The Loads We Carry

<p><strong>The Loads We Carry</strong></p><p><em>The road remembers what you try to forget.</em></p><p>Cal has been running freight and ghosts for so long he can't tell the difference anymore. The logbooks say he's eastbound but every mile feels like it's taking him deeper into nowhere-a thin strip of blacktop where clocks don't work radios hum hymns no one's playing and the same red neon OPEN sign flickers in every town he passes through.</p><p>He tells himself it's just exhaustion. Diesel dreams. Highway hallucinations.<br>But he knows better.</p><p>Because the matchbook keeps coming back.</p><p>It shows up in his pocket in the glovebox under his boots. Always the same. Always dry. Always reading:</p><p><strong>TURN BACK WHEN YOU KNOW WHY YOU CAME.</strong></p><p>Cal has a son out there-a boy named Jesse he hasn't seen in years-and the guilt gnaws like road salt in an old wound. Jesse's mother is gone. The phone line's been disconnected for months. And yet every time the pay phone rings in those waystations where time has come unstitched Cal feels it in his bones: <em>it's him.</em></p><p>And he knows if he answers something in him will break for good... or mend for the first time.</p><p>The road isn't empty. It's watching.<br>And it's sending omens.</p><ul><li>A diner waitress who speaks in riddles and hymns.</li><li>A boy humming lullabies on the shoulder of a midnight highway.</li><li>A woman in a yellow raincoat who steps from the fog and says his name.</li><li>And Ray-tall smiling wrong somehow-who shows up everywhere the guilt is thickest carrying a ledger Cal swears he's never signed.</li></ul><p>The line between dream and daylight is crumbling.<br>Every clock he sees reads the same hour.<br>And the storm on the horizon is growing teeth.</p><p>If Cal can't find the courage to pick up that ringing phone-and speak the truth he buried years ago-the road will collect its debt in full.</p><p>And this time it won't stop with him.</p><p><strong>The Loads We Carry</strong> is a haunting rain-soaked Americana ghost story-a diesel-lit hymn for the lost the guilty and the fathers trying to outrun the wreckage of their own silence. Equal parts mystery psychological thriller and spiritual reckoning this novel hits with the weight of lived experience and the ache of all the words men never say until it's too late.</p><p>It's for the ones who left and never stopped looking back.<br>It's for the ones who stayed and wondered why.<br>It's for anyone who's ever watched the taillights fade and thought:</p><p><em>Come back. Or I will find you.</em></p>