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Taking his turn to give Cole a hug, complete with a hearty, bordering on painful back slap, Madigan said, “You’ll do great,” out loud, followed by, “Did you see Mira?” in a whisper only Cole could hear. “You smell like cookies.”
Shit.“Well, you smell like a ski chalet at Christmas time,” Cole countered, sniffing Madigan’s beard.
Mad huffed a laugh. “Fair enough.” Backing away, giving Cole a tight smile, he said, “Let’s get you set up. We’ve got a lot to go over and not a lot of time.”
* * *
While Cole walkeddown the path to the cabins, the resinous tang of the surrounding pines sharp in his nose, he tried to pay attention when Mad said, “I tend to keep a pretty loose schedule. But you might want to firm things up to make it easier on you.”
He’d been waiting for it to hit, the reality of what he was about to take on. Now that he was here, putting one foot in front of the other with the mountain looming large in front of him, it finally arrived with the breath-stealing force of an Andre the Giant body slam. “What would be in a schedule?” he asked, stumbling over a tree root. “Like classes or something?”
“No, but a group would probably be a good idea.”
Cole stopped walking, wiping his sweaty palms off on his jeans. “What’s a group?”
Noticing his lack of forward progress, Madigan turned around, his brows knitting. “Are you okay?”
Trying to calm his racing heart, Cole said, “I don’t think so.”
Madigan’s footsteps crunched over pine needles, his hand landing on Cole’s shoulder. “I promise this isn’t as hard as it seems. Especially since the guys are all busy cutting trails for the mountain bike course. Mostly, you’ll help them organize their day, keep them on task, and listen when they have something to say. That’s it.”
“That’s it?” Cole was dubious.
“That, and the drug tests, of course.”
He groaned.
Madigan’s hand squeezed. “They’re only once a week now, and the guys know when to expect them. The most important thing you need to do is care, Cole. We can’t fix them. We can’t save them. They have to do that on their own. But we can care about them, listen to them, support them, keep them safe. Can you do that?”
Murphy trotted off ahead toward the clearing, and Cole said, “I can do that.” But when he met Madigan’s unyielding blue-eyed stare, he sensed that the conversation, the moment, was about to get real.
“Listen,” Madigan said, “I know you might have some,” he paused for effect, “distractions while you’re here. Of the cookie-scented variety.”
“Mad, I—”
“I understand. Believe me, I do. I’m the last person to tell you not to do what you need to do when it comes to your personal life. But I have to know that the guys will be your top priority while I’m gone. They need stability, someone they can count on to be there when they need them, someone who puts them first.” He dragged his knuckles through his beard. “I know this is asking a lot from you, and if it seems like it’s too much, Ashley and I can adjust. Iceland isn’t going anywhere.”
“Well, it’s pretty much made of volcanoes. So you never know.”
“I’m serious,” Madigan said. “Just say the word, and we’ll cancel.”
If Cole was being perfectly honest with himself, he wasn’t sure he was up to the task. What he was sure of, though, was that his friend needed him, and he wasn’t going to let him down. “I’ve got this. I won’t be perfect”—he placed his hand over his heart—“but I promise to treat Little Timber like it’s my own.”
“You don’t need to be perfect. In fact, most of these guys wouldn’t trust you if you were. You only need to be consistent and genuine, and you need to know the rules.”
“Rules?” Cole blinked. “What rules?”
While a slow grin slid across his face, Madigan tilted his head toward his cabin and said, “Come on and find out.”
* * *
“Rule number one:We don’t use.” Leaning against the kitchen counter, Cole scanned the Little Timber House Rules written in black Sharpie on white poster board hanging on the bathroom door of Madigan’s old cabin. “That one makes sense, obviously. But no swearing? Seriously?”
“Rule number two is surprisingly important,” Madigan said, counting the folded towels in the bathroom closet. “With a group of guys who are generally unskilled at getting their point across, communication degrades to nothing butfucks without it.”
“That should have been our band name. Nothing But Fucks.”
Madigan snorted.
