Page 88 of Summer Holiday Lifeline

“It is to me.”

For a long moment, they stood, staring at Myles. Then, in the same soft, too-young voice: “Wyatt Jones.” He lifted an arm, hesitant, hand outstretched.

Myles eyed the black dirt ground into every wrinkle and crease.

“Sorry.” Wyatt drew back, scrubbing his hand on his coat, which did neither his hand nor the coat any good. “I’m filthy.”

Myles gritted his teeth. “It’s… shit. It’s not you. This is a me thing. I, um.” A clammy chill broke along his shoulders and bubbled up from his gut.

“You have a phobia,” Wyatt said.

“Aversion,” Myles corrected.

“That you can’t control and that makes you break out in a flop-sweat.”

“Come on.” Myles gripped his cane hard and ploughed forwards, twisting sideways to get past Wyatt.

“Where?” Wyatt spun to watch him hobble along.

Myles pointed across the drive to Tim’s. “I could use a blood-sugar hike.”

“You don’t have to⁠—”

“Please let me. I’ve been where you are.”

“They won’t like me being in there.”

Myles pulled back his shoulders and puffed out his chest, gripped his cane with purpose and started walking. “Too fucking bad.”

Wyatt cackled. “You’re pretty bad-ass, there, grandpa.”

“You have no idea,” Myles replied. Because for once in he couldn’t remember how long, he had a handle on something. Maybe it was a small thing in the grand scheme of it all, but buying this young vagabond some food? He could do that.

Over hot chocolate, chili, a sandwich and two doughnuts, Wyatt Jones confirmed his age—way too young at seventeen to be out here alone—and gender, but didn’t offer a lot of information about where he’d been or what had led him to where he was now. Myles didn’t push. It wasn’t any of his business. He left the younger man with a few twenties and directions to Lucky, though if he took the chance or not would have to be up to him.

Sitting in his car after their meal, Myles debated going back to offer him a ride. But Wyatt had no reason to trust him. He’d put the car in gear and prepared to pull out of his parking spot when his phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Mr. McCreevy. This is Daniel Giroux.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He threw the car back into park and turned it off. “You got my message.”

“I did. Unfortunately, I don’t have any more information to offer you. I received the letter at the office with the request to forward it on to you.”

“He never wanted anything to do with Jet before now. Natalie didn’t seem bothered by that. Not that she had anything against him, she just didn’t care to be bothered with him if he wasn’t willing to step up.”

“I wish I could tell you more.”

“Right.” Frowning, Myles twirled the small stuffed hedgehog dangling from his rearview mirror.

“If you want, I can reach out for you. Try to see what he wants.”

“I’d appreciate that.” Getting the lawyer to make contact wouldn’t be cheap, but the hit to his wallet would be worth it if he could avoid Jet taking another emotional hit.

“Leave it with me. I’ll see what I can find out and get back to you as soon as I can.”

“Thanks.”