He skipped Mississippi and went down to New Orleans, but Mardi Gras was in February. And it was hot. Too hot.
Back in Texas, then over to New Mexico, and he was heading back to San Diego, so he headed north again.
He spent some time in Vegas. Saw a show. Lost too much money. Won it all back, plus some when his luck changed.
He slept in his SUV when he could find some out of the way place that the cops wouldn’t notice. He didn’t cut his hair. He shaved when he could no longer recognize his own face in the mirror.
He found himself in Colorado in a town not too different from the one in Oregon. The weather was turning cold. Not so cold, he’d need to worry about snow yet. Not warm enough to sleep with the windows open anymore though.
He hiked the soles of his boots off, and had to buy new hiking boots. He folded his BDUs into a plastic crate, and stuffed them in the back with the rest of his baggage somewhere along the line. He couldn’t remember where exactly.
He passed a bookstore on the way out of Colorado and slammed on the brakes. He hadn’t meant to stop. He wasn’t going to go inside. He didn’t read anymore. He hadn’t read anything since he’d finished the dog-eared Girl Scout thriller that he’d taken from…
It was out again, the Girl Scout murders, with a new cover. The poster in the bookstore window gutted him.
The author seemed so sad in the photo surrounded by his books. He was shaved bald again with a trimmed beard. It would be strawberry blond and soft. His eyes would be green. Black and white photography was dramatic, but you lost the essence of the subject.
Chad reached for the camera he kept on the seat next to him. He stepped out of the SUV long enough to snap a few pictures.
A wave of homesickness washed over him, dragging him under, nearly drowning him, and he climbed back inside. This wasn’t his bookstore. This wasn’t his town. This was a long way from home.
He didn’t know where home was. Not that he ever had a home. Not really. Not a home he felt safe in.
But it wasn’t in California and it wasn’t in the military. He knew that much. He just didn’t know where he belonged.
And he had no idea where he was going or what he was searching for. He knew he wasn’t finding it, whatever it was. He’d driven all over the country, zigging and zagging, always looking over his shoulder no matter how far away he went. He kept looking back. Back west.
He hated the look in the author’s eyes— the haunted look of loneliness. Maybe he wasn’t lonely. Chad didn’t know. Maybe he just assumed he saw lonely there because that’s what he felt. Lonely. He was alone.
By his own doing.
The author didn’t make the news. Chad had listened every night for a month, wondering if he’d even know… if… in the event. Would he feel it. In the event…
He drove out of town, heading northwest. Following the sun and the ache in his chest. He couldn’t remember driving through Utah from Vegas. Maybe it was forgettable. Wyoming felt more like home.
He crossed Idaho without knowing where he was going, or how to get there.
The little town had no name in his memory. He remembered the man, not the place.
He stopped at a truck stop for a shower and a hot meal, and pulled up Google on his phone using their Wi-Fi.
He avoided his phone contacts. His phone never rang. He took that as a sign, and didn’t… he could have called first. He’d been the one who’d left.
Without saying goodbye. Or explaining. He’d just… left.
He started to type in the author’s name. Maybe he could find out where he’d be, if he was on a book tour or something. Maybe he’d been driving in crazy circles, chasing his public appearances. Because he wanted to return the dog-eared, noted-up, personal copy of the book that he’d stolen, because he’d wanted to hold onto a piece of that week, so that when he looked back, it wouldn’t feel like some dream he’d had, and would forget in the next few minutes as real life dragged him into reality.
His chest ached, like something was broken inside it, and no matter how much he rubbed the flesh he could never make it stop.
The bookstore’s name appeared on his screen. Adventures, INK. The fountain pen, flag symbol a screaming beacon in his head.
He knew where he was going. He knew.
Two days to get there.
He parked on the street not far from the store and dug out the book that was even more dog-eared now. He’d carried it with him for months because he couldn’t part with it. He’d read it twice. Pausing to read the notes in the margins detailing the events described, or personal thoughts on the editing in that particular spot. Or once, citing new evidence that needed to be incorporated into the story.
