“Hey,” he said to the camera. His voice was steady. “So I’m stepping back for a while. From jumping, from stunts, from all of it. I found some reasons to stay on the ground. That’s all I’m going to say about it.”
He ended the recording, watched it once, and uploaded it without editing.
For the caption, he wrote:
See you around.
The comments would be a disaster. People would come up with all kinds of explanations. Rehab, injury, scandal. Maybe even a secret pregnancy, because the internet had never let reality stop it before.
Dustin put the phone in his pocket and refused to think about it.
Instead, he turned around.
Greg stood a few rows back, giving him space. The morning light caught in his glasses, and his hair was more ruffled than usual. Dustin wanted to run his fingers through it. He wanted to grab all of Greg and hold on forever.
“You okay?” Greg asked.
“Yeah.”
Dustin crossed the distance between them and kissedhim.
“I think so.”
They stopped by Cathy’s place before the long drive back to Dustin’s apartment.
Cathy had packed enough food for a three-week expedition.
Dustin stared at the counter, which was covered in Tupperware containers, foil-wrapped packages, a gallon-sized Ziploc of cookies, and what appeared to be an entire lasagna.
“Mom.”
“It’s a long drive.”
“It’s five hours.”
“You need to eat.” She was already loading a cooler bag. “The lasagna keeps for three days if you refrigerate it. The chili is in the blue container. Don’t microwave it in the Tupperware. Put it in a pot.”
“We’re not going to eat all of this.”
Cathy looked at him as though he’d said something very stupid.
“Greg,” she called. “Come help carry these.”
Obedient as ever, Greg picked up the cooler bag. It slipped immediately because his bandaged palms couldn’t grip it properly. He caught it against his chest with both arms, staggered slightly, and carried it toward the door like a man transporting precious cargo.
“I’ve got the lasagna,” Dustin said, grabbing it before Greg could attempt a second trip and drop an entire casserole on the porch.
They loaded the truck.
It took three trips.
By the time they were finished, the passenger footwell was entirely Tupperware.
Back in the kitchen, Cathy leaned against the counter with her arms crossed. The same posture she’d had thefirst night, when Dustin and Greg had shown up at her door.
But her face was different now. The brace was gone from her shoulders. The tightness around her eyes had loosened into something that looked, if not relaxed, then at least unguarded.
“Call me when you get home,” she said.
