Joshua set the bag on the floor and collapsed into the seat next to his husband. “We’ll need to make a couple of trips to get it all—we’ve been here a while. But we can get the rest later.”
Nate arrived at the table with a plate piled high. Scrambled eggs, toast, and sliced fruit arranged in an almost absurdly symmetrical circle. “Eat everything,” he said firmly, tapping the plate, like a general issuing orders. “You need the protein.”
“God help me,” Colin muttered, reaching for a fork. “He’s gone full-on Florence Nightingale.”
Nate tilted his head and leaned on Colin’s shoulder. “It’s going to feel so damnedweirdnot having you here.”
“For us too,” Colin said, patting his hand. “Hard to be going, so it is.”
David set a glass of green juice beside the plate. “And it seems I’ve gone full Gwyneth Paltrow. You’re getting supplements, Campbell-Abrams.”
Colin looked between them and smiled. “I don’t deserve you.”
“No,” Nate said. “But Joshua does, and you came attached.”
Joshua turned and pressed a kiss to the top of Colin’s shoulder. “I happen to like the attachment.”
They ate quietly for a while, the occasional clink of cutlery and hum of espresso the only sounds. When the plates were mostly empty and the last dregs of coffee had gone cold, Colin sat back and looked around the room.
“I don’t have the words,” he said. “For how much you’ve both done for us. I’ll spend a lifetime trying to repay it.”
David waved him off. “Just don’t ever lose Colin Campbell-Abrams again. That’ll be enough for us.”
“Always my intention,” Colin murmured.
Joshua stood and reached for his travel bag. “Ready?”
Colin nodded slowly, then turned back toward the window, where a breeze nudged the curtain. He could see the curve of the driveway, the early-morning glint of sun off the Charlottesville skyline in the distance.
He stood, walked to Joshua, and took the bag from his hand.
“Let’s go home, so,” he said softly. He hadn’t meant to let it slip, that Irish turn of phrase. But the road lived inside him still—and Ireland still spoke through his bones. It clung to his voice like mist, like memory. Like something ancient that had always known the shape of him and had finally led him back to himself.
He looked at Joshua, their hands brushing as they turned toward the door.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, going home didn’t feel like an end.
It felt like a beginning.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
WHAT REMAINS, WHAT ENDURES
David’s car eased into the driveway, pulling up close behind Colin’s red Mazda.
“You brought the cars home!” Colin observed.
“David and I got them a couple of days ago.”
But Colin didn’t hear him. He was already out of the car and moving toward the lawn, eyes locked on the house, mouth slightly open. His steps were slow, almost dreamlike, as if sleepwalking his way home.
He hesitated for a moment at the edge of the lawn, then drew in a deep breath and stepped onto the grass. He paused there, his gaze locked on a small, round disk of wood that marked where Sarah had fallen. He hesitated again, then moved carefully, almost reverently, as if his footsteps might disturb something sacred. Then once again, he paused. And just for a breath, it was there again—her scream, drifting through his mind like smoke. Not a torment now, but a memory carved too deep to vanish. His breath caught, and he felt his heartbeat quicken. His shoulders trembled, and without thinking, he groped to his right. Reaching.
And Joshua was there—solid and steady. Their fingers laced together, and Colin felt his heartbeat slow—his breathing evenout. The panic began to recede like a tide easing out to sea, leaving behind a calm that settled deep within him.
“I asked Graham to help me think of a way to honor her,” Joshua said softly. “There’s going to be a small stone wishing well here. It’ll be fed from the house and make a quiet trickling sound. If they like, people can drop a coin and make a wish. We’ll plant flowers. There’ll be a plaque on the well—just her name.Sarah.”
He laid his palm against Colin’s cheek. “Sweetheart, I hope that’s OK. I didn’t ask your permission, so if it feels wrong?—”
