Move Along

GUTHRIE'S LAST glimpse of Tad before he and April left Colton was hopeful. Their boy was awake, eating solids fitfully from a tray while lying to his side and trying to be brave about them leaving.

The fifth time April said, in a falsely chipper voice, "But Guthrie will be back in two days!" Guthrie broke a little.

"Listen," he muttered to Tad. "You're the one who wanted your own damned pants. Besides, Chris told me we could do a car thing and get your SUV from the precinct parking lot and to your apartment. Stop pouting like we're leaving on a cruise or something."

Tad slid him a little side-eye… and a smile. "If you were leaving on a cruise, I'd expect you to come back fat and happy. Which is my way of reminding you to eat."

Guthrie rolled his eyes. "Musicians are always hungry. Ain't you learned that yet?"

"Your band looked well fed," Tad replied tartly, and Guthrie grimaced.

"Well, my band has the rest of June and July to be my band," he said, hating to confess this. "We're doing gigs at Scorpio like we promised, but, you know, them kids—they move on. So I'm gonna be a little hungrier after that." He wanted to tell Tad about Seth's offer—in fact, it still blew his mind that he hadn't —but he remembered the kind of money that had come with his last go-round with Seth, and that had been before Italy and New York and all the prestige that went with Seth Arnold's name now. It seemed a little pie-in-the-sky for someone who'd just lost his band to weekly matinees of Wicked and Hamilton .

"Aw," Tad murmured. "I'm sorry to hear that. No more weekends at the Washoe?"

"If they're desperate, they let me hang around and do solo stuff," Guthrie replied, and that had always been surprisingly lucrative, even when all he did was play for a meal and tips.

"I'd drive to see you play." He gave Guthrie a luminous smile then, and Guthrie didn't know what to do with that. He was starting to see the downside to roaring into town with April two nights before: Suddenly everybody knew the lengths Guthrie would go to see this man, and Guthrie was afraid he couldn't live up to his own goddamned hype.

"Not worth the ticket," he said with a wink. "Don't worry, son, I'll play anything you want in person."

Tad bit his lip then. "I love to hear you play," he said, but there was something complicated on his face, like he wanted to say more.

Guthrie bent down and kissed his cheek. "Well, I'll bring the guitar when I visit. Back tomorrow, okay? I'll let April say her goodbyes."

April returned from the doorway she'd lingered in while they were speaking and said, "I saw Olivia down the hall, Guthrie, if you wanted to tell her goodbye."

He was looking forward to it—he did like the girl.

And this would get him gone before he confessed that he hadn't only lost the band—his boss had fired him by text because he hadn't felt like waiting until Monday to get 'er done. Martin had texted him immediately after, on the down-low, saying he'd kept Guthrie's health and bennies and his auto service for at least six months and that the boss was a total douchebag. Guthrie was grateful for the first and aware of the second, and, well, plumb out of a job. He still had some of his Fiddler and the Crabs money saved, but not much. He was counting on those gigs from Scorpio and the sublet apartment to get him through.

And none of this was something he wanted to burden Tad with. Because his boy—that's right, Guthrie's boy—had problems enough.

So he had one foot toward the door when Tad grabbed his hand.

"More," he said, and Guthrie turned to blink at him.

"More what?" he asked, honestly befuddled.

"Not the cheek, Guthrie. The lips. I brushed my teeth for this special this morning."

Guthrie smiled at him, charmed. "Alrighty, then," he said, and his face was hot and his neck was sweaty, but he didn't care.

He bent down and brushed his lips against Tad's, surprised when Tad captured the back of his head and dragged him down harder. God, the little shit was stuck in a hospital bed, and he was still dominating the kiss, and Guthrie…. Guthrie opened his mouth and let that sweetness guide him.

Tad finally released him with a satisfied grunt, and Guthrie had to remember where he was and what he was doing for a minute before he straightened.

"See you tomorrow," Tad said, pretty damned smug.

"Yeah, all right," Guthrie muttered. "You got my number. I'll be here."

Tad's grin spread ear to ear. "When you stop by my house," he said, "remember I like the soft knit pants and the socker slides under the bed. Feel free to look around." The thought of being given carte blanche to explore Tad's apartment made Guthrie practically stumble out the door, but he was pretty sure he was smiling too.

FIVE HOURS later, after he and April finally left Colton and made their way to Bodega Bay, Guthrie was no longer smiling.

April had gotten more and more withdrawn as they'd gotten closer to the ocean, although Guthrie had seen her eyes restlessly exploring the shore. She seemed to find peace in the waves and the bay itself, but when they ventured into town and then into the rusty older suburb back a ways from the ocean, he realized that, for all her quietness, her fragility, he'd been seeing April Hawkins at her most empowered.

