3
The sign that hung over the front gate of the sanctuary grounds had been repainted, but everything else about driving under it was so familiar that Mike barely noticed. As soon as he pulled his car up in the makeshift parking lot, a sense of calm washed over him like he hadn’t felt in years. Nostalgia, maybe. Good memories of a time when he’d been happy, when he’d had friends and life hadn’t seemed like one grey day after another.
Hopefully, he’d still be welcome here.
The gravel crunched under his feet as he stepped out of the car, heading for the front porch. The door was never locked, or at least it hadn’t been when he’d volunteered here. Mike had always appreciated that. Always liked the symbolism of it, the implied welcome.
This place was as much a sanctuary for people as it was for wildlife.
The old weatherboards had been given a new coat of paint, too. Someone was looking after the place, at least.
Maybe Oscar. He’d talked a lot about moving on one day, but everyone had known he was already a permanent fixture years ago. If he planned on having his wedding here, then it stood to reason that he really never had moved on.
Four years earlier, Mike would have thought that was sad. This was a nice place and all, but to end up here forever had seemed… like a dead end. Like Oscar could have done so muchmore, if he’d wanted to.
Now, he saw the value. Understood why someone would stay.
Of the two of them, Oscar had turned out to be the one who knew what the hell he was doing. Mike recognized Finn’s car in the lot, too, a little more dinged up than it had been the last time he saw it, but clearly still going.
That car was going to outlive him, he was pretty sure.
A screech—high pitched, and close by—drew Mike’s attention just before he got under the safety of the porch.
Suddenly, a ball of rage and feathers and talons was coming at him, flapping and screaming as it headed right for his face. Mike’s arms came up automatically, his instinct to cover himself forcing him to react, but he still felt the pain of talons slicing through the skin on his cheek, the bird attacking him clearly not about to be deterred by the fact that he didn’twantit to.
“Don’t hurt her,” a familiar voice called out, and the sound of running at least told Mike that help was on the way.
Ezra.
Mike hadn’t even considered that he might still be here. Of all of them, Ezra had been the freest spirit.
The flapping continued as Ezra calmed the bird, moving it away from Mike as carefully as he could. After a moment, it fell silent.
One unhappy squawk escaped it before Mike could bring himself to lower his arms, and by then Ezra had it cradled to his chest, whispering to it.
A falcon. A kestrel, actually, if Mike hadn’t completely forgotten all Ezra’s lessons about birds. This one looked young, too, or maybe just small.
It looked alotsmaller snuggling against Ezra’s chest than it had when it was flying at Mike’s face, anyway.
“Oh, shit,” Ezra said right as Mike discovered the trickle of blood streaming down his face. “I’m so sorry. She got away from me and I guess you scared her.”
“I scaredher,” Mike said, his heart still pounding in his chest, breath coming in sharp pants. “Sure, yeah, that’s what happened.”
“You’re not scared of a little northern kestrel,” Ezra said. “She’s actually a sweetheart, mostly. You’re a big dark shape.”
Mike looked down at his forest-green sweater and dark jeans. He couldn’t argue with that, exactly.
He probably should have known better. Ezra had warned him once about wearing dark colors when he was working with birds. Wild birds had a thing about large, dark-colored mammals. They couldn’t really tell the difference between a person and a bear until they were perched on one, despite incredible eyesight.
It’d been so long that he hadn’t even thought about it.
Ezra had barely changed. He was older now—they both were—and his shoulders were a little squarer, the way he held himself a little surer, but aside from that, it was like being thrown back in time.
The same deep blue eyes that always seemed like they could see right into Mike’s soul. The same just-rolled-out-of-bed hair. The same vibrant, warm,funman Mike had once spent so much time with they were practically joined at the hip.
Mike’s stomach hurt at the thought of how he’d just… walked away from here and stopped talking to him. They’d been best friends before that.
Rachel had wanted a clean break from her old life. And Mikeunderstoodthat, but he hadn’t realized until it was too late that he hadn’t wanted a clean break from his. Not the way she did, anyway.
