Chapter Thirteen

Hank

Now

“Now, let me see that hand of yours.” Hank nodded at Colton’s left hand, buried in the pocket of his gray hiking pants. A blush immediately crept across his nephew’s cheeks, a timid smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Go on then,” Hank laughed. Pulling his hand from the pocket, Colton held it out between them, the fingers of his right hand still tangled with Henry’s. Hank couldn’t help smiling at what Henry had chosen. A no-fuss, unpretentious silver band adorned Colton’s ring finger, looking frail, delicate even, against his massive, still-tanned hand. Winking at Henry, Hank smiled. “Yeah, you did good, son. You did good.”

Henry glowed at the praise, a wet sheen to his blue eyes, while he nibbled on his bottom lip.

“He said yes,” he near whispered, a look of disbelief painted across his face.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Hank teased. “I wouldn’t have guessed.” Shit, the kid was a goner. Still as starry-eyed and besotted as he’d been four years ago. Colton laughed, too, pulling Henry against his side, resting his chin on the top of his fiancé’s head of unruly blond hair. A comfortable silence spread between them in the small kitchen, accompanied by the low chewing sound coming from underneath the table. Louis had been euphoric five minutes earlier when he’d recognized the sound of Henry’s truck pulling up in front of Hank’s cabin. He’d nearly busted through the door between the hallway and the bedroom where Finn was luckily still sleeping through all the ruckus. They’d had to subdue the pup with a bone after he’d showered his daddies with licks and grunts as if they’d been gone on a trip around the world and not a measly two nights.

“So, how’s your patient doing?” Henry spoke, his face resting against Colton’s chest.

“Better. A lot better.” Hank brushed at his beard before nodding at the coffee machine. “You want a cup?”

“Sure,” Colton nodded, holding up two fingers. “So, who is he then?”

“Well, let’s just say that I found Vernon’s raccoon and Henry’s night stalker all in one.”

Colton’s demeanor shifted immediately, his face suddenly turning darker, more serious, his right arm pulling Henry even closer against his side.

“Is it some meth head?” he growled, his hazel eyes the mirror image of Hank’s own.

“Easy now, G.I. Joe. No need to go all combat mode. Everythin’s fine.” Hank patted his nephew’s shoulder before returning his attention to the coffee. “I doubt very much that the kid’s a meth head,” he spoke over his shoulder. “More like some poor soul who’s lost direction. A drifter if you will.” Turning on the coffee machine, Hank turned around, resting against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“What happened to him?” Henry asked, blue eyes spilling over with immediate empathy and concern. As soon as Hank had uttered the words poor and lost, Henry’s voice had softened and now his eyes were pooling with compassion.

“Not quite sure, to be honest.” Hank swiped at his ruffled beard. He really could use a trim. He was starting to look like a hermit or some creature of the wild. Every day, more and more strands of silvery gray seemed to take over the dark-brown beard. His eyebrows, too. It wasn’t that he disliked it or anything. It just acted as a reminder that he was getting older while Eugene was forever young in his mind. “Seems like he’s being truthful, from what I can tell. Don’t seem like no meth head to me.” he directed a pointed look at Colton.

“Okay…” Colton nodded, still not looking completely relaxed and convinced that it was okay to call off the troops. “What makes ya think he’s a drifter, then?” Hank waved his hand in front of him.

“It’s just a feelin’. I don’t know. Might be wrong. The kid just strikes me as the kinda fella who hasn’t had a home in a long time. Nearly attacked me with a lamp when he woke earlier.” Hank laughed, shaking his head at the memory.

“He what now?” Henry chuckled. “He came at you with a lamp?”

“Yeah, I guess waking up naked in a stranger’s bed can turn even the best of us into a wildcat. The kid probably thought I was some mountain man serial killer,” Hank smiled.

“Kid? Whatta you keep callin’ him kid for?” Colton asked. “How old is he, anyway?”

