“End of the day,” Reaper said, “it’s simple math: Can you work from Everwood?”
“Yes,” I said, without hesitation. “Estate management and accounting are mostly numbers and calls.”
“I’m going to miss you around here,” Reaper joked, but his eyes said he really would. “Sure. Harris needs someone to make fun of his ties every now and again, but you can do that in video calls.”
He spread his hands. “So take the hint, sailor, and get lost.”
I stared at the two of them. These were men who valued duty, chain of command, and the clear lines on a contract. Hearing them saygofelt like someone had cut my moorings.
“What about my work here?” I asked, because habits die slowly.
“We shift you to remote consult. Case-by-case. We’ll send files; you send invoices. You can build your little Montana empire and still balance the books.”
Reaper nodded. “We’re not firing you, Austin. We’re simply redeploying you.” He laughed at his own joke. “Where you won’t slowly fossilize under fluorescent lights like Harris and I.”
He eyed me. “Also, if you stay here, you’re going to be miserable, and I’ll have to listen to it. I’m too old for that.”
Something like a laugh punched out of me. I knew what they were doing.
“You’re sure about this?” I asked. “Both of you?”
“As your employer?” Harris said. “Yes. As your friend?” He held my gaze. “I’m not losing you, just extending the friendship lines a little further.”
Reaper jabbed a finger at me. “And as your former CO, I am telling you to go.”
Heat crawled up the back of my neck. “Yes, sir,” I muttered.
He grinned. “There he is. Now pack up and move out. There’s a woman up there who’s missing her keys. That’s an invitation if I’ve ever seen one.”
“Pretty sure this was always Penny’s plan,” I said.
“Then don’t anger her ghost,” Reaper replied. “She signed your checks, remember.”
I stood. “Keep me on the books,” I said. “Remote. Whatever. And Harris,” I pointed at his tie, “really? Yellow?” His paisley yellow-and-lavender tie screamed single and trying too hard.
Reaper tipped an invisible cap. “Send pictures of the barn.”
“And the clinic,” Harris added. “I want to see it.”
I shook both their hands. Old habits, old respect. Then I stepped out of the office.
The elevator doors slid open. I caught my reflection in the brushed metal: same face, same scars, same eyes. Different man.
By the time I hit the street, the decision was made.
I was going home.
Closing down a life is less dramatic than movies make it.
There’s no slow-motion montage. No sweeping orchestral score. Just an ad for free stuff, a potted plant, a duffel bag, and an empty apartment.
I locked the door behind me and didn’t look back.
Denver International was bigger and louder than our little county airport. People flowed around me with rolling suitcases, earbuds, and expensive coats. It was easy to disappear here. I used to like that.
At the gate, I texted Reaper:Thanks, old friend.
He replied with a thumbs-up.
