“Thanks, man, see you at the end of the month.”
“That would be a no. You have another appointment with me before then.” Ted gave him a stern look.
Diesel chuckled and left by way of the front.
The April morning air was cold and crisp, but gray clouds overhead signaled another storm was rolling in. He drew in a deep breath and instead of heading toward his SUV, he made his way down the wet sidewalk to the local small grocery. He wasn’t as quick as normal, but day by day, his leg was getting stronger.
“Hey, Diesel,” the clerk greeted him.
“Morning.” He waved and pushed a cart down the aisle, selecting a few things for the next few nights. He’d pick up the makings for potato salad closer to the end of the month. No sense in getting eggs now that would just go bad.
Was this to be his life? He sighed and glanced around. Shopping alone? The frozen dinners looked lonely in his cart, so he added a six pack of beer and snagged some cat and dog food before making his way to the checkout stand.
Freshly planted flowers of every imaginable color sat in tiny red pots on a display table, and he put a few in his cart. He’d already started planting, but it didn’t hurt to add more.
His meager groceries seemed even more pathetic in the company of the bright flowers. Shaking off his dismal thoughts, he bought the groceries and headed home.
Shrugging off his rain slicker, he carried the bags into the kitchen.
“Somehow,” he told Molly when she came to greet him, “I need to remember to buy and cook potato salad before the end of the month.”
She wagged her tail and led the way into the living room.
Lowering to the couch, he took off the brace and stretched his leg out. He started a shopping list with the salad listed at the top and set a reminder on his phone. It really was times like this—the quiet night with the lowly lit fire burning in the fireplace—that he quite enjoyed a life at home. It was also times like this that he thought of Triton and of how he was doing. Even though he’d given the boy his number and address, Triton hadn’t contacted him.
Diesel had called the ranch a few months ago and found out through Bull that Triton was back in college and staying at the dorms. Bull said Triton sounded, if not happy, at least okay.
Going to college and living in the dorms was a lie. What was Triton really up to, and what would it take for the boy to stop lying? He thought about texting Triton directly, but he didn’t. Triton would reach out to him if he wanted. Wouldn’t he?
He sighed and closed the notes app on his phone and placed it on the small table next to the couch. Cedar leaped into his lap, and Diesel ran his hand over the cat’s soft head and scratched behind his ears.
“An old man like me isn’t worth calling or visiting,” he told Cedar.
Still though, Triton’s silence hadn’t stopped Diesel from shooting Maddox a text a few weeks ago. Maddox replied that Triton seemed happy every time he’d received a text response from his cousin. Had anyone picked up the phone and called him? He’d give it a few more weeks and then he was going to get some answers. He couldn’t in good conscience not check up on the boy, he reasoned. He should be happy that Triton seemed fine according to Maddox. Correction, he was happy for Triton.
Tipping his head against the back of the couch, he ran his fingers through Cedar’s fur and tried to forget about lovely blue eyes.
Triton
“Come here.”
He turned into Fraser’s arms and clung to his friend. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Fraser whispered against his ear while saying goodbye the next morning at the train station. “Stay safe and text me when you get there.”
“I will.” His voice shook, but he smiled through the blur of tears and waved until Fraser’s bright yellow VW Beetle was out of view.
His head wouldn’t shut up, it just continued to play over and over every one of his hesitations. There was no way Diesel gave him his address and phone number so he could visit. When he got there, he’d say he was just passing through. Yeah, that sounded crazy.
He gazed down blindly at the rollaway Fraser had given him. His friend had taken his key, waited for the apartment to be empty, and had packed all of the things he’d need. Fraser had also packed the weapon Maddox had given him.
“Next!”
Triton stepped up to the counter and picked up the ticket he’d bought online with his credit card the day before. The clerk gave the bruises on his face a double take, but thankfully said nothing. It took only a matter of minutes to declare his weapon and check his luggage.
Carefully shrugging his backpack over his shoulders, he walked to the double glass doors. The Amtrak out of Dallas to Oregon would take almost four days. The price of the ticket had been ridiculous, but it was cheaper than flying and it was the only thing he could afford.
The train pulled into the station, and Triton made his way across the concrete span between the building and the locomotive.
Clutching his ticket, excitement raced up his belly at the daringness of what he was doing.
“You fucking think you can fucking leave me, you bitch?”
Clay!
He whirled around. A fist caught him in the cheek, sending blinding pain into his face.
Clay grabbed onto his wrist and twisted, bringing him to his knees, and a piercing pain in his arm took his breath away.
The kick to his ribs cemented his fate, and he fell to the ground with a scream. He managed not to hit his head, but the jarring restarted the pounding headache from his earlier concussion.
“Hey! What the hell are you doing!” someone shouted.
“Leave him alone! I’m calling the police!” someone else yelled.
Triton heard the voices through a haze of fog when he was released.
“At the ranch, my fucking ass,” Clay snapped. “Get up and get to the truck.” Clay kicked him one last time and then turned on the good Samaritans.
A couple of men, one a security guard, and a woman approached.
“Just a misunderstanding. I’m a bounty hunter,” he heard Clay say.
Struggling, he rolled upright and got to his feet with his good hand, and he grabbed his backpack and stumbled to the idling train.
“Oh yeah?” Another security guard, attracted by the yelling, joined the first one. “Let’s see the paperwork.”
“It’s in my truck.”
“Well, the train won’t be taking off for fifteen more minutes. I suggest you get that paperwork and meet me back here.” The guard placed a hand on his weapon.
Triton went to hand the porter his ticket, but his hand shook so badly, he dropped it. He frantically glanced over his shoulder, and Clay was glaring at him with murder in his eyes.
“I’ll fucking find you!”
“That’s what I thought. You better get going. I’ve already called the police,” the security guard interrupted Clay’s tirade.
The kindly Amtrak porter picked up his ticket and helped him up the stairs while also keeping a wary eye on Clay.
“Triton! You’ll be sorry!” Clay screamed.
Sirens filled the air and Clay took off running toward the parking lot.
Stepping inside the train, waves of nausea crashed over him and he made it to the small bathroom to throw up. With his one good hand, he pulled an extra shirt from his pack to wrap it around to try and keep his arm close to his body.