In the parking lot outside the station, Shay paused to stare at Morgan’s back. His expression roiled with an uncomfortable mixture of wonder and anger.
“I want to like him,” he said. “I want to, want to be his brother, but I think I might have burned that bridge. He doesn’t seem that impressed with me.”
Boyd patted his shoulder. “Neither was Sammy,” he joked. It felt strange in his mouth. They’d talked about him a lot after he left, but rarely laughed about him, even though he’d been funny. “I’ll talk to him, and you. Can I come by later? It’s important.”
Shay looked curious, but he nodded without pressing why.
“Call me first,” he said. “With the fire, I have no fixed abode right now, so I’m still getting things sorted out.”
Boyd nodded his agreement, gave Shay a quick, backslap-heavy hug, and left. Then he took a deep breath and crossed the lot to check on Morgan.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Morgan said as he gave Boyd a quick, three-quarter-profile glance over his shoulder. “None of it. I just—asshole moves, you know. If I push you away now, you can’t let me down later.”
It felt like hehadmeant it, but Boyd let that pass for now. He leaned back against a car hood and crossed his arms.
“You sure you want to go back to the B and B?” he asked. “You’ve been at my place since—”
“I’m sure,” Morgan said. He hunched his shoulders defensively. “I have some money stashed there. I might need it on the road.”
Boyd hesitated and then slowly nodded. “Okay,” he said. That makes sense.”
Disappointment flashed over Morgan’s face. It was gone too quickly to pin it down. Maybe he’d just miss the bed. Either way, he shook it off. “Yeah,” he said roughly as the Uber pulled up. “It does.”
IT WASnearly five when Boyd finally made it to Morgan’s door at the B and B. He rapped his knuckles against the painted wood and fidgeted from foot to foot while he waited. When Morgan opened the door and saw Boyd, he exhaled in unmistakable relief.
“I thought I’d—”
“Wait. Before you say anything,” Boyd interrupted, “I have something to show you. It’s downstairs.”
Morgan looked confused and slightly disappointed, but he followed Boyd downstairs and out through the time-capsule lobby, all silver trays and heavy furniture with carved feet. They went out through the narrow side door and into the crooked, K-shaped parking lot.
Shay’s car was parked right in front of the door, angled crosswise over two spaces.
The fire had left the old car more charred cherry than black cherry. The heat had taken the high gloss off the paint and left singed, blackened pocks that exposed the gunmetal undercoat. Smoke stained the windscreen in opaque streaks, worked too deep into the glass to clean off.
“Shay said this was the car you want,” Boyd said as he held out the keys. His voice was rough, and he had to clear it and try again. “It’s not worth what it was before the fire, but it runs. The engine is fine. It’ll get you where you need to go.”
Morgan hesitated for a second and then walked over to run his hand over the charred hood in consolation.
“You got me a car,” he said. “So I could get out of your life faster?”
Boyd tossed the keys over the hood to him. They rattled, hooked together on a rabbit’s foot key ring as Morgan easily grabbed them out of the air.
“You’ll need a car to get where you’re going,” Boyd said. “Wherever that is. At least I won’t have to worry you’ve hitchhiked and gotten yourself killed.”
“Again,” Morgan said.
Boyd grimaced as he absorbed. “Again,” he agreed. “It will take some getting used to, that you’re him.”
“You were the one who tried to convince me that I was last night,” he pointed out as he wiped soot off the window so he could look through at the heat-warped leather seats. “What changed your mind?”
Boyd leaned back against the wall and tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Nothing,” he said. “It’s just… a bigger idea now it’s here. I guess I hadn’t thought it through. Anyhow, the car’s yours. You can drive it out of town whenever you like. Or… you can stay.”
An odd expression flickered over Morgan’s face. He laughed tiredly. “I’m such an asshole that I’m glad you asked, even if I have to say no. Come on, Boyd, what have I got here?”
“Me,” Boyd said. If he thought that would be enough, he wouldn’t have brought the car. “Donna Calloway—”
“She hates you.”