There was a force here, sucking the quiet sarcasm, the sweet devotion to dogs, the determination to do that yarn thing, all of it, right out of the young woman, and Guthrie died a little on the inside. He remembered that fantasy of hope she and Tad had spun for each other, of her living with him, with pets, and Guthrie coming to see them, and he realized, scrutinizing the dilapidated building, with no lawn to speak of and crooked stairs, joists, and door frames, that she needed for that fantasy to be real.

"Darlin'," he said gently, "don't worry. I know it'll be a bit before he can drive, but y'all got me now. I'm your friend. I'll make sure you don't have to stay here without a friendly wave, okay?"

She gave him an uncertain smile. "Guthrie, you don't have to do that," she rasped.

He brushed the knuckles of the hand clutched tightly over her yarn bag. "Honey, I really do. You're a friend now."

She nodded, and they both swung out of the pickup truck and headed for the stairs to the office where Callie, the counselor who ran the place, crouched like a spider.

Guthrie did not like her at all . One look at her—in her suit and her pulled-back hair and her perfect nails and her business black pumps—told him this woman had never had trouble in her life. What on earth was this woman doing counseling addicts when everything about her screamed bureaucrat? He'd seen professionals , right enough—he had loved some of the professors at state college who'd helped him get his degree. But this sort of professional, the kind who wore starched shirts in a jeans sort of town, who stuck to the letter of the law instead of the heart of the human, these were the people who absolutely loved it when a little bit of bureaucracy fucked someone over.

"May I help you?" she asked as Guthrie pushed in through the squeaky, crooked screen door.

Perversely, he wanted to dick with her a little. "I know folks who could fix that for you for the price of a cup of coffee. You want me to hook you up?"

Her eyes went dead. "Our maintenance budget is thin at best. I'm afraid I don't have the cost of a cup of coffee to spare." She raked him up and down with those lifeless eyes. "Are you looking for a cup of coffee?"

"No, ma'am," he said, giving her a thin smile. "I am, in fact, here for April Hawkins. I want to make sure she doesn't get into too much trouble for going to see her brother. He's one of our boys in blue, you know, and he was injured in the line of duty. It sure did ease his heart that she made it to Colton to see him."

"Well, actually, sir—are you her brother?"

"No, ma'am, I am a friend of the family. You and I spoke on the phone yesterday, and I told you April would be arriving this afternoon."

"And I'm afraid that's too late," she said. "Your friend left the home without permission, and she didn't return when requested. She's been exited from the program, and as you know, programs like this are hard to come by. Her room and her spot have been filled. I've got our maintenance man, Griff, clearing out her room now." She gave a catlike smile. "He makes more than a cup of coffee."

Guthrie's breath caught at the absolute casualness of her cruelty, and then his vision went red and he didn't remember much after that until he and April were throwing her hastily boxed things into the back of his pickup and they were well on the road to San Rafael.

"DEAR GOD," April said for about the fiftieth time.

"I'm sorry about that," Guthrie said blankly, his mind swimming.

"I've never heard anybody talk to her that way," she said, and he grimaced.

"I was raised better than that," he apologized humbly, although it wasn't strictly true. As heaven was his witness, he didn't remember a word that came out of his mouth after Callie Leonard talked about a cup of coffee, but April had been right outside the door, and apparently she remembered all the words.

"You said you'd use her ass as a spear sharpener to hone the weapon you'd give God to thrust into her cold dead heart," April said, and there was a healthy dollop of unholy glee in her usually restrained tones. "I thought she was going to bleed out her eyeballs!"

"Honey, she was screwing you over in the worst way," Guthrie told her, still outraged. "Half the musicians I've known have been to rehab. Most of those places have a three-strikes policy, and this wasn't a strike. This wasn't even a foul. This was hardly a fucking swing."

"But… but you told her off ," April said again. "My brother hates that woman. Loathes her. And he's been trying so hard to be sweet to her, and you… you… you're amazing ."

Oh hell, this felt like a teachable moment right here. "Well, your brother's way is probably better," he said. For one thing, her brother could have gotten the lazy fucking maintenance man to give them a hand throwing her boxes in the back of the truck. "Right now, we've got to figure out what our plan is."

"Oh…," she said softly, and her entire body curled into itself, and he suddenly knew what the plan was.

"I mean, we're gonna move you into your brother's place," he said blithely. "That's a no-brainer. You guys were hoping to do that anyway."

Her spine straightened. "We can do that?" she asked. "Like, for real?"

"Well yeah , darlin'," he said, remembering to smile. "This was his plan the whole time, right? That spear-sharpener lady speeded things along a bit, that's all."

"Oh, Guthrie," she breathed. "You just became my second favorite brother."

