* * * *
It was late and Brody had gone and Aaron had finished three beers on his own when he pushed the door to his parents’ bedroom open. He kept his eyes closed while he did it, and imagined it the way it had been before he and his mom had moved: the bed in the middle of the room, with the matching dressers on either side. The large armoire that had belonged to mom’s grandmother on the opposite wall, a mirror hanging beside it, and a bookshelf where Mom and Dad’s books had once jostled for space. Dad had loved classic sci-fi books, while Mom had loved historical novels. Aliens and heiresses had pushed up against one another on those shelves.
Aaron felt up the wall for the light switch—it wasn’t as high up as he was expecting—and flicked it on. Then he opened his eyes.
The room was empty now, except for the bed, the naked mattress, and the dressers. Aaron didn’t know why Mom hadn’t taken the bed and the dressers. Maybe she hadn’t been able to handle the thought of sleeping in the bed without Dad. The bed was old as hell and heavy though, so maybe it had been hard to take apart to get out of the doorway.
Aaron leaned in the doorway and looked around the room.
He’d thought it would hurt to step into this place again, but it was only a dull ache. The bedroom wasn’t some harsh, stark reminder of his parents, just another wave of loss, and Aaron had felt plenty of those before. The room was just empty. Just an empty space.
He shuffled further inside, and sat down on the edge of the mattress.
The pain in his stump eased, and Aaron rubbed his thigh and tried to remember how long he’d been wearing his prosthetic for today. He should take it off soon, and let his stump get some air, and give the rest of his body a break.
Brody had rolled him a couple of joints before he left, and left them on the counter in the kitchen, alongside a lighter. Better than Percocet, he’d promised, and Aaron was tempted to try. Uncle Will might not like it but weed was legal now so there wasn’t a hell of a lot he could do about it. Aaron just wasn’t sure he wanted to use anything that had come from the MacGregors, indirectly or not. He knew himself well enough to figure he’d change his mind though: fuck pride when there was the promise of pain relief on the line.
He stared out the dark window into the back yard for a moment and then leaned back and lay on the mattress.
What was it Quinn had said last night?
“I know you wouldn’t sleep in the downstairs bedroom. But get a frame for this mattress, Aaron. Even I can’t get up from here easily.”
Aaron hadn’t thought he’d sleep here too, but it was just an empty room.
An empty room with a decent mattress that he wouldn’t have to fight to get up from every morning. And—not like he was going to see Quinn again or speak to him—Aaron liked the idea of subverting Quinn’s expectations of him.
He’d sleep here if he wanted.
Not tonight though, because there were no sheets that fit the mattress. Tomorrow he might go buy some, if he still liked the idea. Okay, so maybe he was never going tolikethe idea, but the thought of not having to climb the stairs every night—and come back down them whenever he needed a piss—was pretty tempting.
Aaron lay on the bed, his good foot still on the floor, wondering if this counted as progress.
Probably, but progress towardswhat, he had no fucking idea.
He fell asleep watching an insect crawl across the ceiling.
Chapter 9
Nothing ever changes in Spruce Creek and that means it’s safe for everyone.That’s what Quinn’s grandpa had always said. Quinn didn’t remember much about him, but he remembered those words. The fact that the beginning of the sentence was actually “As long as there’s a MacGregor running the town” felt oddly ominous right now.
Last night, during dinner, Ian and Karen had talked about the good old days. They’d talked about family and how things had changed in their line of business. In general terms, of course, because Karen didn’t allow shop talk at the dinner table, but still.
Quinn’s grandpa had believed in the good old boy type of career criminals. He’d believed that some people just were born into that life and that was it for them. There were no options.
That was why Quinn, knowing he wasn’t straight and probably not even bi, really, had been relieved when his mom told him they were leaving town. He’d felt guilty as fuck because ofwhythey were leaving, of course, but also relieved.
That’s why his feelings for Aaron were throwing him off. He wanted Aaron so much it hurt. Still. Even after a decade.
Quinn frowned at his mug of coffee. The bell above the diner door dinged and someone walked in. The scent of weed drifted to him, and he wrinkled his nose. He didn’t like weed much, it was easy to not have that particular craving, luckily. In a state where the stuff was legal, the scent could hit him anywhere.
The guy turned a bit as he waited for his coffee at the counter. Quinn took in the scruffy look and the oddly familiar way he carried himself.
“Brody?” he blurted out.
The guy squinted at him, then the familiar, ever present smile spread on his face and he abandoned his post in favor of coming to pull Quinn out of his seat and into a hug.
“Quinn MacGregor! I heard you were in town!” The backslapping was epic and very stoner bro, and something about it almost made Quinn’s eyes well up with tears. “It’s so good to see you, man!”
