“Yes, Ma’am,” he said, realizing he was standing at military ease with his hands behind his back and his face carefully blank. He cleared his throat and looked at the door where Skip had disappeared. “I was able to say goodbye. I guess that’s more than some people get.”
“You know, Colt always talked about having his ashes scattered in these mountains. I just never thought he’d want us to do it.” The third woman, Sam, the one his dad had dated for a while before he married Chad’s mother, reached over and took his hand. “We loved him very much, hon. Don’t let them fool you. I know you’re thinking this is a mistake, but Colt loved these idiots and we loved him. He dragged us through this forest the first time when most of us had never set foot out of a city and brought us back year after year to do it all again. We have thirty years of memories on these trails. And we’ll know where he wants to rest. I think he told us all, at one time or another, where his favorite spots were.”
The prickling sting behind his eyes surprised him. Chad let her hand enfold his. That was more than his mother had done. He didn’t hear from her the entire time he closed his father’s house and put his things into storage. The house had been a rental; he’d cleaned it out and turned over the keys. That was a week ago. The drive across the country in his father’s car had left him exhausted and… just exhausted. He didn’t feel anything else.
“Sit down, hon. You look tired.” The woman with the long, black braid said. She wore a tight black t-shirt with Harley Davidson logos and black riding chaps. He couldn’t remember which one she was. Not the petite blonde with the carefully styled hair and delicate manicure, or the blousy, earth mother with the spiked gray hair with neon purple highlights. Rose or Lucinda. Sam was the suburban soccer mom, probably a grandmother by now. He’d seen their Facebook profiles, but couldn’t match the truth to the blasts from the past.
A biker, a hippie, and a soccer mom walk into a bar and no one blinks. Chad blinked.
“If it’s all the same, Ma’am, I’ve been driving for a week. I’d like to find a room and get some sleep before I head back tomorrow.”
“Oh, no, hon. I mean, absolutely. We’ll get you a room and tuck you in, but don’t you want to be there for your dad? I know he’d want you there to scatter his remains,” Sam, the soccer mom said. The men were passing around the box his father’s ashes were stored in. He didn’t know one from the other. The only one he remembered had left. The instructions had never said he’d have to stay. But they never said he’d have to leave either. He’d never gone on the hike. He remembered staying in the cabins while his father had gone hiking. His mother had taken him to see the few sights in town and they’d moved on to the next stop to wait for the hikers to find their way down the mountain for a shower and a hot meal. He remembered lots of drinking.
He took the beer that was offered, and forced himself to relax. He was starving and tired and… “Yes’m. I’d like to know where my father rests. I’d appreciate that.”
“Good, it’s settled then.” One of the men waved over a waitress and they ordered food and more beers, and someone went to the jukebox and played a country song about resting high on a mountain.
“Skip has the only free bed. We took the last rooms when we checked in. And Skip and Colt always roomed together anyway, since they were the only singles.” He heard someone discussing him. A plate of bread came out and he grabbed a roll. He didn’t care where he slept. He had his bedroll in the car. He had what gear he was allowed to keep as a civilian. He could manage a week in the woods. He’d slept in worse places.
“Somebody will have to go find Skip.”
“He’ll be out on Lookout Point, staring up at the moon. Tell him… just get a key and let him do his thing,” the leader dude said, and one of the other men left as the food arrived.
Awhile later, the guy came back with a key. The cabin number was on the plastic tab. It was at the back of the resort if he remembered. Not that this old roadside place could be called a resort. It was still just a roadside tavern with a bunch of cabins sprawled out behind it. But it was quiet, and Chad needed quiet. He ate without tasting the food and excused himself. He would let them keep the ashes. He’d decide in the morning if he was going up the mountain. After all, he’d said his goodbyes a long time ago.
The sharp scent of pine assailed him as he stepped out into the cold night air. He wondered where he’d find Lookout Point before heading to his car. He found the cabin at the very back of the property; there were no lights on inside. He grabbed his gear and let himself into the room.