He let out a weak chuckle. "Fair enough. But first we've got to stop by my apartment again, darlin'. I need to pack more clothes and burn that polo shirt I was wearing when you came and got me."

She let out a gurgle of laughter so young and carefree, he was pretty sure it was the reason Tad had gone to hell and back again for her. You couldn't turn down someone making that noise, not a chance.

THE APARTMENT manager had let Lulu and Agnes in, and they were there when he stopped by, and he was grateful because it meant he could explain the situation, and of course show them where he put the shampoo and towels. He'd felt badly at first. He'd seen himself as sort of their chaperone—their guide—in this new place, but he should have known by now that Kelly's sisters would be extremely self-sufficient.

"We did some moving around," Agnes said excitedly, practically jumping up and down. She was a tiny girl with a heart-shaped face and enormously expressive brown eyes, and watching her was a delight—but also exhausting, much like Livvy's sister. Where did these young women get their energy? They were unstoppable . "I hope it's okay," she continued, "but Lulu brought some portable drawers, so mine are here, and hers are there, and all of your stuff is in your place, and we put up flowered valances so, you know, people know this is a girl's room, if that's okay and all. Kelly said you were sort of awesome, although I know we only know you from our brother's wedding and all, but you're Seth's friend, and you know, Seth needs people to watch his back, so that's okay. Oh, who's this? I thought you were gay 'cause you were in love with Seth. Was Kelly full of shit or do you collect girls?"

"Oh my God, Agnes !" Lulu, her more restrained sister said in exasperation. "I could swear you were raised by humans. For God's sake, let the man speak!"

Guthrie turned to April, who was chewing her lower lip, overwhelmed. "This is my friend Tad's sister. She, uhm, sort of lost her apartment, and we're moving her into her brother's place."

But Agnes took in April's pale face and her timidity, and she wasn't stupid. "Is she a sister like Matty was our brother?" she asked suspiciously, and Guthrie grimaced. He'd heard stories of their brother Matty.

"Not quite," he said gently. "Some people reach for the rope to pull themselves up."

Agnes's troubled look lifted. "Oh good. I'm glad. I wouldn't wish that sort of pain on anybody." She gave April a brilliant smile. "Good luck and everything. Remember, if you've got a brother who's willing to do everything for you, you've got something special. 'Cause our brother, Kelly, is like that, and his husband, Seth, is just as good. So anyways, you remember that like he said, use the rope to pull yourself up, okay?"

Lulu grimaced. "I can't believe you're some sort of savant," she said grimly.

"It's on the stage," Agnes retorted. "I'm obviously dramatic."

April made a tiny grunt of laughter, and Guthrie took a breath. "So is it okay if we take a break here, make ourselves some sandwiches, and then we'll be on our way? We need to make Sacramento before it's dark so I can meet up with her brother's partner on the force. We're doing a car thing."

"Wait," Lulu said suspiciously. "Your brother's a cop?"

April said, "It was a disappointment to me too."

Guthrie choked back a snort, and Lulu relaxed a smidge. "What're you gonna do," she said philosophically. "It's not like they ask our opinion."

"I'm saying," April told her. "But, you know, at least his taste in men has improved."

Guthrie gave her a panicked look.

"What?" April asked. "They knew!"

"Your brother's at a weak moment right now," Guthrie muttered. "You don't want to pin him down 'cause I did a nice thing."

April snorted. "Men are weird. Go. Do what you gotta. I'm gonna sit on the couch and finish the blanket for your poor neighbor girl about to have the baby."

"Ooh," Agnes said, sinking down on the couch next to her. "Can I watch? I'll be quiet and shit. I just never seen anybody do it up close, and it's cool."

"Yeah, sure," April said, and Guthrie went into his room to repack his knapsack and throw his bright blue polo shirt away.

To his consternation, Lulu followed him.

"'Sup, darlin'?" he asked, his hands full of clothes.

"Explain to me again what you're doing?"

Guthrie blew out a breath. "Her brother got injured up near Truckee. She needed a ride home. Her halfway house kicked her out because she dared to visit her wounded brother without their permission, and now I'm taking her to his place and then taking him his pajamas."

Even to his own ears it was complicated.

"For a guy you're not sure loves you?"

"For his sister who needs a break," Guthrie said and then sighed, knowing all this would be relayed straight to her brother and then to Seth. "And for her brother who… who sort of made me hope right before he literally fell off a cliff."

"Oh!" Lulu said. "That was in the news!"

Guthrie laughed a little. "Yeah. That was in the news. Anyways—"

"What about work?" she asked, concerned, and he sighed.

"They fired me," he told her simply. "April showed up, freaked out about Tad, and I left to take her to him. My boss was an asshole. I'll be taking my laptop and sending out resumes I guess."

