The forest is quiet around me. I slide over a precarious rock and keep my feet firmly in the mud. I walk past familiar homes—the O'Grady's, the Macintosh's, the Silverman's—but the houses all look different. Everyone left this place behind so many years ago.

As I round the bend in the river, I see my childhood home in front of me. It's exactly the same. Mark's dad told me no one had ever bought it or rented it after we left. I understand why, but it's heartbreaking to see it abandoned. I step up on the riverbank and step out of the trees to see the house better. My bedroom was in the back corner, overlooking the river. The view was perfect. And then she moved in and the view was even better. We used flashlights to communicate window-to-window that entire summer. I can still remember what she looked like illuminated by the yellow glow.

I sigh and look towards her house. It's exactly the same. Warm and inviting. Light spills from Thatcher's front office onto the grass below. Her old bedroom is lit up, but the walls are a different color now. She's probably just finished college, heading off to a big job somewhere. With any luck, she'll be gone before she knows I'm in town.

I take the chance to step up to the old swing set and I sit down on the swing furthest from her house. My legs are too long, but I kick off anyway. I pump my legs as I swing back and forth, feeling the wind rush along me. I notice a few toys at the edge of the play area—a dinosaur and a small Matchbox car. I smile to myself, remembering how the play area was always littered with toys, much to my mother's disdain. I slow down, letting my feet skim along the old mulch. I come to a step and dig my heels into the earth while I stare up at the house.

A door opens and closes to my right and I sit still. A voice calls out. "Hello?"

I don't move.

I can't run into her. I can't. This was stupid.

Someone is walking across the grass so I stand. "Who is that?" It's not her. I'd know her voice anywhere.

I turn towards her house and notice a little brunette standing before me. My eyes have adjusted to the dark back here, but her face is in shadows. "Derek?" she asks.

I know who that is.

"Lexie," I say quietly.

Suddenly I feel very self-conscious. I haven't showered in four days and I've been wearing the same outfit for 36 hours. I drove from Rhode Island, and I've been brushing my teeth using metallic tasting water from truck stops. There's no reason to feel self-conscious around Lexie, but she's an extension of her sister, so I feel like I'm under a magnifying glass.

She stands on the edge of the play area. She's so much older now. Long gone is the little girl I met next to the river. She's now a young woman and she's impossibly beautiful. She looks like her sister a bit, and it blindsides me.

"What are you doing here?"

I run my one hand over the back of my neck. "I just moved back. Only for a year. I'm an intern at Mary's," I add, in case she's wondering what would make me ever return here.

Lexie nods slowly. I can't see her eyes, so I don't know what she's feeling. If there's one thing I remember, Grey women carry all their emotions in their eyes, much like their father. "Were you going to stop by?" Her voice is shockingly hopeful. I never imagined Lexie would want to see me again after that summer.

I shake my head. "No. I don't think I should."

She teeters from one foot from the other uncomfortably. "Derek, you really should stop—"

"—I'd prefer if you didn't tell her you saw me." I cut her off.

"What?"

I drop my hand from my neck and bury them both in my pockets. "I can't. After everything…I can't."

"You have to. You can just be in town and not see Mered—"

"—Please Lexie, don't tell her."

Lexie wraps her arms around herself and I can feel her stare on my face. I'm so uncomfortable, and curious, and nervous, and worried. After all these years, I never really thought of Lexie again. It sounds cruel, but she and I spent the summer hiding from her little sister, not including Lexie in anything. We'd hide by the river, or out by the dairy fields. We were permanently ditching Lexie, so I never considered what leaving would be like for her when I left.

She clears her throat and takes a step back. "I can't make any promises."

I want to beg her again, but it's my own stupid fault for coming here. Lexie doesn't move, so I do. I step away from the play area and walk along the grass a few steps.

"Derek," she calls a little too loudly for my taste. I turn. "You look good." She offers me a half-smile.

I nod and find myself smiling in return. "So do you Lex. You grew up."

"That's what happens when six years pass."

"Seems so," I say and turn from her.

I walk back along the river, keeping my eyes training on the bubbling water. I'm emotional. I can feel my eyes prickling with tears and my throat closing around the pain. I shouldn't have come back here and I definitely shouldn't have gone there. The house was always so close, which I loved when I was a kid, but now, it was a huge risk. Seeing Lexie just reminds me of how much I walked away from. How much I probably missed out on. I can't even imagine what she looks like now. Probably beautiful still. Probably confident, and brilliant, and too good for me. She was always too good for me, which I proved to her that summer.