It hadn’t changed much since he was here thirteen years ago. The wood paneling made the room feel dark and the shag carpeting held the scent of cigarette smoke and urine. The beds looked new at least. He dropped his bag on one of the two beds and pulled out clean boxers and his Dopp kit and went into the bathroom to shower.
He wasn’t alone when he came out. He hadn’t heard anyone come in. He’d have dressed in the bath if he had. The man sat on the other bed; the knit cap he’d worn in the tavern lying on the bed beside him along with his shirt. He was bald now; the red curls Chad remembered, shaved away. His shoulders were broad and toned. His arms long and strong. Red hair swirled around his nipples and over his abdomen to disappear behind the waistband of his jeans.
Chad held the towel tight in one hand and his libido even tighter. “I didn’t hear you come it. There’s still hot water.”
Skip swallowed hard, his green eyes looked everywhere, but at Chad, to settle on the bathroom door just behind Chad’s shoulder. “Yeah, that sounds good. Thanks, Kid.”
He took a stack of clothing with him into the bathroom, turning back to Chad as if he was an afterthought. “I’m sorry about your dad. Colt was a decent man and a good friend. I’ll miss him very much.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Chad said, letting his gaze drop to the floor. “He spoke highly of you too.”
“Get some sleep, Kid. We’re leaving at the crack of dawn,” Skip said his voice sounding strained. He didn’t wait for Chad to reply. He closed the bathroom door and Chad let out the breath he’d been holding. His skin flushed hot and ran with chills. He shivered and sweated, but he fought it. He fought it hard. This need he had. And hadn’t expected to have here of all places. With a man old enough to be his father of all people.
He closed his eyes and forced his mind to go blank. When he stopped sweating and shivering, he dropped the towel and pulled on his boxers and a pair of sweats and a t-shirt and crawled into bed and went to sleep.
Chapter Two
Coffee made him feel almost human. The chill in the mountains settled into his bones, making him feel old. “Mornin’,” Blake said, joining him at the table in the tavern. They were the first to arrive. “Is it just me, or are we getting old?”
Skip laughed, holding his hot cup just under his nose to breathe in the caffeinated fumes. “Just thinking that same thing. It’s cold this morning. Not used to it. Makes the joints hurt.”
Blake poured himself a cup from the big enamel urn sitting in the middle of the table. “This is true. And the main reason we stopped coming up here in March, if I remember correctly.”
“Exactly why.” Skip sipped the tongue-scorching brew carefully. “How’s Margaret and the kids?”
“They’re good. Mags is off with her friends this week, and the kids are in school. I can’t believe they’re all in college now. The house is empty.”
“I know how that feels. Not for the same reason,” he said wondering when he would tell them about Brian. Just tell them already. It had been nearly ten years since he came to live with Skip. Yet, he kept his mouth closed. Even now.
“You’re the only one with the sense to stay single,” Blake sighed heavily and shifted his gaze to the door. Skip had the feeling he wasn’t the only one keeping secrets. “Shauna is pregnant.”
Skip swallowed the hot liquid too quickly scorching his throat. “Shauna? Little Shauna? She’s… just a baby.”
“Nineteen.
” Blake nodded, looking back at his coffee. “She doesn’t want to get married. The father is a good boy, but, they’re just kids. They have their entire lives ahead of them.”
He’d been nineteen when Brian was made. Jimmy and Norah were older, in their mid-twenties, that year they’d stayed at the house with him. The year he’d felt like he’d had a family again. “They’ll figure it out. You and Mags didn’t get married until after Blake Jr. came along and he was the third. Just let them make the decisions.”
Blake huffed a breath and squeezed the mug until his knuckles turned white. “Says the man with no children.”
Skip looked down at the table to study the names engraved the wood. Their names, worn dark from years of polish. This had been their table every year for thirty years. Their kids’ names were there too. Brian’s name was there beside Jimmy and Norah’s names. He had no idea who had carved it. The spring before Brian was born was the last time Jimmy and Norah had come. They had a fourth child now. Her name wasn’t on the table. Jimmy and Norah were just a memory by the time that one came along.
