Michael couldn’t let it go.
Maybe it wasn’t his job to protect Josiah, who was an employee and quasi friend, but everything inside Michael insisted he do something to fix this. Finding Josiah on his front porch at nine o’clock at night, his eyes full of desperate terror, had set off something brand-new inside Michael. A protective instinct he’d never felt before, not even for Kenny. He’d needed to do something.
Installing Josiah in the fifth wheel had been a start, but not enough to calm the boiling rage deep in his belly. Rage at how devastated Josiah had been tonight. Rage at McBride for pulling a shitty stunt for no apparent reason and hurting Josiah in the process. Rage over Josiah losing everything he owned, just like Michael had lost most of what he owned.
So he’d paced the living room for a while. Dad had stayed quiet, watching whatever show was on television on a Friday night and not commenting on Michael’s mood. Not until Dad muted the TV and said, “You ain’t gonna let this lie, are you?”
Michael stopped near the alcove to the kitchen. “How can I? Kenny stole my money, kidnapped my dog, gave him away, and left my ass in the lurch, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I’ll be damned if I’ll sit on my hands and watch that happen to another person.” Maybe he’d been too weak to fix his own personal crises before, but Michael could stand up for Josiah now.
He had to.
“How you gonna fix it?”
“I don’t know.” Driving over to the sheriff’s house and demanding Josiah’s things seemed idiotic and, frankly, kind of dangerous. But he couldn’t just let Josiah be treated like this. The guy was too kind, too caring, and Michael liked him too damned much to do nothing.
“Give me the phone.”
Michael blinked. “What?”
“The phone.” Dad could reach it on the table nearby if he stretched far enough, but something in his expression said he expected Michael to do as asked. To let his father sort this out. He couldn’t say no to that look.
So Michael picked up the handset and gave it to Dad. “Who are you calling?”
“An old friend with influence.” Dad punched in the number, then put the phone to his ear. “Wayne? It’s Elmer Pearce. I got a situation and need a favor.”
And that was how, twenty minutes later, Michael found himself in the bed of Wayne Woods’s pickup truck along with Brand, Hugo, and their dog Brutus—Wayne and Jackson were in the cab—on their way to Seamus McBride’s house. Five men and a dog to rescue the possessions of a young nurse they all knew and liked, and Michael had no idea why Jackson was along for this particular errand. But he was glad for the extra support.
The sheriff’s car was in the driveway when they arrived, and Wayne left the truck engine idling, the lights trained on the porch. He led the charge forward, and Michael kept close, ready to do whatever he was asked. Brutus stood next to Brand’s hip, ears forward, tail straight out, waiting for a command from his human.
Wayne rang the bell. Several times.
The front door swung open. McBride had a beer in one hand and stared at Wayne first, obviously confused, before realizing how many people were on his porch. “What the hell’s this, Woods?” McBride asked.
Wayne tilted his head in Michael’s direction, which gave Michael the opening to say, “We’re here for Josiah Sheridan’s personal belongings.”
“Don’t know what you mean. He moved out tonight.”
“Sure he did. That’s why he ended up on my doorstep with nothing but his car saying you kicked him out. We’re not here for a fight, Sheriff. Just his stuff.” Finding courage in his own words, Michael shouldered his way past McBride and into the house. It was basically a double-wide trailer dropped on a patch of land, and it was easy to navigate.
McBride grabbed Michael’s shoulder. Brand whistled and Brutus let out a vicious bark but didn’t lunge. McBride backed off.
“Where’s his room?” Michael asked.
After leveling him with a deadly glare, McBride said, “First door on the left. Take his shit. I don’t care.”
Jackson and Hugo followed Michael down the short hallway to the bedroom. It was very plain, almost impersonal, and the side table had a layer of dust on it that made Michael silently question how often Josiah actually used this room—and what exactly was his relationship with McBride?
Didn’t matter in this moment. Hugo found a suitcase in the closet and began throwing clothes into it. Under the bed, Michael unearthed some faded packing boxes and set those up for whatever else they found in the room that seemed personal. Clothes, books, a few things from the night table’s drawer. A box of mementos Michael didn’t look through too closely.
The lack of anything in the bathroom across the hall told Michael everything he needed to know about this “roommate” situation. He stalked one door down and into the master bedroom. He glared around its shabby decor and outdated furnishings a beat before going into the attached bathroom. Two toothbrushes. Two hairbrushes. Different kinds of shampoo and soap in the tub.
