Nothing in the two years since about him putting down roots!
“Thanks,” Monte said. “Melissa and the kids are doing great now. Some days are harder than others, but that’s to be expected.”
“Then why are you still there?” Jesus, could Iggy sound more like a brat? He cleared his throat hard. “I mean, if she’s good now and all?”
“I grew up around here. I love being Uncle Malcolm. I get steady work in town and on the ranches. You’d really love Snow Creek Ranch now, and what they’re doing up there since Walter Barrett passed and left the place to his grandson. Stuff we’d have liked when we were teens.”
When we were teens. Iggy’s body went cold all over. Chilly grass tickled the naked skin of his back. His wrists ached from being bound. All he could smell was dung and dirt and old beer.
“We’re not talking about our past,” Iggy snarled. “I’m saving your number, and then I’m figuring out how to get to Chance as quickly as possible. Tell Uncle Howie I’m on my way. By tomorrow at the latest.”
“Okay. I’m sorry for bringing up?—”
“I’ll text my flight plans. Thank you for calling me about this.”
Iggy stabbed at the red symbol, then stared at his dark phone screen. Willed himself to wake up again, so this entire phone conversation was just a fucking nightmare. His uncle wasn’t in the hospital, and the first man to ever steal and then break his heart hadn’t called him. Wasn’t living near and working for his uncle. In a town Iggy swore he’d never step foot in again.
And maybe he didn’t have to. The hospital was in Fort Collins, not in Chance. He’s stay in a hotel. Motel. Hell, he’d sleep in his rental car if he had to.
He’d walked out of that town seventeen years ago and sworn he’d never go back. He also owed Uncle Howie everything, and he’d do whatever was necessary to make sure the man made a full, stable recovery.
Even if it meant facing his ex.
Chapter
Two
Malcolm stood at the window of Howie’s ICU room and stared at the view of the attached wing and its slightly tinted windows. Beyond it, he could make out the distant shape of the mountains. Behind him, Howie slept restlessly. Malcolm had never been in an ICU room before, but it resembled regular rooms, except for a lot more machines, tubes, wires, and a lot less privacy. Which made sense, since these patients needed near-constant care and monitoring.
It was still kind of creepy that anyone walking past could look in and see them.
Didn’t matter, not if being here got Howie better.
Malcolm cared about Howie and was still worried for his recovery, but much deeper than those things, Malcolm was hurt. And not surface hurt that could be fixed with some putty, sanding and time. No, this was deep down, a foundational fracture that could ruin the whole structure if he didn’t address it soon.
This wasn’t the time, with Howie struggling, but soon.
Iggy hadn’t known Malcolm was back in Chance. Correction: he knew Malcolm had come back but not that he’d decided to stay. To try and create a foundation for a new life onpreviously unstable ground. He hadn’t intended to, but that’s what happened. He loved his sister and her kids more than he hated his memories.
Even the memories that speaking to Iggy had stirred back up, like a snake down a clogged pipe. Old shit rising to the surface in a way that walking down Old Main or grabbing a bite at Laughing Fork Diner didn’t reach. Or hell, even doing jobs for Howie every few weeks, chatting him up while ordering drinks at the saloon—none of that stirred the shit like hearing Iggy’s voice again after seventeen years.
The first time he’d heard the high, lyrical voice of an angry angel, Malcolm had been rushing through the high school hallway after the warning bell, trying to make first period on time, first day back after Christmas break. He’d overslept because he’d been up all night listening to his parents fighting over credit card bills, thanks to Mom’s Christmas spending. And Dad said if Malcolm got another detention for tardies…well…
…Malcolm can’t be late.He dodges a stray pack of freshmen and turns a hard left down the west corridor toward Mrs. Rose’s classroom, and he nearly collides with a tall, slender, solitary figure. Malcolm dodges hard and slams his shoulder into a locker. The echoing clang makes his roadblock yelp, then say, “Dude, watch out! I don’t want to be roadkill my first day!”
“Don’t stand in the middle of the hallway then,” Malcolm retorts, shoulder stinging from the impact. Pride bruised more than anything else.
“I’m hardly in the middle,dude.” The sarcastic emphasis on ‘dude’ brings the guy’s pretty face and sharp cheekbones into focus. White-blond hair with dark roots is pulled back in a ponytail, and silver glints in both ears. “Look, is Mr. Sanchez’s room down this hall? I’m going to be late.”
“You and me both, and yeah.” Malcolm points two doors down the nearly empty corridor. “Right there.”
“My hero.” An eye-roll and more sarcasm. Blondie flounces away without introducing himself or saying thank you.
Malcolm stares at the closing door to Mr. Sanchez’s room, dumbfounded and enthralled and kind of annoyed. Then the late bell rings.
“Fuck my life.”
He’s late to class, but Mrs. Rose has mercy when he explains he helped a transfer student find his classroom. Malcolm doesn’t know that’s the gods-honest truth until later, when he stumbles over his mysterious blond roadblock againafter lunch…
