Chapter Thirty-Seven

Hank

Now

“So, what’s up?” Colton swiped the back of his hand across his forehead, giving the Hyundai one last brush with the polishing cloth. Taking a step back, Hank inspected the car, tilted his head, and nodded appreciatively at Colton’s efforts. The bump on the right front side was no longer noticeable, and the repair was followed by a paint job done to a T. It was their last job before closing the shop for the holidays, with Christmas only five days away. Finn had been gone for nine days, time dragging by at a snail’s pace. Not that Hank was counting, or anything like that.

“Not much,” Hank shrugged, rearranging some oil cans and some buckets of paint, trying to make the shelves look somewhat tidy. Finn would throw a fit if he saw how carelessly Hank and Colton had treated his shelves since he’d left, but just like everything else, they were amiss after Finn had gone back to Oregon. Just like Hank’s house, and his bed and his… yeah.

“Not much, huh? Any word from the kid?”

“No.” The kid . It felt strange hearing the small word that had come to mean so much coming from Colton’s lips.

“You sleepin’ okay, old man?” Colton furrowed his brow, taking Hank in with concern. Old man . Yeah, these days he sure felt them. All fifty-nine of them.

“Sure. Why?” He tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice, but Tilly had already put him through the third degree earlier today over lunch, so he was barely hanging on, eager to shut the door behind him to his cabin. To wallow in self-pity, which seemed to have become his favorite pastime these days. That and playing random conversations with Finn repeatedly in his head or burying his face in the pillow Finn had rested his head on at night—the fabric no longer smelling like him but still holding memories of their nights spent together.

“You don’t look so good,” Colton hummed, taking him in, real worry painted across his face. He was probably noticing the puffiness beneath Hank’s eyes from lack of sleep, or the unkept beard that made him look like a yeti. Or perhaps Colton was noticing he’d lost a little weight, food no longer tasting like it used to when he’d cooked for Finn, and they’d teased each other while sitting across from one another in Hank’s small kitchen.

“Whatcha mean?” Hank spoke over his shoulder on his way to get the broom, the guardedness in his voice not escaping him, so he gathered Colton must notice it too.

“You look kinda… I don’t know, man,” Colton exhaled, brushing a hand through his thick hair. “Rough,” he settled on.

“Look, if you’ve got somethin’ to say, then say it. I’m too old for playin’ games, son.”

“Fine,” Colton nodded, a challenging glimmer in his hazel eyes that were the mirror image of Hank’s own, only his had looked dull and red-rimmed this morning when he’d checked his reflection in the bathroom mirror. “You wanna know how you look? I’ll tell ya. You look heartbroken.” Hank stopped in his tracks on the way to get the broom in the corner next to the office door. That wasn’t exactly what he’d expected Colton to say, his nephew not known for talking about things like that.

“I don’t look heartbroken,” he countered. “I just didn’t sleep very well. My back’s acting up again.” As if to stress his lie—because his back was the least of his concerns and not the origin of the ache that inhabited his body 24/7—he rubbed at the bottom of his spine.

“Mmhmm…” Colton raised a brow in disbelief. Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. The same words he’d told Colton in his kitchen when he was at his lowest four years ago were painted across his nephew’s face.

“What?” he spat, reaching for the broom.

“Nothin’. Just…”

“What just ?” Hank sighed, pinching his brows, a headache building.

“It’s just… the way you’ve been carrying on today, busting your ass before the holidays… Don’t look like no back problems to me, ol’ man.”

“Well, it is.” Hank tried to keep his voice as neutral as possible, not wanting to start a fight with Colton. He just wanted him to round up this interrogation, or whatever it was, and get home.

“It’s okay to miss him, you know,” Colton hummed, a tenderness in his voice that only ever surfaced when he spoke to or about Henry, or occasionally his dead comrade, Will. Yeah, if anyone knew about loss, it was Colton.

“What’s your point?” Hank sighed, turning around, his gaze connecting with his nephew’s.

“You know it’s okay if you feel somethin’ for someone other than Eugene?” Eugene. He realized with a mix of sadness and acceptance that Eugene had been the last thing on his mind since Finn had left. So far removed from any conscious thought, Eugene had, however, haunted him in his dreams, allowing him little rest. During the day, his mind continued to torture him, all thoughts centering around those persistent, accusing questions: Why on earth hadn’t he told Finn how he felt before he left? And why the hell hadn’t he asked Finn to come back when he was ready? Come back to him .

“I don’t. Not like that. I just miss him as a friend, s’all.” Funny how the lies tumbled from his lips so effortlessly while his heart screamed at him. Liar. You’re a damn liar, Hank Dietrich.