“Can’t say for sure, but maybe around young Henry’s age. Maybe a little older.” It was hard to tell. At first, because Finn’s face had been smeared with a mixture of sweat and grime. Now, it was more due to his shaggy dirty blond hair that framed his wary face and those brown eyes that were mostly guarded, just softening up a tad when he’d spoken of the model plane or patted Louis. He had freckles in the most curious places—a generous sprinkling adorning the smooth skin above his chapped lips like a constellation of stars. A handful thrown randomly across his forehead. And those pale scars, cutting through his golden eyebrow and his upper lip that was slightly fuller than his bottom. No doubt that the stranger was a good-looking kid, even disguised behind layers of dirt, sweat, and wariness. Hell, when he’d spoken about the model planes, Finn’s entire face had transformed in front of Hank, a stunning smile breaking through the guardedness. It reminded Hank of days at the river filled with sunshine and sizzling anticipation, until that magical moment when a colorful rainbow trout would finally—finally!—carve through the surface of the water, and Eugene’s spontaneous laughter would fill the air.

“I’m hardly a kid,” Henry mumbled, pulling at the zipper on Colton’s navy fleece, Hank welcoming the interruption of his wayward thoughts. It was unsettling how many little details he’d already memorized about Finn. Perhaps it was because he didn’t often meet new folks. Yeah, perhaps that was it.

A deep rumble built in Colton’s chest.

“Hate to break it to ya, sweetheart, but as long as you ain’t sportin’ any gray, you’re a kid.” He tugged fondly at his fiancé’s hair while Henry pouted in return.

“Will ya cut it out, the two of ya?” Hank mock scolded. “And sit down, will ya? You’re making me nervous standin’ around like that, like you’re halfway out the door.” He nodded at the small kitchen table, and the two younger men hurried to sit down.

“You hardly have any gray yourself,” Henry mumbled.

“What was that?” Colton raised a dark-brown brow warningly as he accepted the steaming hot cup of coffee from Hank.

“I said, you hardly have any gray yourself. Babe ,” he added demonstratively, before taking a sip of his own cup. A small devilish smile pulled at the corner of Colton’s mouth, and Henry shifted in his seat. For goodness’ sake.

“Boys, will ya—”

“Hi…” a cautious voice interrupted Hank mid-sentence, and they all turned towards the doorway simultaneously. A sleep-rumbled Finn stood halfway in the kitchen, hair sticking in all directions, marks from the pillow creating an intricate pattern across his left cheek. The beginning of a wry smile pulled at his mouth while he rubbed at his right eye behind his glasses. Hank watched him take in the scene at the table, a frown appearing between his golden brows, making the silvery scar more prominent. Then, in a split second, the entire kitchen table nearly lifted from the floor as Louis rose from his snack-induced slumber and scrambled toward the new arrival. Chuckling softly, Finn crouched on the floor in front of the pup, his slender ankles and feet peeking out from underneath Hank’s green checkered pajama pants. Something familiar yet long-lost built inside of Hank at the image of Finn wearing his clothes, and he reached to steady himself against the kitchen counter.

‘Now, how am I ever gonna find anythin’ decent to wear when you keep stealin’ my clothes?’

‘I love wearing your clothes. They’re so soft and worn and they smell of you.’

‘But they’re my clothes. How’d you feel if I stole your clothes all the time?’

‘Right, fat chance trying to fit into my stuff. It’d be like Gulliver trying to wear the Lilliput’s clothes.’

‘Jesus…’

‘Besides, I prefer you naked and indecent. Wow, that sounds like one of those expensive perfumes, dontcha think, babe? Naked and Indecent by Hank Dietrich.’

“Hey, buddy.” Finn’s melodic voice wafted towards him, blending in with Eugene’s breathy one, until it faded back into the past. “You miss me? I think you did,” Finn cooed, brushing the enthusiastic pup behind his ears. He looked different now that he was wearing the black-framed glasses. They suited him, making him look less like a wild creature and more like a person. In the unforgiving light coming through the kitchen window, Hank realized Finn was older than he’d initially pegged him. More likely mid-thirties instead of late twenties. “Such a good boy, aren’t you? Yeah, you are.”

Suddenly, Finn looked up, self-conscious that he wasn’t alone. Giving the pup one final pat, he rose from the floor, his slender posture guarded, his broad chest stretching the fabric of Hank’s T-shirt. He looked good in green. Real good. There was an odd discrepancy between his lean limbs, muscular chest, and almost broad, corded neck. The striking contrast between his boyish wavy hair and then his dark eyes told a tale of growing up too fast or seeing more than he’d bargained for. Or, perhaps, Hank was just making shit up, giving Finn a backstory since he hadn’t offered him one yet.

