Dave didn’t answer right away. The wind was picking up, tugging at his hair, moaning around the cliff and reminding Christian how far they were from the rest of the world.
“I don’t know,” Dave said finally. “There’s no way of telling who did this, not for sure. But maybe it would help Jesse, knowing they’d been laid to rest. That someone had cared.”
Christian frowned. “But what if he thinks it was someone from the pack and it wasn’t? If he thinks his family might still—” He broke off.
They stoodthere a moment longer.
“We don’t need to make a decision right now,” Dave said. “Maybe Matt’ll know whether to tell him or not.”
Christian didn’t answer, but he turned to look at the cairn again. Then he reached down and adjusted one of the smaller stones that had slipped out of place, his hand lingering for a second longer than it needed to.
They bowed their heads for a moment, before moving on in silence.
* * *
By the time they reached the truck, Dave was leaning into him, damp with sweat and clearly hurting, though he wasn’t complaining.
“Whose truck is this?” he asked, once he’d chugged the water Christian passed him.
“Stefan’s,” Christian said, and for the first time thought what that meant. “I should probably get it back before he reports it stolen.”
“He doesn’t know you’ve got it?”
“Not exactly.” Well, he’d only planned to use it long enough to get to the motel and back. It wasn’t his fault he’d ended up spending the night out here. He guessed he should fill the tank as an apology before he returned it. “I’d better smooth that over before we leave.”
Dave didn’t move, but Christian felt the sudden tension in him.
“We’re leaving?” Dave asked quietly.
Christian looked at him. Really looked. The patience in his face, the quiet way he waited. The veryDavenessof him. There for Christian, like always.
“Yeah,” he said, voice low. “You said we’ve got the info we need. I figure it’s time to go home.”
Dave smiled, wide and joyful, and Christian felt it like warmth on his skin. He made himself a promise then and there to keep that look on Dave’s face. Whatever it took.
Chapter Twenty-seven
DAVE
Dave had insisted he could pack his own stuff, but Christian disagreed.
“Not with that ankle,” he said. “You need to rest it.”
And honestly? There was somethingniceabout watching Christian move around the room, gathering Dave’s things. Made him feel cared for. Cherished, even.
Right up until… “You’re folding my socks,” he said from the edge of the bed, eyeing Christian suspiciously.
“I am,” Christian agreed. “You’re welcome.”
“You never fold your own.”
“I’m trying a new thing. It’s called being helpful.” He glanced over. “Don’t make it weird.”
Dave snorted. “It’s already weird.”
They worked in companionable silence for a few minutes, Dave cramming the clothes Christian gave him into the bag on his lap.
“I messaged Tristan after booking the flight,” Christian said, tossing Dave’s teabags at him like a man dealing with hazardous waste. “Reminded him to use that balm on Diablo’s hooves.”
