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Chapter Nineteen
Slate had never lived anywhere but Texas, and he was completely unprepared for the chill that came with winter in Colorado. He marveled at the first snowfall, and his toes froze on the job site for three days before he made it a priority to go to the store and get hand warmers to put in his boots.
He didn’t love construction as much as Luke, but he did love the man for passing up the opportunities they had to work in a warmer state. They’d visited his family for a week as planned, all while looking for other jobs in other states.
They’d come to Vail together, and Slate had loved the Rocky Mountains in the fall. Now, though, he hadn’t seen the tops of them in over a week, as the clouds had settled in and started dumping rain and then snow as the temperature plummeted.
“You ready for this?” Luke asked as he entered the kitchen.
Slate could only grunt. He didn’t get on social media, and he didn’t have anyone to connect with other than Nate, Ted, and Dallas in Texas. He texted with them regularly, but the only people he actually spoke with were Luke, his boss, a couple of other guys on the crew, and his mother.
His heart felt like a black stone in his chest, and he told himself every day—sometimes every hour—to learn to live with it. Jackson had not shown up in Vail, and Slate had started to relax a little bit.
At the same time, he knew that meant he was still in Texas, and he worried constantly that his parents would be contacted, or that Jackson would show up at Hope Eternal again and hurt someone. He couldn’t carry that around for the rest of his life if it happened, and Nate had assured him over and over that Jackson would not be returning to the ranch. How he knew that, Slate didn’t know. He’d asked, and all Nate had said was, “I took care of it.”
Right after that text, Ted had said,You could come back, Slate.
Slate hadn’t answered that, and Dallas had moved them to a different topic a few minutes later.
“What are my chances of calling out today?” Slate asked.
“Bad,” Luke said as he pulled on his coat. “Matt already did, and Jude wasn’t very happy about it.”
“All right.” Slate left his half-drunk coffee on the table and stood up to start getting dressed to face the weather outside. “You owe me dinner for this.”
“We’ll stop at Rib Roost after work.”
“Deal.” Slate pulled on a beanie and a pair of gloves and followed Luke out of the apartment they’d rented together. They drove Slate’s truck, and they arrived at the construction home base in only five minutes. That was a bonus of living in the same small town where all the work was.
Slate wasn’t even sure what day it was. He got up every day. He went to work. He showered to get warm. Luke ordered food or made something simple for them. They both fell asleep on the couch as darkness fell, and they did it all again the next day.
One afternoon, Jude said, “Thanks, everyone. See you in a week.” The group broke up, and Slate blinked around at everyone.
“A week?” he asked Luke as they went to his truck. The snow had melted a bit in the past couple of days—or a week? Slate wasn’t sure—and everything was a muddy mess.
“Yeah.” Luke looked at Slate. “It’s Thanksgiving next week, Slate. We’re not working for the next ten days.” He peered at Slate. “We’re leaving for Vegas in the morning, remember?”
“Of course,” Slate said, but he hadn’t remembered. He didn’t allow himself to think farther ahead than the next five minutes. The next task.
Luke sighed, the sound of it extra loud and extra long. Slate didn’t ask what he really wanted to say, because Luke wouldn’t hold back. They got in the truck, and Luke kept his eyes out his window as Slate adjusted the heater settings.
“When are you going to admit you’re miserable and just go back?” Luke finally asked.
“I’m fine,” Slate said.
“You’re the opposite of fine,” Luke said. “It’s time to stop lying to yourself.”
“I won’t put any of them in danger.”
“You won’t,” Luke said. “Nate said—”
“I’m sick of relying on Nathaniel to take care of my problems,” Slate said, glaring at Luke until he turned to look at him. He wore surprise in his expression. “Aren’t you?”
“No,” Luke said. “I grew up fighting, Slate. Physically and mentally and spiritually. If someone else can fight a battle for me, I’m all for that.” He glared right back at Slate. “I don’t like my life either. This sucks. I don’t like working in the snow and mud and muck and cold. I hate it here.” His chest heaved as he pulled in breath after breath. “I’m going to look for something in Vegas while I’m there.”
“Great,” Slate said. “Let’s do that.”
“No,” Luke said. “You’re not invited to stay with me. You need to go back to Austin and see your parents. I heard your mom begging you last week. You werecoldto her, Slate. Like, ice cold.”
