He’d told Johanna he had this, but as he crossed the driveway to Boone’s still idling truck, Walker wasn’t so sure. The printouts felt heavier than they should in his hand, weighed down with information that could either save this man or push him further away.
Boone sat motionless behind the wheel with a cigarette burning between his fingers, staring straight ahead, though the truck had long since fogged up with his breath. The engine still rumbled, keeping him warm while he waited for... what? The courage to leave? The permission to stay?
Walker didn’t hesitate. He went straight to the passenger side and opened the door.
Boone started, one hand jerking toward the gearshift. “What the hell are you doing?”
He didn’t answer. He climbed in, brushing snow from his hat as he pulled the door shut behind him. The truck’s interior was stifling after the bitter cold outside. He settled into the seat, acutely aware of the pulse of Boone’s anger and anxiety.
Neither of them spoke. Outside, the snow continued tofall. The windshield wipers kept up their steady beat: swish, thump, swish, thump.
Walker didn’t rush to fill the silence. He’d learned long ago from Johanna that silence was a tool, same as any other. Sometimes you had to let it stretch until it revealed something. He simply sat there, watching the snow build up on the windshield before the wipers brushed it away again.
Finally, Boone broke. “I’m not staying.”
“Wish you would.” He kept his tone neutral and nodded toward the windshield. “With this snow, the roads will be shit tonight, and you told Johanna you’d stay. But if you truly feel you have to leave, I ain’t stopping you, son.”
“Then what are you doing in my truck?”
“Sitting.”
A harsh exhale of laughter burst from Boone. “You’re a real piece of work, old man, you know that?”
Walker smirked. “I’ll let that ‘old man’ remark slide for now. You wanna tell me where you’re headed?”
“Does it matter?” His hands flexed on the steering wheel. His knuckles were no longer bandaged, but the scabs had cracked open and were freshly red.
What—or who—had he hit this time? Hopefully, a wall or a tree, and not something that hit back.
“Yeah. Does to me.”
A muscle ticked at the hinge of his jaw, and he took another drag from the cigarette, then crushed it out in the ashtray with more force than necessary.
“Mom’s. For now. After that...” He trailed off, staring through the windshield at nothing. “Guys like me always end up back inside eventually. Might as well get it over with.”
“That’s a cop-out,” Walker said flatly.
Boone’s gaze snapped to him. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“A cop-out? You have no idea what it’s like being the townpariah, having everyone look at you like you’re some kind of monster.”
Walker just stared at him and waited, one eyebrow raised.
Understanding dawned in his eyes, followed by something like shame. “Right. Forgot who I was talking to.”
“Solace’s original pariah.” He spread his hands. “Difference is, I earned my reputation.”
“And I haven’t?”
Walker exhaled. “You tried to protect someone, Boone. You went too far, but your heart was in the right place. That’s more than I can say.”
A beat of silence, broken only by the windshield wipers.
“What’d you do?” Boone asked finally. “You’ve never said.”
“You never asked.”