Butterflies raced through his stomach as the last of the buttery, yellow sunset turned the mountains surrounding him a blazing red. The store would be closing soon. He may be too late. His feet wouldn’t work. He could just stand there, and wait for the store to close, and maybe catch him on the way out. He knew where he lived, but he wasn’t ready to go there yet. Not yet. The Jeep wasn’t parked on the street. It was late.
He was too late.
The heavy, wooden bookstore door opened, spilling warmth and light out over the sidewalk. A couple of older women laughed as they linked their hands together. One carried a bag from the store, the other a cup of coffee. One laughed softly at something the other said as they walked off down the street hand in hand.
A chill wind swept his hood from his head and raced down the back of his shirt, making him shiver. The door opened again, a little bell jingled, making him think of Christmas. He wondered what this town would look like in December. Would there be snow on the mountains?
“Better hurry. They’re closing soon, and they’re about to wrap up the signing.” The person holding the door open called out to him, assuming he was heading in.
Chad’s feet unstuck themselves and he rushed to take the door from the man. “I… thank you,” he said, and the guy smiled at him, and waved a hardcover book in reply, and Chad was inside. The door was closing behind him and the line was still very long.
The woman he’d met that day back in March came scurrying up behind him. “Is there anyone else outside?” She never looked at him; she glanced outside and sighed. “Oh, thank the Goddess.” She turned the open sign around to the Sorry, We’re Closed side and pulled the door to and latched it. When she finally glanced up at him, she gave him a wicked smile. “You can check in anytime you like, but you can never leave… kidding. Totally going to let everyone out, but if I don’t close now, we will never close. It’s always like this when he’s in town.” She cocked her head as she studied him. “You look familiar, but I don’t believe you’ve been in…” someone called her from the back. “I’m guarding the door. Send Jordan.”
The line moved and Chad escaped without answering her curiosity. He couldn’t hear anything over the sound of the blood pounding in his head. He shouldn’t have come. He could get out now. The locked door wasn’t going to hold him inside. The woman holding it closed was six inches shorter than him and at least a hundred pounds lighter. No way was she going to stop him from leaving.
A tall, chubby guy with strawberry-blonde hair and freckles came to the front. He was red in the face from moving too fast… His eyes were a strange shade of green. “Mother said you needed help?” His voice was deep. Deeper than Chad expected. He glanced over to Chad and stopped speaking; his mouth agape as he stared and blinked. “Oh… Hi… Wow.” He stammered out a greeting, then blushed over the red of exertion. “Are you new in town? I ah…” he winked awkwardly and Chad blinked. The guy was flirting with him. And looking like he was about to faint because Chad was staring back and…
Oh, god. He looked like… but he was younger than Chad. By several years. Not the son he remembered. “No, I’m just passing through. Heading up to Portland.”
He wasn’t, but he wasn’t sure he’d be welcome here and maybe Portland or Seattle would be a nice place to spend the winter
. It didn’t get as cold there in the winter; someone had told him… once… a long time ago.
“Too bad, but… we could go get coffee and maybe talk about the book. That one is my favorite. I don’t know how Mr. Simpson comes up with his stories. He told me we could get together one day when he’s in town and talk about writing, but he’s… Oh hey, you’re next it looks like.”
Chad turned to find the line had moved all the way up to the table. He still couldn’t see the author standing behind the person ahead of him. The others were all in line at the cash register. He heard the bell jingle every couple of minutes, while he waited, and the person ahead of him didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave. His nerves were jumping, and the room was starting to shrink around him.
It was a mistake to come here. It was a mistake. He’d just left, while the man was still unconscious from surgery… from a gunshot wound caused by him. He hadn’t even said goodbye.
The man in front of him laughed and the author came around the table to stand beside him, then leaned their heads together for the picture. He turned to say something to the man and maybe Chad said something or did something to draw his attention. He didn’t know.
