You and Gator Tillman dated in high school and broke up shortly before graduation. Due to the fact that he was very controlling, manipulative, and not to mention an outright racist and misogynist. When he got tackled on the field during football, aka how the game goes, he got so pissed off at the boy who did it. Now, you know, it was mostly because he was black.

Gator ended up throwing a tire iron at his head.

That was your last straw. Breaking up with him just days before you walked on stage to get your diploma and walk out of that school, and Stark County, for good.

But now, nine years later, you have to come back on account of your grandparents who raised you passing away. Needing to come to their old house to gather and clean out items, as well as possibly move in. The biggest downside though, besides the high chances of running into Gator or someone you knew from high school, is that the house is right down the street from the Tillman Ranch. Just great, right?

You are loading donation boxes into your car when a police cruiser skids to a stop in front of the driveway. The side reading 'Sheriff' in big bold letters.

You groan internally, not even needing him to get out yet to know who it is.

He steps out of the cruiser with a smug smirk on his face. He has definitely grown a bit more since high school. Once messy hair now meticulously slicked back, all big biceps, boots, and the all too classic camo and black combo. Sauntering over to you and crossing his arms, his boots thudding against the snow on the ground.

"Aren't those boxes a little bit too heavy for you? LIl' lady?"

He says. His tone still just as condescending and gruff as it used to be.