No other riders on the bus tonight, except the guy passed out in the back, but Cole didn’t have the energy to sit down, knowing he’d have to go through the process of getting up again. He clung to the vertical bar with his good arm as the bus bounced over train tracks, rounded the bend away from the waterfront, and sailed smoothly down the thoroughfare.
Lights filtered from within the fog, expanding, the airport gradually coming into view. Before the bus came to a stop, he pushed forward, swapping his grip from pole to pole until he hit the front, climbing down the steep steps as the doors opened. Boarding pass ready and passport in hand, he made his way through security, reached the terminal with seconds to spare, and was the last one on the plane. Packed with sleepy families getting the fuck out of this volatile country, spirits were bright as the plane lifted off the ground.
Sleep was a bitch who smacked him upside the head a few times on the flight over the Atlantic.
Groggy as hell and twice as disoriented, he rubbed the fatigue from his eyes.
The other travelers passed him with a wide berth as he trudged up the jetway, his pace painfully slow, his ankle fucking throbbing from too long below his heart.
The customs officer studied him warily, finally lifting a curious look at him. “Are you okay?” she asked.
He knew he looked worse than he felt. “I will be,” he answered, feigning a smile he knew wasn’t the least bit convincing. “Thanks.”
“Good,” she said as she lifted his passport and compared pictures. “Welcome home, Mr. Falk.”
Knife to the heart, her words lodged in his chest. “Thanks,” he said, inhaling as much oxygen as he could draw in.
Outside security, heading toward baggage claim where nothing would be waiting, he stepped onto the escalator. Rising. Nearly there.
Jeremy stood at the top, grinning wide, every tooth in the man’s head brilliantly flashing just for him.
No words came to him, as nothing could possibly have been enough. But that might have been because of his concussion.
Instead, Cole hobbled off the escalator, Jeremy walking carefully toward him, as if afraid to knock him over or scare him away, and Cole threw his good arm around the closest thing he’d ever had to a dad. Fiercely, holding him so damn tight, Cole didn’t fight the wet stuff blurring his vision and burning his cheeks.
Jeremy hugged him back just as hard, sniffling a wad of mucus.
Both drew back, and Jeremy beamed a wet smile. “I knew one of these days, you’d decide you were ready.”
He shrugged, the effort pinching his shoulder. Every time Jeremy had asked, he’d wanted to say yes more than anything. But how did you bring the black cloud that coated your goddamn soul around people who were bright and sunny and kind to a fault?
“I’d rather have figured out it was timebeforeI got my ass kicked,“ he said, the corners of his mouth rising, the left side lifting higher than the right as he teased the man.
Jeremy hooted a laugh and wrapped his arm back around him, squeezing his shoulder.
Cole winced and quickly tried to hide it.
Jeremy’s smile dipped into a scowl filled with sympathy, and he lessened his grip. “Is there a single part of you that didn’t get hurt?”
Glancing down over his own body, Cole huffed a laugh and shook his head. “I don’t think they missed a spot.” Ankle splittingly on fire, he started toward the parking garage.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?”
Cole shook his head subtly, keeping his eyes trained straight ahead as they walked at his epically slow pace. “Not today.”
Jeremy walked along with him and said, “You really quit, then?”
“Unemployed and homeless,” he admitted.
The moment they stepped outside, the scent of the Pacific Northwest flooded him, rain and endless evergreens unmistakable even in the concrete of the garage. The whisper of the early hint of fall in the air revived him a little bit further. He dropped his jacket and fisted it at his side, letting the breeze cool his skin.
They climbed into the hatchback, and he immediately pushed the seat back enough to stretch his leg and adjusted until he eased some of the pressure off his low back that ached after the long flight. Freeway narrowed to highway, buildings to trees, and they passed the sign welcoming him back to Foothills. The first time he’d seen that sign, he’d balked at the idea of moving to Smalltown, America, where everything was picture perfect and everyone was happy in their quaint little lives.
Of course, he quickly figured out that even in paradise, people had their own problems, same as everywhere, but sleeping through the night without your bed pushed against the door so your mother’s stoned friends didn’t wander in looking for a fondle was worth it. Three hot meals a day, dessert, snacks, whatever he wanted, and he’d gained twenty pounds within a few weeks of living with the Perrys. Jeremy had seen his “fighting spirit”—or his terror and temper—and had kept him busy by enrolling him in martial arts and guitar and whatever else they could think to keep him interested, as soon as they realized his placement was looking permanent.
Town was lighting up for the evening, the dinner crowds starting toward the restaurants, the shops bustling on a typical Friday. Colorful, delightful, and while he’d say it may as well be something out of a magazine, it actually had been featured in many magazines, many times. They passed a few cute neighborhoods, the lots growing larger, and reached a forested neighborhood, with only some of the houses visible through the trees. Rounding another bend, up the hill, and they turned onto a gravel drive.
Alpine roof, white siding with black trim, and cedar green shutters and doors. The place was cheerful and updated. The shrubs and trees around the house still held their leaves, which would change when temperatures began to drop over the coming weeks.