He stopped talking to the fan; his green eyes filled with surprise for a second, before narrowing. His mouth drew into a… well, it wasn’t a smile. Nor did he frown. Chad couldn’t tell what his expression was. “Say something,” he heard himself say. Maybe he meant to tell himself that. Like Alice in Wonderland giving herself good advice that she wouldn’t take. “Tell me to leave. Tell me to go to hell. Tell me you hate me. Just say something.”
Skip didn’t say a word. He looked angry as he closed the distance between them. He was tall. Chad had forgotten that. He looked the same. More tan than Chad remembered. Maybe tired. But that could be from the book signing and not because… Skip’s mouth slashed hard across Chad’s lips making him flail in an attempt to step away. Skip wouldn’t let him. He grabbed Chad’s hoodie in both fists and dragged Chad to him; his lips softened as Chad gave in to the kiss.
The blood pounding in his head rushed to other places as the soft flutter of Skip’s breath ghosted across his face as he broke the kiss. “You’re alive,” he said almost in disbelief.
Chad had thought about how his leaving might affect Skip, but he’d never thought he’d think the worst. “I’m sorry,” he said, remembering the whispered words from the last time they’d spoken. Skip released him and took a step back. His face seemed strangely blank, almost too controlled. Chad could hear someone clearing their throat not far away. He could sense too many people watching them. He wasn’t ready to fight with an ex-lover in public. He wasn’t ready to have an ex-lover any more than he’d been prepared to have a lover. “I shouldn’t have. I should have…” Those days right after the shooting flashed in his memory sharper than a knife stabbing him in the heart. “Mom died.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” He still held himself so rigid, and… he’d hurt him. Chad could see that now. He’d broken something precious because he couldn’t handle this like an adult. He’d become the child he was, when he’d left home the first time, and fled across the country looking for… home. He hadn’t found it then, either.
“I…” He held out the ratty book that he’d stolen as if that made everything okay. “I brought your book back.”
Skip didn’t take it. He didn’t even look at it. Chad dropped his hand. He had no idea what to say. “I love you,” Skip said, surprising him.
“I had to go sit in a bathtub in a hotel for a while.” He’d done that in California right after he’d seen his mother in the hospital. They’d cuffed her hands and feet to the bed, yet she still thrashed and screamed obscenities when he’d been allowed in for five minutes.
“I guessed as much,” Skip wasn’t making this easy on him. “I tried to call but your phone went to voice mail. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I went to Texas. I don’t know why. Trying to get as far away as I could. I should have stayed.” The bell over the door jingled and people whispered around them. Skip nodded at something the little woman who’d locked the door said. The lights went dim around them and the doorbell jingled again. He drew in a couple of breaths and looked around. “It’s quiet now.”
“The store is closed. Everyone went home.” Skip didn’t so much as blink or look away.
“I want to come home.” Chad thought he’d spoken louder than a whisper. “I’m tired of running.”
Skip didn’t say anything… not one single word. The lyrics to a song ran through Chad’s mind. One he’d played over and over after he’d left. He’d lost everything with one carelessly whispered apology.
“Please say something. Please…” Chad didn’t know what else to say to… “I love you. I miss you so much. I… guess, I hoped that maybe I’d forget. Maybe this was all just… sex. When they called to tell me that she had died… I… needed you. I’ve never needed anyone before. I’m afraid. I’m afraid of loving you. I’m afraid that you’re…” he dropped the book on the floor and reached for Skip. “I was afraid to love you. To need you. That you’d blame me for getting you shot. Because my mother was crazy. And she might have made me crazy, so I went and slept in my car for six months, because I had no home, and I couldn’t come back… until I knew where I needed to be.”
“This town?” Skip crossed his arms over his chest and leaned to the side. He wasn’t making this easy. “It’s a nice place to call home.”
“With you.” Chad wanted to scream the words if it would make him understand. “I drove all over the country, looking for what was missing. Six months and I don’t know how many miles or states. I was in Colorado when I knew. I’ve come a long way, and you won’t say anything.”
“I said, I love you,” he whispered into the painfully silent bookstore. “I hoped you would come back to me. When you were ready.”
“Am I ready?” he asked because his heart was tripping in his chest and the room was spinning. He hadn’t had an episode in months. His flashbacks had stopped that afternoon on the porch when he’d been covered in his lover’s blood.
