The Long Way

by May Archer

  “Hmmm. I want Eli to look it over when we get there, anyway.”

  Cain’s ears perked up. Damon hadn’t said where they were going, and given the man’s trust issues, Cain hadn’t wanted to be too demanding. He’d resolved to just follow Damon’s lead and help out as much as he could. But he was pretty fucking curious about the place Damon would choose to stash his sister and niece.

  Cautiously, he asked, “Eli?”

  “Yeah. Eli Davis. He’s the man we’re going to see. The man I’m hoping is going to agree to have Chelsea and Molly stay with him.”

  Cain frowned as he navigated the rutted, packed dirt. “Hoping? Why didn’t you call him last night after you let Bas and Drew know what had happened?”

  Damon chuckled. “Eli doesn’t believe in phones.”

  Well. Okay, then. Curiosity surging wildly, Cain demanded, “Why not?”

  “First of all, because the reception up here is for shit. And second of all, because that’s how the government gets ya.” Cain shot him a look that made Damon laugh softly again. “Oh, Eli’s got a whole list of ways the government will get you. Internet, credit cards, banks, social security numbers, satellite imagery…” He ticked the examples off on his fingers.

  “So he’s, like, one of those separatist people? With a room full of guns and a plan to never pay taxes again?” Cain frowned at the innocent girl sleeping in the backseat. Was this really the safest place to take a three-year-old?

  “No. He’s not planning to declare his independence from America,” Damon said, clearly amused. “But he doesn’t trust the government either. He hasn’t thinned the trees around his house at all, so drones can’t get through, and he pays for everything in cash or by bartering.”

  “That’s odd.”

  “It’s actually pretty cool,” Damon contradicted, and Cain shot him a glance again. He had a fond smile on his face, and he was shaking his head with amused exasperation. “Eli is… he’s a special person.”

  Cain’s stomach twisted sharply. “Special?”

  “Yeah.” Damon’s eyes were focused on the road outside the window. “You’re gonna want to bear right up here. Yeah, near the tree.” He continued in a soft voice. “Eli’s a stand-up guy. The Seavers’ plane crashed into the mountain about twenty miles south of here. Eli saw the whole thing happen. Said he was in his truck before he even saw the smoke, and he was the first person on scene. He used to be in the military,” he said, shooting Cain a quick glance. “Sniper. But he was discharged a couple years ago.”

  Cain nodded, the terrible twisting in his gut stealing his ability to speak. What would it feel like to be someone Damon thought was special?

  “He’s huge - taller than me and stronger, too. And it’s a damn good thing he is,” he mused. “The plane was on fire when he got there, but I’d been thrown a fair distance away. I was making a lot of noise, I guess. That’s how he found me. Next thing I knew, I was waking up in the hospital.”

  There were many things Cain disliked in this story - the fact that it had happened to Damon at all was paramount, of course, because Cain wasn’t a total asshole. But not far below that was a poisonous feeling he recognized as jealousy. Jealousy of this big, tall, strong man who’d saved Damon’s life. Jealousy of the reverent way Damon spoke of him. Jealousy because this Eli person was someone Damon trusted absolutely, while Cain was… not.

  “Eli’s anti-government stuff might seem weird, but it saved my life.” Damon shot Cain a glance. “When he took me to the hospital, he claimed he’d found me in a wrecked car on the highway, mostly because he didn’t wanna get himself involved in any investigation of the plane crash. He took me in, then took off without giving them any other information. But he came back.”

  He shook his head, as if lost in the memory. “He happened to be at a diner in town a while after that. Saw my picture on the television and knew immediately I was the guy they were looking for, so he came back to the hospital, claiming to be my brother. When they discharged me, he took me home with him and kept me there for months while I recovered.”

  Cain squinted through the trees that lined the road, distracted. “Why, though? I mean, I’m glad he did. I’m glad he helped you. But why would a guy who hates to get involved… well, get involved?”

  “If there’s one thing Eli hates more than the government, it’s the one-percent. Rich, entitled corporate assholes, you know? The preliminary investigation from the NTSB was placing all the blame on me, so he automatically assumed it was bullshit.”