"Yeah, but to where, Guthrie? Sacramento or San Rafael?"

He grimaced. "Maybe I can get a temp job in Sac—I'll look for that until he's better."

"Agnes and I can take over rent here," she said. "I know you were going to charge us half, but you're not even going to be here, and not having to come up with first and last months or the money for the lease is huge."

"Naw, honey, I promised your brother—"

"Guthrie, you gave us your bed for three months. Seriously. It's fine. Lily and I were trying to get out of Sacramento anyway. Maybe after Agnes goes back, Lil and I can move in here and you can move in with your cop. It'll work out. Don't worry about it."

Guthrie grimaced. "Honey, if you and your brilliant sister are moving in, you can probably afford better than this place."

She snorted. "Do you think we grew up in a castle? God, Guthrie, don't you listen to any of Seth and Kelly's stories about home?"

He shook his head; he knew better. "It's too early to commit," he said with dignity.

"Well, is it too early to hope? C'mon, you've been single as long as Seth's known you."

He sent her a helpless look, and it was her turn to grimace. "Well, yeah. Kelly told us about that. But, you know, you've got to be over that by now?"

"I am!" he said, because he was. "But… but not having that sort of thing returned, that leaves a mark." And so help him, that's as honest as he'd been with anybody but Olivia, who had guessed it, so Kelly's sisters maybe really were super geniuses.

She sighed. "Yeah. Watching my brother when he and Seth had their breakup, I guess I can see that."

"What about you?" he asked curiously. "You ever had your heart broken?"

She shrugged. "It'll come," she said. "But first, I want to get a cat."

He stared at her. "What is it about cats? April and Tad want a cat, you guys want a cat—"

She raked him up and down with her eyes. "I think it comes with liking scrawny musicians," she said with a shrug. "You like scrawny musicians, you need a cat. There's probably a rule. Now go." She motioned with her hands. "Pack. Agnes and I brought groceries, so we can fix you better than sandwiches. I'll let you cook."

AN HOUR later, after a thoroughly enjoyable lunch of homemade carne asada burritos and fruit, Guthrie and April were finally on their way to Sacramento. Following his GPS, Guthrie made his way past midtown to an old, yet sound, apartment complex, and he parked his truck in one of the few spots along the road.

Guthrie eyed the place and decided that April didn't have that much stuff for the ground-floor apartment, and the two of them sat back and blew out a breath.

"It's cute," she said critically. "The trees around it make it less like inner city and more like a suburb. And Tad's been on his own a while. How bad could it be?"

He smiled slightly, tired from the drive but still taken by her optimism. "Let's go see," he said, and together they hopped out and grabbed their bags before making their way to his apartment number.

"It's nice," April said, peering inside. "I mean, it's not lived in, really, but he decorated, and there's a dining room table you can see the top of and everything. And two bedrooms. I mean, that's better than your place, right?"

"Yeah, well, given I didn't have any sisters of my own, you can't blame me for collecting them now," Guthrie said dryly, "but yeah. Not bad at all."

It was, in fact, homey. The walls were decorated with prints, the furniture was used but not battered, and there was warmth and color almost everywhere. Together, he and April checked out the guest bedroom, and he was encouraged to find the bed there and made, albeit in a spartan, utilitarian way. There was a mostly empty set of drawers and a closet used to hold Tad's dress blues and some tools on the top shelf. The room was a blank slate, Guthrie realized, and wondered if Tad hadn't been hoping for April to come live with him all along.

Together they schlepped all her boxes into the room, and April glanced around, an almost beatific contentment on her face.

"You going to be okay here?" he asked, checking his phone. Tad's partner had buzzed him, and Guthrie was going to have to leave.

"Could you bring back some takeout?" she asked. "I can be mostly unpacked by the time you get back."

Guthrie laughed a little. "Preferences? Anything else you need?"

She shook her head. "Naw—you choose. I've got everything I need right here."

Spontaneously he went in for a one-armed hug and got a full body press in response. "You look pretty happy here," he said softly.

"I… I feel free," she said back. "I've never wanted junk less in my life. I… I'm wanted here. How could I not see my brother wants me in his life?"

He clutched her tighter, a little bit afraid. He knew that often it was at their very highest that addicts would search out their greatest adversary to find a way to fall again, because they weren't comfortable happy. But she was so hopeful.

"You deserve a place where they want you," he said gruffly. "You gotta promise me you'll be here when I get back, though, okay?"

She pulled back and nodded soberly. "I'm not letting go now," she said, looking around again. "I finally have somewhere to hold on to."

He breathed out a sigh of relief, and his pocket buzzed again, and he had to do what Tad did and trust her while he went to take care of business.