“Right.” Colton shrugged; the unspoken words speaking volumes.

“What?”

“It’s just…” Colton shook his head like he’d just encountered the greatest conundrum known to man. “How in the ever-loving shit did ya ever think you could let that man into your bed, and he wouldn’t find a way to crawl into your heart, too?”

“I’m not gonna have this conversation with ya, son. It’s none of your goddamn business,” Hank spat.

“Right,” Colton nodded. “Just like it wasn’t any of your goddamn business when I was breakin’ four years ago. Is that really who we are to each other, Uncle?” Colton raised a brow at him. It wasn’t often that Colton called him that, the title a little strange since there were only sixteen years between the two of them. “Is that really the kind of men we are?” There was not a trace of accusation in Colton’s voice, but more of a deep-seated sadness.

“People do it all the time, don’t they?” Hank mumbled, his gaze focusing on a faded oil stain on the concrete floor. “Have casual sex.” A loud slam tore through the quiet, Colton’s fist connecting with the hood of the Hyundai.

“There was nothin’ casual about the two of you! For Christ’s sake, Hank, you were in a relationship! He was every bit as much a part of your life as Henry is of mine.” Colton’s bottom lip trembled, his shoulders tense. “Besides, you ain’t other people, Hank. You’re you ,” he added, his voice lower.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hank swallowed. He hadn’t expected this… intervention of some sort when he’d walked into the shop this morning. Just a quiet day in companionable silence before the dreaded holidays.

“You know what it means. You’re like Henry. You’re all heart. You’re a caretaker. You need someone to take care of.”

“Yeah, well, he went home, didn’t he?” Hank shrugged, kicking at some invisible dirt on the floor.

“Yeah, so? Why don’t you just go get ‘im then?”

“It’s not… it’s not that easy. He’s all the way up in Florence. With his folks.”

“Florence? As in Florence, Italy?” Colton tipped his chin, that defiant look on his face, his hazel eyes fiery.

“No, it’s a small town in Oregon just outside of…”

“Of what?” Silence stretched out between them, that last question lingering, poking at him, pulling at his heart. “Of what, Hank?” Colton repeated patiently. Tenderly, even.

“Of Eugene…” Hank whispered, swallowing around the lump building in his throat.

“What now?” Colton frowned.

“Eugene,” Hank repeated, closing his eyes.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Hank! Eugene? Really ?” He didn’t have to look at his nephew to know that Colton was stunned. Astonishment was seeping from his voice.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, blinking his eyes, meeting Colton’s baffled gaze. “Yeah.” He shrugged.

“Look, it seems to me the universe is tryin’ to tell ya somethin’, old man. And when it does, you better damn well listen, okay?”

“Since when did you become all spiritual and stuff?” Hank countered.

“This ain’t got nothin’ to do with spirituality, Hank. This is common sense.”

“Common sense, huh?”

“Yep. What are ya now? Fifty-nine, right?” Colton took a step closer.

“Yeah.”

“So, you’ve got maybe twenty-somethin’ years left in ya. Thirty if ya lucky, right?” Colton had come to stand right in front of him, his massive body towering over Hank, his chiseled jaw clenching and unclenching. Damn, the kid could look mean when, in reality, he was just as kindhearted as his sidekick, Louis.

Colton held both of his hands up between them, weighing each back and forth, the blue canvas coveralls stretching across his chest, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing his colorful tattoos. The imprint on his left hand, where the silver band usually was, reminding Hank that his nephew had managed to move on from his grief. Had managed to feel worthy of Henry’s love. When in the shop, the unpretentious ring hung from a simple silver chain around his broad neck, next to the dog tag that had belonged to his fallen army buddy, Will.

“So, on one side, you’ve got stubborn ol’ man spending the next twenty-somethin’ years alone in a secluded cabin in small-town Nebraska.” Colton weighed his right hand up and down between them. “Day in and day out, the same goddamn deal. Lunch at Til’s, cards with Vern, and dinner at my place on Saturdays.” Colton squinted at him, making sure that Hank was following. “And then, here,” Colton moved his left hand, cupping it, Hank’s imaginary future dwelling in his palm, “you’ve got a cute guy, twenty-somethin’ years your junior, who wants to be with ya for some unknown reason. Who wants to stay in God-forsaken Nebraska when he could be lying on a beach somewhere, a hot young doctor at his side, sippin’ a margarita or some shit like that. He’d rather be sharing a lukewarm no-brand beer with you on your run-down porch, freezin’ his ass off than tanning on the deck of some fancy ocean-view villa.”

