“Then you come home.”
The answer is so simple that neither of us speaks for several seconds.
“You really think he’d be okay with that?”
I glance toward the darkening forest beyond the cave entrance. In my mind, I can still picture Steve exactly as he was. Stubborn. Protective. Fiercely devoted to the people he loved.
“Dan,” I say quietly, “I think if Steve were here right now, he’d tell you to stop worrying about what he would think and start figuring out what you want.”
A choked laugh escapes him. “Yeah. He probably would.”
“He would want you safe. He would want you happy. The rest is just details.”
The tension in his voice eases. “Thanks, Boone.”
“Anytime.”
“I should let you get back to whatever you were doing.”
“Probably wise.”
“Were you gardening again?”
“Goodbye, Dan.”
His laughter follows me all the way to the end of the call.
When the line disconnects, I stare at the screen for a moment before setting the phone aside. Steve would have been proud of him.
Then again, Steve always was.
The same squirrel chitters at me from a branch above, like it approves of my wonderful advice. I glare back, not needing anyone’s approval, and it flees. The thought crosses my mind again that it would be a good fit for one of the ninja squirrelbrigades I’ve heard a few cryptids on the network mentioning. Good. Then I look out into the forest again.
The sunlight is climbing. The wind is changing. And the path leading toward the research station is free of snow for the first time in months.
My heart does that annoying lurch again.
No. Not thinking about him.
Not wondering if he’ll show up with his too-bright smile and his terrible thermos coffee and his hair always sticking up like he’s been electrocuted.
Not imagining him walking into his little field station, humming off-key, completely unaware a literal legend is having a slow-motion existential crisis over him.
I shake it off, as I have work to do.
Network server updates.
Event prep.
Grooming.
Pacing.
Not-snooping.
Definitelynot-snooping.
But as I stand, brushing soil from my hands, my body moves automatically—down the path that just so happens to lead toward his old camp. Just to check for animal damage. Nothing more. It’s all purely practical.
