As he walked toward the gravel road, the demons chortled in glee that the prodigal son had returned to the scene of the crime.
His birth.
So, Ethan Jackson Blackhawk did what he did best. He began running.
And running.
And running.
He didn’t stop for the longest time either because he was being chased this time. The demons in his head were screaming, and instead of finding a solution, he found himself deeper in that mire.
Trees flashed by.
Snow kept dusting the road in front of him.
His stomach churned with bile.
And he knew what would happen.
By the end of the run, he would give up on himself and the life he’d once had.
There was no chance he’d pull from this. The bottom line was that Gene was better off without him. He was a good man, and a decent partner. He’d fall in love again and move on.
That thought alone would kill Ethan.
And he knew it.
With each step on that gravel back road on the reservation that spawned him, Ethan Jackson Blackhawk lost everything.
What he wanted to do was die, and that wasn’t an exaggeration.
There was nothing left.
His job.
His man.
His dignity.
He was back at the rez, and soon word would spread that the man who escaped, failed.
As his heart pounded in his chest, he ran the long loop around the rez and back toward Callen’s cabin. As he ran, the tears dripped from his lashes as the soft, pure flakes of snow dissolved against his flesh.
This was his end.
This was how his story came to its conclusion.
And it hurt.
All Ethan wanted now was to hide, so he made his next plan. He’d go back to sleep.
Because he was lost.
No one was coming to save him.
Ethan Blackhawk was alone.
Again.