“You’re here, aren’t you,” Skip answered, taking his hands and holding them to his chest. “I’m here.”
Chad swallowed hard. He wasn’t ready to pick up where they left off. “I… need to know if we have something outside the bedroom. I mean… I’m not here to get laid.”
“I didn’t think you were.” He sounded nervous now. Chad had never heard Skip sound so unsure about anything. “Would you like to go to dinner with me? Maybe see a movie? I suddenly find my calendar clear for the next few months. I’ve never been here during the winter. The apartment upstairs is still available. Jordan is trying to move out, but Cat is keeping him on a tight leash. He’s going to be around, if, maybe, you find someone else closer to your own age… I’ll be in my seventies when you’re the age I am now. I just want you to consider that. I am not looking for a diaper changer for my dotage.”
“I don’t even know what that means.” Chad took a step closer. He could feel Skip’s breath caress his lips. His knees threatened to give out. His heart raced and the butterflies swirling in his stomach twisted themselves into knots.
“Old age.” Skip leaned back. “I’m not young anymore, Chad. I’m not looking for a fling. I’ve had too many of those in my life.”
“What are you looking for?”
“You, Chad. I’m looking for you.”
Chad nodded. The swirling in his stomach settled and the pain in his chest went away. He took a deep breath, maybe the first one in a long time, and let it out. “I’m not going anywhere, Saffron.”
Skip smiled; the emerald fire in his eyes took Chad’s breath away. Skip tilted his head and kissed him until his knees finally did give out. Skip followed him to the floor, or maybe his knees had given out too. “I’m not hungry.”
“Me either,” Chad agreed, his blood racing through his veins. “It’s very warm in here.”
“I
t is.” Skip pulled the zipper on his hoodie down and pushed it off his shoulders. Chad fumbled with Skip’s tie. “Very hot in here.”
“Forget what I said about…” he didn’t remember what he’d said, not that it mattered.
“There’s a bed upstairs.” Skip tugged his shirt out of his jeans, and tried to drag it over his head, but their kisses got in the way.
“Yessir,” Chad whispered, pulling the tie from around Skip’s neck.
Skip groaned and broke the kiss. “Do you know what you do to me when you say that?”
Chad smiled and yanked Skip’s shirt open. “Anything I want.”
“Chad.” The fire left Skip’s eyes as he pulled away.
“Skip?” Chad let him go, wondering if he’d said the wrong thing.
“I love you,” Skip whispered.
“I know,” Chad whispered back. “I love you too.”
“We should go upstairs.” Skip nodded as Chad pulled him back, and slashed his mouth across Skip’s.
“We should,” he agreed, when Skip finally managed to get his shirts over his head, “Not going to make it that far.”
“Me either.” Skip feasted on his mouth, yanking his jeans open. “Too far away.”
The room spun around him and Chad pushed Skip away. He blinked rapidly trying to orient himself. “Not here.” The smiling faces of too many children’s books surrounded him. “Not upstairs either.” He couldn’t breathe again, and the swirling in his stomach came back. “Take me home.”
“I don’t have my Jeep. You’ll have to drive.” Skip reached up to caress his face, like he’d done all those times before as he struggled to catch his own breath. “You know the way.”
“Yessir, I do,” Chad said.
Skip groaned. “I know a shortcut.”
The sun was rising over the mountains when Chad parked in front of the cabin. Skip’s shortcut turned out to be the long way, but Chad didn’t mind one bit because he was finally where he belonged.
About Mercy Celeste
Mercy Celeste is the pen name and super hero persona of mild-mannered MJ Colbert... which is bull, I'm not mild mannered. I was, in fact, raised in a barn—or several. We even had grain silos. My motto growing up, anything a boy can do, I'm right behind him doing it just as well or better. I've broken too many bones to begin to count. Scraped, skinned or scarred pretty much everything that can be scraped, skinned or scarred. How I'm still walking and talking is a miracle.
Long Way (Adventures INK Book 2) Page 22