Chad’s name was there, right beside Colt’s name. Someone had scratched out his mother’s name. She was the only one they’d purged from their table of honor. He’d never known who’d done it. Maybe it was Colt when no one was looking. Most likely it was Sam. Sam had loved Colt. Sam, Colt, and Darren. Sometimes Skip wondered if they’d had the same relationship he’d had with Jimmy and Norah. He’d never asked. It wasn’t his business who hooked up with whom each spring. It wasn’t his business what went on in their tents or cabins.
“How’s Colt’s boy? God, I can’t believe he’s grown. The last time we saw him, he was knee-high to a grasshopper. I can’t believe he went into the service either. That is so, anti-Colten you know. He was our main ‘down with the man’, man.”
Skip tried not to think about the boy… he kept using boy, because the thoughts he was thinking weren’t thoughts he needed to be thinking. He needed to get his head fixed. That wasn’t a boy that came out of that bathroom wearing nothing but a towel so thin Skip didn’t need to use his imagination to know he was blessed. That boy was no boy. And he was an old pervert sitting there thinking the thoughts he’d been thinking since he went into the bathroom and stepped into the steam that still smelled of the… boy. “He doesn’t say much. He was asleep when I got in last night. I left him to commune with nature this morning. I guess he’s deciding if he’s going up with us.”
“I can’t believe Colt is gone.” Blake refilled his mug and pulled out his thermos and filled that too. “Selfish son of a bitch could have told someone.”
Skip didn’t say anything. He didn’t agree. He didn’t disagree. He wondered how he’d play it when it was his time to go. He didn’t want his remains scattered in these woods, that was for damned sure. He belonged on the coast. At that damned rambling eyesore that was going to wash into the Pacific one day. He wondered what he’d have Brian tell them. He’d wondered how long they’d go before they’d notice he was missing.
“You’re quiet this morning,” Blake said screwing the top onto his thermos. He was staring at Skip when Skip looked up. He squirmed under the sudden scrutiny. “You’ve always been a scary asshole, Skip, taking everything in and giving nothing in return. You just show up and walk the trails and when we’re done, you disappear for another year.”
“Isn’t showing up the whole point of life?” Skip filled his own thermos and stuffed a few of the breakfast sandwiches into his bag. It would be a couple of days before he had a hot meal again. Unless fishing was good. And it was never good because none of these assholes knew how to fish. He didn’t like to carry too much food. Just enough to keep him going and not attract bears until they made it down to the first stop, and a shower, and more hot coffee, and fresh sheets.
He could do unspeakable things to that Marine in fresh sheets.
He blinked away the mental image of the man spread out on his bed. Boy. That was not a man. That was a boy. A boy he’d known since he was in diapers. More or less. Ice blue eyes met his from across the room and Skip felt his face flush with heat. Blake followed his gaze to the door where the Marine stood dressed in fatigues; he looked like he was preparing to go out on a mission. All that was missing was the automatic weapon that should be in his hands.
“I cannot believe that sprang from Colten Mayes’ loins,” Blake said. Skip had to make sure it hadn’t been him. Nope. His tongue was dry and heavy and stuck to the roof of his mouth.
“He has Colt’s eyes and coloring. That’s where the resemblance ends,” Skip said pretending he wasn’t undressing that boy with his eyes. Colt’s kid. That was Colt’s kid. You remember Colt… the closest thing you ever had to a best friend. The one who was there to help you pick up the pieces Jimmy and Norah left behind, never knowing it was Jimmy and Norah, and that he’d loved them both. That Colt.
“Ever wonder what your offspring would look like?” Blake asked him out of the blue.
Skip forced his gaze away from the beefcake. He leaned back in the chair draping his arm over the back. “He’d be the spitting image of me when I was young. He’d keep his hair. If he’s lucky, he’ll keep his hair.” Skip ran his hand over his smooth head, feeling the stubble starting to come in around the back. He’d forgotten to shave last night. He’d be shaggy as hell by the time they got to the first checkpoint.
“You sound very confident in that fantasy. What if you have a daughter? What if you have four daughters? What if he turns out like that one, where a paternity test would be the only way to know the kid is yours?” Blake stared him down. His brown eyes were kind of beady now that Skip thought about it. Beady and… Skip tilted his head, trying to decide if maybe Blake knew something he shouldn’t know.