  Damon was chuckling like he was recounting a fond memory, but Cain couldn’t even summon a fake smile. His eyes burned, his arm throbbed, and his head pounded. He was hungry, thirsty, and exhausted. He was currently driving them to the house of a man who was apparently like The Rock and St. Michael all rolled into one big tinfoil-hat-wearing mountain man, and who would likely hate him on sight for being a) rich, and b) related to the biggest government asshole he could think of.

  Wow. Awesome.

  Cain tried to play the Worse game, tried to think of a way he could be more miserable than he was right then, but nothing sprang to mind, and that just made him feel shittier.

  The road curved around to the left, and Cain slowed the Acura to a crawl. The branches of the trees were close enough to scrape the sides of the car, and he really hoped Drew was feeling forgiving when they brought it back.

  A few seconds later, they entered what appeared to be a junkyard in the middle of the woods, and as the headlights played across the scene, Cain’s heart sank further and further. There was a rusted blue Chevy pickup up on cement blocks to one side, and a graveyard of used appliances to the other - a refrigerator, a washing machine, and several rusted oil drums. The ground was boggy, which was odd since they hadn’t had seen any rain, but perhaps the trees - enormous, towering oaks and pines - grew so thick overhead that no sunlight could ever seep through to evaporate the dampness.

  It was every terrible redneck joke he’d ever heard, represented in one piece of property, and he could almost swear he heard a banjo playing somewhere nearby.

  Please don’t let this be the place. Please, please, please.

  “Stop here,” Damon instructed, confirming Cain’s worst fears. And it didn’t help when he cracked open the door, turning on the interior lights, and burst into laughter. “Cain! Oh my God, you should see your face!”

  Right. Yes. My face is the problem here.

  Cain reached for his door handle.

  “No, wait!” Damon said, but the urgent words didn’t register until after Cain’s door was open and he was already twisting his cramped legs out of the car.

  “I’m just stretching my legs,” Cain complained. “I’ll help you to the door so you can deal with- “

  And then the dogs started barking.

  “He has dogs?” Cain demanded.

  Of course he did. Rottweilers, by the look of them, and not remotely friendly ones.

  “Get back in the car, Cain!” Damon demanded. And when Cain hesitated, he yelled loudly enough to disturb Chelsea and Molly. “Now!”

  Cain twisted his legs back into the car and slammed the door just as the dogs reached them, snarling and barking as they pawed at the driver’s side door. From the backseat, Molly screamed.

  Damon, meanwhile, opened his door and whistled sharply. The dogs immediately silenced and dropped to the ground, going over to Damon to investigate. Within seconds, he was petting them, scratching them behind the ears. In the rearview mirror, he met Chelsea’s glance and saw his own shock and dismay mirrored in her eyes.

  “Ripper! Puck!” a harsh voice boomed, and the dogs obediently trotted over toward a giant of a man who stood halfway between the car and the shack, a shotgun cradled in his arms. “State your business,” the voice demanded, and Cain would be lying if he said that voice didn’t shake him to his toes.

  Not Damon, though.

  “I came for pancakes,” Damon yelled.

  The man appeared to squint through the dar
kness.

  “Hooooleeeey shit!” the man said, stepping closer and holding the rifle at his side. “Damon? That you?”

  “Who else would come to see you, Eli?” Damon demanded, and the man chuckled as he reached the door.

  Handsome. Damon had forgotten that little adjective when describing Eli, but in the light from the car interior, Cain could see the man was tall and strong and handsome as fuck, with black hair, a full black beard, and blue eyes just a shade brighter than Cain’s own. He was also young - maybe a few years younger than Damon.

  “You brought friends,” Eli said, as he looked from Molly to Chelsea to Cain. His eyes lingered on Cain’s the longest, and it took all of Cain’s focus to meet that intimidating gaze with a steady, blank stare of his own.

  “My sister, Chelsea,” Damon said, hooking a finger into the backseat. “And my niece Molly.”

  Eli nodded at each of the girls in turn, then his eyes were back on Cain. “And this is?”

  Damon hesitated. “This is… Cain.”

  That introduction shouldn’t have made Cain wince the way it did. It was simple. Accurate. It was also completely devoid of any claiming whatsoever. Not even my friend Cain. Ouch.

