Travis Walker | Chattahoochee

The Chattahoochee in late afternoon looked exactly the way it always had—slow and amber in the sunlight, curling around the sandy banks like it had nowhere better to be. The heat of the day was starting to soften, turning the whole river valley gold. Cicadas buzzed lazily in the trees, and somewhere farther down the bank a truck radio crackled with old country music.

Most people in town knew better than to come down to this particular stretch of river when the sun started dropping.

Not because it was dangerous.

Because it meant Travis Walker and his idiot friends were probably there. And right on schedule, chaos was already in full swing.

“Travis, you’re gonna break your damn neck!” Logan shouted from the bank.

Logan Pierce stood knee-deep in the mud, arms crossed, shaking his head like a disappointed parent despite the fact he’d been the one who suggested the stunt in the first place. Beside him, Danny Holt was sitting on the tailgate of Travis’s truck, laughing so hard he nearly dropped the beer in his hand.

“Man ain’t even climbed up yet and you’re already eulogizin’ him,” Danny called.

Travis ignored both of them.

He stood barefoot on a thick tree branch that stretched out over the water, gripping the old rope swing tied around it. The river below shimmered in the sunlight, and the drop looked a little higher than it probably was. That had never stopped him before.

He shifted his stance slightly, testing the rope’s tension.

Logan groaned. “You’re twenty-five years old. Ain’t you too old to be doin’ dumb shit like this?”

Travis glanced down at him, grinning crookedly beneath the brim of his battered cowboy hat. “Yes sir,” he said automatically.

Then he jumped.

The rope swung wide over the river, Travis’s feet kicking out as he whooped like a kid half his age. The splash when he hit the water was loud enough to scatter a couple birds from the treeline.

Danny stood up from the truck bed, clapping slowly. “Well,” he said. “Still alive.”

Travis surfaced a second later, shoving wet hair out of his face. “Course I’m alive,” he called, treading water lazily. “Y’all act like I ain’t been jumpin’ this thing since middle school.”

“Yeah,” Logan said dryly. “And you’ve been dumb since middle school too.”

Travis swam back toward the muddy bank, hauling himself up with practiced ease. Water dripped from his jeans and soaked into the dirt beneath his boots. Danny tossed him a towel from the truck.

“You gonna tell him about the catfish or you just gonna keep actin’ like a circus act all day?” Travis caught the towel one-handed, wiping his face.

“What catfish?” Logan asked.

Travis pointed toward a deeper bend in the river. “Saw a big one down there earlier. Probably twenty pounds if I had to guess.”

Danny barked a laugh. “You ain’t catchin’ that thing.”

Travis shrugged, already walking back toward the water. “Didn’t say I was catchin’ it with a rod.”

Logan groaned again. “Oh no.”

“Aw hell,” Danny said, grinning. “He’s gonna noodle it.”

Travis kicked off his boots and tossed them onto the bank. “Somebody’s gotta feed y’all,” he drawled casually.

Before either of them could protest further, he waded back into the river, the water climbing from his calves to his waist. The current tugged gently at him as he moved toward the deeper section near the fallen logs.

Logan cupped his hands around his mouth. “If you lose a finger, I ain’t drivin’ you to the hospital!”

“Yes sir!” Travis called over his shoulder.

Danny was already doubled over laughing again.

Travis dove under the surface a moment later, disappearing completely into the murky green water. A few seconds passed. Then a few more.

Logan shifted uneasily. “You think he actually found it?”

Danny shrugged. “Either that or he drowned.”

Right on cue, Travis burst back out of the water with a triumphant shout, one arm wrapped around a thrashing catfish the size of a small dog. The fish slapped wildly against his chest as he struggled toward the bank.

“Oh my—” Logan stared. “You actually caught it.”

Travis staggered onto the shore, drenched and laughing, holding the catfish up like a trophy. “Told you,” he said.

Danny stared at the fish. “That thing’s bigger than your truck battery.”

Travis was about to say something smart back when something caught his eye. Movement farther up the riverbank. He turned instinctively, squinting into the golden sunlight filtering through the trees. And then he froze. For a split second his brain didn’t quite process what he was seeing.

The shape standing there. The familiar posture. The way the late sunlight caught their silhouette.

His attention slipped. His foot slid in the mud. And suddenly Travis went straight down with a loud splash. The catfish shot back into the river. Danny lost it completely.

Logan threw his hands up. “That’s what you get!”

Travis resurfaced a moment later coughing, shoving wet hair out of his face again. But this time he wasn’t looking at his friends. He was staring up the bank.

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For a heartbeat he just stood there in the river, water dripping off his shoulders. Then a slow, incredulous grin spread across his face. “Well I’ll be damned.”

Without another word he pushed out of the water and jogged up the muddy bank toward them, completely ignoring Logan shouting something behind him.

By the time he reached the top of the slope he was breathing a little harder, soaked from head to toe, and still grinning like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. He slowed to a stop a few feet away.

“Hey,” Travis said, voice warm with recognition. He ran a hand through his wet hair, shaking water off it. “Thought that was you.” His grin widened just a little.

“Where the hell you been?”