Blake kept staring. The kid kept walking. Skip kept his mouth shut.
“Fine… keep your damned secrets, Skipper Simpson.” Blake pushed his chair back and stretched on his way to his full height. The kid came to a stop beside him; Blake’s head barely made it past Chad’s shoulder. “Morning, Marine. Ready to ruck your ass up that mountain?”
“I guess so, Sir,” Chad said, his gaze drifting to Skip and then just as quickly down to the plate of uneaten food on the table.
“Grab all you want.” Skip pushed the plate to the kid. He didn’t get up from the table. Mostly because his dick was misbehaving in a most uncomfortable way. “And we aren’t rucking our asses up anything. We’re walking. Leisurely, I might add. Because we’re old and broken and arthritic, and it’s too damned cold to be hiking, and did I mention I’m old?”
He had no idea who he was trying to convince with that speech. Blake cast him a sideways glance. A smile tipped up the edges of the kid’s mouth; the first hint of any emotion on his face… and didn’t that do wonders for getting his dick under control. “Let me know if you’re done whining over there, Grandpa. Do we need to call you a whaaamulance now?”
“Did you just say whaaamublance with a straight face?” Skip laughed, wondering if he looked as ridiculous saying that word as Blake had.
“Fuckin-A, dude.” Blake grinned and clapped the Marine on his shoulder. “Or better yet, Gnarly, Cowabunga, dude is more his speed. Come on Moondoggie, let’s go see who all took their Geritol this morning and get this show on the road.”
“Gag me with a fork, Blake,” Skip called out as Blake left him sitting at the table nursing his coffee and a bad case of morning wood. Blake waved one finger back over his shoulder.
“Well, that is universal, I guess,” Chad said with a hint of amusement in his voice. “The rest of it, though, was that even English?”
“Depends. My parents said groovy and far out, man. I like to think we were that cool, back in the day.” Skip adjusted his dick in his cargos and felt safe enough to get up. “He likes to keep up with the Millennials. Me, not so much. You ready to go? Or are you coming?” Skip decided to change the subject. He needed to put some distance between the kid and himself, if this was what a couple o
f half-smiles and shy glances were going to do to him.
This kid was more than half his age. He had no business even looking. He wasn’t the type to go for the young ones. Hell, he wasn’t the type to go for anyone his own age either, or older. He’d gotten used to being a loner. It worked for him.
Chad wrapped a couple of sandwiches in a napkin and turned to follow Skip out of the tavern. The tab had been paid. Skip just waved and left them to clean up and stepped out into the cold, early morning air. His face went numb almost immediately. “Fuck, it’s freezing.”
“Feels good,” Chad said falling into step with him. He took a bite of the bagel loaded with eggs, bacon, and cheese and licked his lips. Skip had to look away. “Better than… the last place I was stationed. Not as cold. There are trees. I almost forgot what trees looked like.” He looked up at the pines towering above them. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen trees like this anywhere but here. I can’t remember right now.”
Skip followed his gaze up to the tree line. He’d stopped looking at the scenery years ago. He’d seen it. Or he’d never seen it. He wasn’t sure at that moment. “Nothing like this in SoCal; I’ll tell you that.”
“No, nothing like this back home. Dad’s place in Virginia had trees. But nothing like this.” Chad spoke between bites. He seemed to want to be talkative now.
“I went out to visit a few times. Lots of sprawling oaks. They were nice. I liked it.” He kept walking to the back of the property where they’d parked their cars for the week. Colt’s old Subaru was there, beside his Jeep. The sight of it kicked him in the gut. He had to stop and lean over to catch his breath.
“Hey, Skipper. This is just the parking lot, man. How are you going to make it up the mountain if you can’t make it out of the parking lot?” One of the guys shouted. Skip didn’t even have the strength to flip him off.
“It’s the car, isn’t it?” Chad said softly beside him. His voice had lost the little carefree sound it had a minute ago. “I’m sorry.”
Long Way (Adventures INK Book 2) Page 2