  “I didn’t know where else to go,” Damon said, urgency in his voice. “I need your help.”

  “And you know I’ll always help you.” Eli gave Damon a smile that was way warmer than simple friendship. “Whatcha waitin’ for? Christmas? Getcha ass inside!”

  Damon shrugged. “‘Fraid it’s not that easy,” he said sheepishly. “Messed up my leg again. Can’t really walk.”

  “Course you did.” Eli smirked. “Come on, then.”

  “Cain,” Damon said. “Could you…”

  But Eli pushed Damon’s arm and motioned for him to swivel. He waited until Damon had swung his legs out of the car, then reached in and grabbed Damon under the armpit, lifting him to stand. He plastered Damon to his side, and his huge mass supported even Damon’s bulky frame smoothly as he half-carried Damon to the house while the dogs trotted obediently behind.

  Cain watched their backs disappear for a moment, then exhaled sharply through his nose and looked at the girls in the backseat. “I guess we’ll follow.” His voice was brittle, but he shut off the car, stepped out, and opened the backdoor to help unbuckle Molly.

  “I’ll grab the bags,” he said, and Chelsea nodded as she gathered her daughter into her arms.

  Cain loaded himself up with luggage as best he could given his injured arm, and picked his way across the pitch-dark yard. With the headlights off, it was a little like navigating an obstacle course. His eyes still burned and he wanted to cry for reasons that had only a little to do with his sore arm.

  Pull it together, Shaw.

  He took a deep breath and climbed the rickety porch stairs, then stepped cautiously into the tiny house…

  Except it wasn’t so tiny at all.

  Like some backwoods TARDIS, the house was enormous on the inside. It had, indeed, been built into the mountain, but rather than the cavernous, dank space Cain had expected, it was a huge, two-story room, with large windows carved through the stone at the far end that would no doubt provide spectacular views in the daytime, wide-plank oak floors, and an enormous fireplace complete with a roaring fire. It even smelled good - like cinnamon and grilled meat all at once.

  “Y’all need something to eat?” Eli asked Damon as he got him arranged on a cushy blue sofa near the fire.

  “No. We’re fine. You and I need to talk, but is there maybe a place where we can sleep?” Damon suggested. “It’s late, and it’s been a long day. Two days, really.” Then he caught sight of Cain standing there, and his brow lowered. “Cain, what the hell are you doing with those bags?”

  Really? “Carrying them,” Cain sniped.

  “That’s way too much for you to carry! Are you crazy?” Damon was leaning forward in agitation, like he wanted to stand up.

  “Calm down there, chief,” Eli said, bracing his palm against Damon’s chest and easing him back in the seat. “I’ll help the kid out.”

  Cain sucked in air through his nostrils and stared up at the rafters, trying to figure out what the worst part of that exchange had been. Damon calling him weak? Or maybe Eli calling him a kid?

  Neither. It was the proprietary way Eli had touched Damon, like he had the right.

  “I don’t need help,” he said, dropping the bags on the floor. Then he added, “but thanks anyway,” because it felt rude not to.

  Eli shrugged. “Anyway. Damon, you can bunk right here on the sofa, just like when you first got here last time. No stairs to get to the bathroom.” He gave Damon a wink. He told Chelsea, “I got two rooms upstairs, and one’s got a pullout. I’ll show ya.” His brow puckered. “You need me to carry her for ya, missy?”

  Chelsea shook her head. “No, I’ve got her.”

  Eli nodded and ushered her up the stairs.

  “Your bags,” Cain reminded her, and Chelsea shot him a grateful look as he handed off two of the bags to Eli.

  When Eli and the girls had gone upstairs, he stood awkwardly at the entrance to the living area, staring around the fire-lit room. He tried to think back to the last time he’d felt so out of place and completely unnecessary, yet so completely stuck.

  Oh, right. At the fundraiser. And every other time he was forced to interact with his family.

  Didn’t really matter whether it was a mountain cave-house or a Boston function room when you had nothing to offer anyone, but also couldn’t leave.

  He debated the wisdom of offering to sleep out in the car. He’d honestly prefer it, but he didn’t want to sound like a petulant child.