Henry immediately rose from the table, an eager, forthcoming expression on his face. Holding out his hand in front of Finn, a broad smile spread from cheek to cheek.

“Hi there. You must be Finn. Nice to meet ya. I’m Henry.” Nodding over his shoulder, he rambled on, “And that grump over there who’s tryin’ real hard right now to look mean is my boyfriend—no, scratch that—my fiancé, Colton.” Leaning closer against a dumbfounded Finn, he whispered conspiratorially, “He’s really a softy once you get to know him. He just has this broody thing going on because he knows it makes me putty in his hands, right, baby?” He winked at Colton.

A stunned Finn nodded slowly, his stupefied eyes searching Hank’s like he was some anchor. A low growl came from Colton’s end of the table, Hank recognizing the words, just wait, and later, Henry sticking out his tongue, murmuring fragments that sounded a lot like don’t threaten me with a good time. For Pete’s sake.

“C’mon. Sit down,” Henry continued, unfazed, throwing Colton a dazzling smile. “Hank just made coffee.” He pulled out a chair for the newcomer and went to sit down next to Colton, who immediately placed a possessive arm around his shoulders.

Appearing still somewhat shell-shocked, Finn sat down across from them, and Hank placed a cup of steaming hot coffee in front of him before taking a seat next to him. Leaning in against Finn, he murmured, “Careful. Don’t burn yourself.”

“Thanks,” Finn spoke, his slim fingers playing with the sky-blue linen tablecloth. There was a nervous aura around him and before giving it any further consideration, Hank reached out his right hand, placing it on top of Finn’s, stilling his movements. Finn sucked in a sharp breath, his gaze momentarily searching Hank’s.

“It’s okay.” Hank patted his hand before pulling away. “They’re both harmless.” He winked while nodding at the pair across from them. “Obnoxious but harmless.”

“Jesus…” Colton groaned while Henry started firing questions at the stranger.

“So, Finn, how’s your hand doing? You gave Hank here quite the scare.”

“Jesus , ” Hank groaned now, sweeping at the deep frown between his brows that looked more like a scar by now. Eugene used to rub at it, smiling teasingly. ‘ When you look at me like that, I never know if you wanna kiss me or eat me.’

‘ Maybe I wanna do both…’

“May I?” Henry reached across the table and grabbed Finn’s hand carefully as he started unwrapping the gauze. The final layer was stuck to the wound and when Henry tugged it away, a small wince spilled from Finn’s chapped lips. Hank reached out and squeezed his shoulder, mumbling a soothing, “You’re good, you’re good,” and the curious look that Colton sent him from his end of the table didn’t elude him.

“It looks nice and clean,” Henry spoke, all professional now. “Only a little swelling left. A week more of keeping it clean and taking antibiotics, and you should be good to go.” He smiled as he started re-wrapping Finn’s hand.

Good to go. The three inconspicuous words lingered in the space between them, Finn nodding solemnly, Hank recognizing a sting in his chest. One more week and he would be alone again. Then Finn would move on, Hayley’s Peak just another stop on his way to God knows where. At the age of fifty-nine, Hank was way past bullshitting himself. He left that to other people. Despite him only knowing Finn for a little more than 36 hours, and Finn being asleep most of the time or trying to attack him when he was awake, there was something unsettling about Henry’s innocent words. Good to go.

He recognized the feeling building inside him for what it was. He didn’t want Finn to go. Not yet, anyway. He liked the guy. He enjoyed the company. Winter was just around the corner, and they were long and lonely in these parts of the country. He shivered at the recollection of that first winter after Eugene had passed, and Colton hadn’t come to stay with him yet. There’d been days—and nights—when he’d contemplated more than once to put an end to it all, but in the end, it had felt like the ultimate betrayal because he’d promised Eugene to go on.

“Thanks,” Finn whispered, his gaze resting on his hand. “One week,” he turned towards Hank, before continuing, his voice indecipherable. “One more week and I’ll be out of your hair, Hank.” There was an unspoken question in his blurry brown eyes and even though Hank couldn’t quite get a read on it, the answer seemed clear as day. He didn’t want Finn out of his hair. Or out of his house, for that matter. And before he could second-guess himself, the words left his mouth,

“Or you could stay? At least, over the winter. You could stay.”