Page 42 of Unfinished Noise

“Phones off, no messages, no idea where you went. You need to call them.”

Jamie crossed his arms. “Can’t we finish riding first? We’re already here.”

“No,” Tom said firmly. “Your phones are at home charging, right?”

Jamie hesitated. “Yeah.”

Tom said. “You can call from the house. I’m not leaving until I see both calls happen.”

Alfie stepped closer to Jamie, voice small. “Do we have to go right now?”

Jamie looked at him—really looked. Alfie’s eyes were wide, scared, still carrying the weight of yesterday. Jamie wanted to say no, wanted to protect the little bubble of calm they’d found here.

But Tom’s voice echoed in his head. The strain. The worry. The way he said as soon as I find you.

Jamie exhaled. “Yeah, Alfie. We have to.”

Alfie nodded, defeated.

Jamie turned back to Tom. “Fine. But we’re feeding the horses first. They’re already expecting their grain.”

Tom gave a curt nod. “Five minutes. Then we go.”

Jamie and Alfie removed the saddles, fed Daisy and Thunder, and lingered a little longer than necessary—one last stolen moment of quiet before everything crashed back in.

Then they followed Tom out of the stables. The stable doors closed behind them with a heavy thud, and the last bit of calm slipped away. Jamie slid into the passenger seat of Tom’s cruiser, the vinyl cold against his legs. Alfie climbed into the back, quiet and tense, clutching his sketchbook like a shield.

The engine roared to life as Tom turned the key. “Seat belts.”

Jamie clicked his in place, staring out the window as the car rolled down the long gravel drive. The horses disappeared behind the hill, and the ranch road stretched ahead—wide, empty, too quiet.

The silence pressed on him.

Tom cleared his throat. “You should’ve called sooner.”

Jamie didn’t answer. He didn’t trust his voice not to crack.

Tom glanced at him. “Spencer sounded worried.”

Jamie swallowed hard. “I know.”

He didn’t add that he didn’t mean to worry him. He didn’t add that he needed space. He didn’t add he didn’t know how to breathe last night.

The cruiser bumped over a pothole, and Jamie’s stomach lurched—not from the road, but from the memory that slammed into him without warning.

Snow.

Cold.

The sting of the wind slicing across his face.

He blinked, gripping the door handle.

Tom’s voice from last Christmas echoed in his head—sharp, impatient, annoyed.

“Stay here. I’ll be back.”

Jamie had stood outside the store in Big Bear, shivering in a thin hoodie, watching Tom’s taillights disappear into the storm. He’d waited. And waited. And waited. Snow piled on his shoulders, melting into his clothes until he was soaked through. His fingers went numb. His lips stung. He had no money. No coat. No idea what he’d done wrong.