Now
“Now, let me see that hand of yours.” Hank nodded at Colton’s left hand, buried in the pocket of his gray hiking pants. A blush immediately crept across his nephew’s cheeks, a timid smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Go on then,” Hank laughed. Pulling his hand from the pocket, Colton held it out between them, the fingers of his right hand still tangled with Henry’s. Hank couldn’t help smiling at what Henry had chosen. A no-fuss, unpretentious silver band adorned Colton’s ring finger, looking frail, delicate even, against his massive, still-tanned hand. Winking at Henry, Hank smiled. “Yeah, you did good, son. You did good.”
Henry glowed at the praise, a wet sheen to his blue eyes, while he nibbled on his bottom lip.
“He said yes,” he near whispered, a look of disbelief painted across his face.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Hank teased. “I wouldn’t have guessed.” Shit, the kid was a goner. Still as starry-eyed and besotted as he’d been four years ago. Colton laughed, too, pulling Henry against his side, resting his chin on the top of his fiancé’s head of unruly blond hair. A comfortable silence spread between them in the small kitchen, accompanied by the low chewing sound coming from underneath the table. Louis had been euphoric five minutes earlier when he’d recognized the sound of Henry’s truck pulling up in front of Hank’s cabin. He’d nearly busted through the door between the hallway and the bedroom where Finn was luckily still sleeping through all the ruckus. They’d had to subdue the pup with a bone after he’d showered his daddies with licks and grunts as if they’d been gone on a trip around the world and not a measly two nights.
“So, how’s your patient doing?” Henry spoke, his face resting against Colton’s chest.
“Better. A lot better.” Hank brushed at his beard before nodding at the coffee machine. “You want a cup?”
“Sure,” Colton nodded, holding up two fingers. “So, who is he then?”
“Well, let’s just say that I found Vernon’s raccoon and Henry’s night stalker all in one.”
Colton’s demeanor shifted immediately, his face suddenly turning darker, more serious, his right arm pulling Henry even closer against his side.
“Is it some meth head?” he growled, his hazel eyes the mirror image of Hank’s own.
“Easy now, G.I. Joe. No need to go all combat mode. Everythin’s fine.” Hank patted his nephew’s shoulder beforereturning his attention to the coffee. “I doubt very much that the kid’s a meth head,” he spoke over his shoulder. “More like some poor soul who’s lost direction. A drifter if you will.” Turning on the coffee machine, Hank turned around, resting against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed in front of his chest.
“What happened to him?” Henry asked, blue eyes spilling over with immediate empathy and concern. As soon as Hank had uttered the wordspoorandlost,Henry’s voice had softened and now his eyes were pooling with compassion.
“Not quite sure, to be honest.” Hank swiped at his ruffled beard. He really could use a trim. He was starting to look like a hermit or some creature of the wild. Every day, more and more strands of silvery gray seemed to take over the dark-brown beard. His eyebrows, too. It wasn’t that he disliked it or anything. It just acted as a reminder that he was getting older while Eugene was forever young in his mind. “Seems like he’s being truthful, from what I can tell. Don’t seem like no meth head to me.” he directed a pointed look at Colton.
“Okay…” Colton nodded, still not looking completely relaxed and convinced that it was okay to call off the troops. “What makes ya think he’s a drifter, then?” Hank waved his hand in front of him.
“It’s just a feelin’. I don’t know. Might be wrong. The kid just strikes me as the kinda fella who hasn’t had a home in a long time. Nearly attacked me with a lamp when he woke earlier.” Hank laughed, shaking his head at the memory.
“He what now?” Henry chuckled. “He came at you with a lamp?”
“Yeah, I guess waking up naked in a stranger’s bed can turn even the best of us into a wildcat. The kid probably thought I was some mountain man serial killer,” Hank smiled.
“Kid? Whatta you keep callin’ him kid for?” Colton asked. “How old is he, anyway?”
“Can’t say for sure, but maybe around young Henry’s age. Maybe a little older.” It was hard to tell. At first, because Finn’s face had been smeared with a mixture of sweat and grime. Now, it was more due to his shaggy dirty blond hair that framed his wary face and those brown eyes that were mostly guarded, just softening up a tad when he’d spoken of the model plane or patted Louis. He had freckles in the most curious places—a generous sprinkling adorning the smooth skin above his chapped lips like a constellation of stars. A handful thrown randomly across his forehead. And those pale scars, cutting through his golden eyebrow and his upper lip that was slightly fuller than his bottom. No doubt that the stranger was a good-looking kid, even disguised behind layers of dirt, sweat, and wariness. Hell, when he’d spoken about the model planes, Finn’s entire face had transformed in front of Hank, a stunning smile breaking through the guardedness. It reminded Hank of days at the river filled with sunshine and sizzling anticipation, until that magical moment when a colorful rainbow trout would finally—finally!—carve through the surface of the water, and Eugene’s spontaneous laughter would fill the air.
“I’m hardly a kid,” Henry mumbled, pulling at the zipper on Colton’s navy fleece, Hank welcoming the interruption of his wayward thoughts. It was unsettling how many little details he’d already memorized about Finn. Perhaps it was because he didn’t often meet new folks. Yeah, perhaps that was it.
A deep rumble built in Colton’s chest.
“Hate to break it to ya, sweetheart, but as long as you ain’t sportin’ any gray, you’re a kid.” He tugged fondly at his fiancé’s hair while Henry pouted in return.
“Will ya cut it out, the two of ya?” Hank mock scolded. “And sit down, will ya? You’re making me nervous standin’ around like that, like you’re halfway out the door.” He nodded at the small kitchen table, and the two younger men hurried to sit down.
“You hardly have any gray yourself,” Henry mumbled.
“What was that?” Colton raised a dark-brown brow warningly as he accepted the steaming hot cup of coffee from Hank.
“I said, you hardly have any gray yourself.Babe,” he added demonstratively, before taking a sip of his own cup. A small devilish smile pulled at the corner of Colton’s mouth, and Henry shifted in his seat.For goodness’ sake.
“Boys, will ya—”
“Hi…” a cautious voice interrupted Hank mid-sentence, and they all turned towards the doorway simultaneously. A sleep-rumbled Finn stood halfway in the kitchen, hair sticking in all directions, marks from the pillow creating an intricate pattern across his left cheek. The beginning of a wry smile pulled at his mouth while he rubbed at his right eye behind his glasses. Hank watched him take in the scene at the table, a frown appearing between his golden brows, making the silvery scar more prominent. Then, in a split second, the entire kitchen table nearly lifted from the floor as Louis rose from his snack-induced slumber and scrambled toward the new arrival. Chuckling softly, Finn crouched on the floor in front of the pup, his slender ankles and feet peeking out from underneath Hank’s green checkered pajama pants. Something familiar yet long-lost built inside of Hank at the image of Finn wearing his clothes, and he reached to steady himself against the kitchen counter.
‘Now, how am I ever gonna find anythin’ decent to wear when you keep stealin’ my clothes?’