Hank took in his nephew, his mouth slightly agape. Half the words spilling from Colton’s mouth, he’d never imagined him saying. There was a seriousness in his eyes that left Hank speechless. His gaze zeroed in on Colton’s hands, still lifted between them, two versions of his future presented before him. Was it really that easy? Could life really be that simple? A or B? Finn or no Finn?

“It ain’t rocket science,” Colton added, almost as if he’d become a mind reader now, too. Some Nebraskan oracle, perhaps. “It’s a simple question, Uncle. Do you want him or dontcha?”

“It’s not that simple,” Hank countered, but he felt himself quickly deflating, his defiance dissipating. “What if he’s changed his mind? What if he doesn’t want me? This?” He raised his arms, pointing around at the shop.

“Are ya daft? Do you live in an alternate reality from the rest of us?” Colton paused. “Or have ya just given up? Because if you have, then that’s fair. That’s your right. To give up.”

“I haven’t,” Hank whispered. “But… I’m too old for him?”

“Bullshit,” Colton blurted, surprising the both of them, a blush creeping slowly across his cheeks. “You ain’t hardly the first man in history to fall for someone younger than yourself. I’ve heard it can happen,” he smiled.

“A lot younger,” Hank spoke. “As in twenty-three years younger. What do ya think his folks are gonna think when their kid shows up with a guy their age?” He could just imagine it.

“So that’s your main concern?” Colton narrowed his eyes. “His age? And what his folks are gonna think?” Hank shrugged because when Colton put it like that, it did sound kind of ridiculous. That one would give up on a relationship, on a future with someone, because of a difference in age. After all, Finn hadn’t seemed to mind. It wasn’t like he’d had any complaints. On the contrary. They’d seemed to balance each other out pretty darn well. Sighing, Hank shook his head. “It’s too late now anyway,” he mumbled. “Not up to me.”

“Not up to you? Whatcha mean, not up to you? Last time I checked, he left his address with Henry.” Hank looked up hastily, Colton’s steady gaze meeting his challengingly. “Oh, I know about that. My man tells me everythin’,” he smirked. “Now, if that ain’t a hint, I don’t know what is. What are you waitin’ for? A bulletin from the goddamn Pope?”

“I don’t know…” He’d never heard his nephew speak like this. So adamant, so sure of himself and the way he saw the world. Hank felt the last remnants of resistance evaporating, the exhaustion of the past sleepless nights catching up with him. The truth was, he was miserable without Finn. He missed him. And why wouldn’t he? He’d done the one thing that he’d thought was never going to happen again. He’d fallen in love. He loved Finn. Of course he did. And Finn had told him he loved him too, in his letter, hadn’t he?

“Well, then,” Colton clapped his hands before reaching out, placing a solid hand on Hank’s left shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. He was such a strong man, his nephew. So much stronger than when he’d first come home. Compassion has made him strong. Love. Tears pressed behind his lids, his eyes stinging. “1,373,” Colton spoke matter-of-factly.

“What?” Hank looked up, meeting Colton’s gaze, a soft smile curling at the corner of his nephew’s mouth, that dimple winking at him.

“1,373 miles,” Colton repeated. “That’s the distance between Hayley’s Peak and Florence.” Jesus. A weak chuckle escaped Hank’s mouth as he shook his head in resignation. And growing gratitude.

“Is this the Nebraskan version of an intervention?” he rasped.

“You better believe it is.” Colton grinned at him. “Five days ‘til Christmas. Plenty of time to get your old ass to Oregon. The truck’s had a full service by a reliable local mechanic.” He winked cheekily. “And Henry’s booked a motel for ya in Idaho. Nothin’ fancy, but there’s a nice diner next to it, apparently. Not as nice as Til’s, but you get my drift.”

“Is that so?”

“It is. Bet that kid’s goin’ out of his right mind by now, wonderin’ what’s keepin’ ya. Why you ain’t in front of him on your knees right now—not in that way, you dirty old man!” Colton laughed, “—begging for him to take ya back.”

“You don’t know that,” Hank mumbled, doubt fighting hope inside his chest, hope slowly winning, a tentative smile blooming on his face, the first rebellious tears falling from his eyes.

“Pretty sure I do,” Colton hummed.

“You’re an idiot.” Hank blinked back the tears fruitlessly, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. “Both of ya. Idiots,” he muttered, unable—and at this point unwilling—to hide the fondness and the gratitude in his voice.

“I know,” Colton smiled stupidly. “Love’ll do that even to the best of us. But I’ll take being an idiot over being lonely any goddamn day of the week. Now, get goin’. Henry’s already texted ya Finn’s address and the motel info. No time like the present.” No time like the present.