  His roving gaze came back to Damon, and found Damon watching him.

  “I didn’t think to ask,” Damon said. “Were you hungry?”

  Because he couldn’t ask for food himself if he needed it? Cain rolled his eyes. “No. I’m good.” He couldn’t hold Damon’s gaze. He was on the edge of some emotional precipice, one hard push away from going over. He rolled his shoulders, wincing as his injured arm pulled. “Tired, maybe.”

  Damon nodded slowly. “Of course you are.”

  Of course, weak creature that he was. Weak body, weak will. Weak.

  “So… Eli, huh?” Cain said lamely.

  Damon looked startled. “What about him?”

  Cain shook his head. Shut your mouth, shut your mouth, shut your mouth. “I didn’t realize you guys were so close.”

  Damon blinked, then frowned. “Well, yeah. In a way. I mean, I haven’t seen him in months. We don’t exactly keep in touch. But…” He shrugged. “He’s a good friend.”

  A friend. Right. So Cain had just imagined the something-else he’d seen in Eli’s eyes, the casual way they touched? He looked away.

  “When Eli comes down, I’ll ask him to look at your arm,” Damon said, shifting in his seat to get more comfortable. “I didn’t like the way it looked earlier.”

  “It’s fine,” Cain said. The very last thing he needed was to have the great and wonderful Eli tending his nicked arm. He’d probably tell Cain to stop being such a whiner and suck it up. Eli would probably have been able to carry a hundred bags from the car with both arms amputated, because he was magic like that.

  “Yeah? You a doctor now, Cain?” Damon said, one eyebrow elevated and his arms crossed over his chest.

  Somehow, even from this distance, even from a seated position, the guy managed to be intimidating and hot, which annoyed Cain, too. The injustices were piling up all around him tonight.

  “I said it’s fine.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Damon said. He raised his voice and shifted forward, like he was trying to get to his feet again.

  “But that’s me, right? A stupid kid.” Cain nodded, swallowing hard. There were actual fucking tears behind his eyes, and this day needed to be over, now.

  Eli came down the stairs at exactly that moment, because of course he did. “Problem?” he demanded, looking back and f
orth from Cain to Eli.

  “Nope. No problem. I just need a place to crash,” Cain said evenly.

  Eli’s eyes narrowed and he flitted a look at Damon. “You can have my bed. Upstairs, second room down.”

  “No, I can’t do that. Where would you sleep?”

  Eli shrugged and flashed Cain a smile that showed even white teeth behind his beard. “Down here with Damon. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  And, there it was.

  Cain looked at Damon to see if he had any objection.

  Please object, please object.

  But Damon just nodded, and the strands of gray hair around his face burned silver in the glow of the fire. “Yeah, that’s probably good. Cain needs some sleep.”

  A pacifier, perhaps, and a warm blankie. Cain nodded once and grabbed his bag from the base of the stairs.

  “Eli, can you take a look at his arm first?” Damon asked, and Cain paused.

  “What’s wrong with his arm?” Eli’s skeptical gaze flitted over Cain.

  “I scratched it. It’s fine. I don’t need help. But… thank you.” Damn his ingrained manners.

  “Cain,” Damon warned, but this time Eli cut him off.

  “He says it’s a scratch, man. Leave the kid alone.”

  “Yeah, Big Daddy. Leave the kid alone,” Cain deadpanned, pleased to see Damon’s jaw tighten. “Thanks for the bed,” he told Eli, and he walked himself up the stairs.

  “Who the hell is that?” Cain heard Eli mutter, just before he closed the door to the bedroom. He hovered by the door to hear Damon’s answer.

  “It’s complicated,” Damon sighed.

  And Cain shut the door silently. Maybe he was better off not knowing.

  Chapter 11

  “Explain it to me like I’m five,” Eli told Damon, handing him a tumbler of whiskey before taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch.

  Damon ran both hands through his hair and tried to figure out how to begin this story about his sister and niece, and how the hell to explain Cain without implicating him in his father’s sins.

  “Huh. That fucked up? Okay, then. How about I ask questions and you answer,” Eli offered after a minute of silence.