Chapter 1 — A Modest Windfall

Jaxon

The lottery ticket sat on the edge of the counter, bathed in the golden afternoon light streaming through the kitchen window. Jaxon Vale stared at it, his calloused hands gripping the back of a wooden chair as if the sturdy piece of furniture could keep him tethered to reality. He hadn’t expected much when he’d bought the ticket. It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, a small indulgence to break up the monotony of a quiet Friday evening at the gas station. The ticket had been tucked away in his wallet, forgotten behind faded receipts and loose change—until last night.

And now, it had changed everything.

The numbers were still scrawled on a scrap of paper beside the ticket, the edges crinkled from how tightly he’d gripped it in disbelief. He’d checked the numbers over and over, heart pounding harder each time, sweating as the truth sank in. It was real. Every number matched, like pieces of a puzzle snapping into place.

Jaxon’s breath came slow and measured, though his chest felt tight and restless. His gaze flicked to the ticket and back again, unwilling to linger on the little slip of paper that had upended his world. His palm instinctively found the Refurbished Bus Key Pendant that hung from his neck. The brass key was warm against his skin, its familiar grooves soothing the anxiety churning in his stomach.

The pendant wasn’t just a memento; it was a reminder. He could almost hear the hum of the bus engine beneath his feet, the quiet rhythm of his old life. Early mornings, winding roads, sleepy passengers—all simple things that had once filled him with pride. The thought threatened to slip away now, like an anchor loosened from its moorings.

What was he supposed to do now?

His knuckles whitened on the back of the chair as he gritted his teeth. Who was he supposed to be?

The weight of those questions pressed against his ribs, a rising tide of uncertainty. He tried to push it aside by focusing on the sunlight spilling through the window, gilding the scuffed linoleum floor and the tops of the worn cabinets. Outside, he could hear the faint sound of children laughing down the street, their carefree voices mingling with the distant hum of a lawnmower. This was his world: modest and steady, filled with the small, familiar details of home.

A faint creak broke through the stillness, pulling him back. The screen door swung open, and Jonah stepped into the kitchen, a six-pack of beer dangling from one hand. The fading sunlight framed his wiry silhouette, and his cocky grin was firmly in place.

“Figured I’d stop by,” Jonah said, setting the beers onto the counter with a clatter. His sharp eyes flicked over Jaxon, then to the chair he leaned on. “You’ve been quiet since last night. Thought maybe you’d fallen into one of your brooding moods again.”

Jaxon hesitated, his hand falling from the pendant. Jonah’s presence had a way of filling the room, his voice and energy impossible to ignore. Jonah was everything Jaxon wasn’t—outgoing, quick to laugh, always ready with a story. Sometimes he brightened the room. Other times, he made Jaxon feel like a shadow.

“Yeah, well, I’ve had a lot on my mind,” Jaxon said evenly. He pulled out a chair and sat, trying to calm the restless buzz under his skin.

Jonah cracked open a beer, took a long swig, and leaned against the counter. His gaze wandered to the lottery ticket. He froze. “What’s this?” he asked, his voice light but laced with curiosity.

Jaxon’s stomach twisted. He hadn’t planned to tell anyone yet—not his neighbors, not his coworkers, and certainly not Jonah. The words felt impossible to say. But here Jonah was, and the ticket was impossible to hide.

“I won,” Jaxon said after a long pause, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jonah frowned. “Won what?”

“The lottery,” Jaxon said, nodding toward the ticket. “I won.”

For a moment, Jonah just stared, his expression unreadable. Then he burst into laughter, loud and disbelieving. “You’re messing with me. Jaxon Vale, the guy who’s been driving the same rusty truck since high school, won the lottery?”

Jaxon bristled but stayed quiet, letting Jonah grab the ticket. The teasing was typical, but today it grated more than usual.

Jonah’s laughter faded as he scrutinized the numbers. Slowly, his grin fell. Awe swept over his face as he ran a thumb along the edge of the paper. “Holy—” He let out a low whistle, his eyes darting up to Jaxon. “This is real. You’re… you’re a millionaire.”

The word landed heavily in the room, like it didn’t belong in Jaxon’s modest kitchen. The scuffed floor, chipped countertops, and battered appliances seemed to recoil from it. “Yeah,” Jaxon said softly. “I guess I am.”

Jonah clapped him on the back, his grin returning. “Man, this is huge! What are you gonna do first? Buy a mansion? A shiny new truck? Hell, you could buy half the town!”

Jaxon shook his head. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”

Jonah stared at him, incredulous. “You haven’t thought about it? Jax, come on. You’re sitting on a fortune, and you haven’t even started dreaming big yet?”

“I like my life the way it is,” Jaxon said quietly, his voice calm but firm.

Jonah rolled his eyes, pacing a few steps before turning back to him. “Sure, but now you don’t have to settle. You can do something bigger. Be someone bigger.” He gestured broadly to the room, his gaze lingering on the cracked countertops.

Jaxon’s jaw tightened. The way Jonah said it—like Jaxon’s life wasn’t enough—rubbed him raw. His fingers drifted back to the pendant, seeking its steadying weight. “It’s not about settling,” he said, his tone edged with quiet resolve. “This is my home. These are my roots.”

Jonah sighed, exasperated. “I’m just saying, you’ve been driving that bus for years, fixing up this old place. Now you’ve got the chance to give yourself the life you deserve.”

The life I deserve. The words lingered, twisting like a thorn in Jaxon’s chest. Did he need more than this? Did he even want it?

He looked at Jonah, who watched him with an odd mix of excitement and something else—something deeper, almost envious. Jonah’s grip on the ticket tightened, his knuckles whitening for a fraction of a second before he loosened his hold.

“I just need time,” Jaxon said finally, his voice steady but low. “Time to figure out what this means.”

Jonah studied him for a moment, then exhaled sharply. “Fair enough. But don’t wait too long. Life doesn’t stop just because you’re thinking about it.” He grabbed another beer and wandered toward the living room, tossing, “Don’t waste it, Jax,” over his shoulder.

Jaxon turned back to the ticket, his hands braced on the edge of the counter. Jonah wasn’t wrong—this was an opportunity, a chance to make something meaningful out of the impossible. But what? His mind drifted, unbidden, to Mrs. Callahan waving from her porch, to the kids on the bus with their sleepy smiles, to the Old Bus Depot, its cracked asphalt a shadow of what it once was.

Maybe the money wasn’t about changing who he was. Maybe it could be about lifting up the people—and the places—that made this town feel like home.

The idea settled in his chest, warm and steady, like the pendant resting in his hand.

Jaxon folded the ticket carefully and tucked it into the back of a drawer. For now, it could stay hidden. He wasn’t going to let a piece of paper define him.

He leaned against the counter and stared out the window, where the golden light bathed the fields in hues of promise. In that stillness, he made a quiet vow: no matter how much his life changed, he wouldn’t lose sight of himself—or the town that shaped him.