Roommates my gay ass.
Michael didn’t know the details of whatever arrangement Josiah had with McBride, and right now he didn’t care. He knew the broad strokes and it pissed him off to think McBride could just punt someone as kind and caring as Josiah to the curb with no warning and without his own personal belongings. Furious now, he got a box and threw every damned thing he could find in that bathroom into it: toothpaste, towels, a crossword puzzle book, room spray, razors, whatever.
In that moment, all he saw was the tiniest bit of retribution for someone he considered a friend. All he saw was Rosco and everything else Kenny had taken from him. Maybe a half-used bottle of shampoo wouldn’t fix anything wrong in Michael’s life, but taking it for Josiah felt good. It felt fair.
And because Michael was feeling exceptionally petty tonight, he took the batteries out of the remote for the bedroom’s wall-mounted flat-screen television. The remote for the streaming system, too. He couldn’t begin to guess which clothes in this bedroom might belong to Josiah, other than the stack of scrubs he found in one drawer, so he took all the underwear he saw and a handful of socks. Whatever. If Michael got arrested tomorrow for theft, he’d deal with it.
Tonight, he was trying to help a friend because he hadn’t been able to help himself.
By the time he returned to the living room with his box, Hugo and Jackson were there with a suitcase and two other boxes. McBride leaned against a far wall, still sipping at his beer, while Wayne and Brand stood at flanking positions, Brutus still close by Brand’s hip.
“Anything in here or the kitchen that’s Josiah’s?” Michael asked. “I don’t wanna have to come back a second time.”
“Slow cooker on the counter, but it’s a piece of shit,” McBride replied. “Just like Jo-jo. Take it. Then get the fuck out of my house.”
“Before you do what? Call yourself to have me arrested?”
“Don’t tempt me. Only reason I’m holding back is because I don’t wanna spend my day off tomorrow cleaning out his shit. I got better things to do.”
Michael glanced at Jackson, who stalked right past McBride without a care in the world. He returned from the kitchen a moment later with a slow cooker in his hands, which he held with two kitchen towels. The thing still had food in it.
“You find anything that’s important to Josiah,” Michael said in the growliest tone he could manage, “you call me and I’ll come get it. Clear? Sheriff?”
McBride blinked at him. “Get out. You want that piece of trash, you can have him.”
Brand stepped in front of Michael before he could charge McBride. “We’ll be leaving in just a few minutes,” Brand said.
Michael pulled on all his restraint and remained behind Brand while Jackson, Wayne, and Hugo took the suitcase and boxes out to their pickup. McBride kept a steady, challenging gaze on him, and Michael returned it, unwilling to back down. Not when the true nature of McBride’s relationship with Josiah—and his betrayal—were becoming clearer and clearer.
And he had a feeling the only reason McBride wasn’t putting up a bigger fight was because of Brutus and his firm attention on their enemy.
Once everything was loaded up, Wayne let out a sharp whistle. Brutus padded outside, followed by Brand. Michael held McBride’s stare as long as he dared, part of him wanting to goad the man into a fight. But this wasn’t about him. This entire exercise was about getting Josiah’s stuff back, and they’d done that. Most if not all. Time to make their retreat and regroup for any future battles.
Michael left the house last, hoping he made a goddamn point by doing so. He was silently furious with McBride over his treatment of Josiah, while also insanely grateful to the four men who’d come with him tonight to rescue Josiah’s belongings.
They got back to Dad’s house a little after ten. The trailer was dark and silent, so their quintet quietly put the boxes and suitcase outside. After shaking everyone’s hand and thanking them for their help tonight—Michael even ruffled Brutus’s ears—he went inside the house. Dad was asleep, snoring quietly in his bed. So peaceful.
Michael found a piece of paper in the kitchen’s junk drawer. It was too late to wake Josiah and explain what had happened tonight, so Michael wrote a succinct note. The simplest thing he could come up with, while also reminding Josiah he was still welcome in their home for breakfast.
Got your stuff. See you at 9.—M
He taped it to the top box, then stood outside the trailer for a long time, staring at the door, wanting to knock but not willing to disturb Josiah if he was asleep. And he must be if he hadn’t responded to the noise of Wayne’s truck coming and going, the boxes being left behind, et cetera. Or the poor guy had no idea what all the activity was about and was hiding in the rear of the trailer.
The latter made Michael’s heart hurt, because he didn’t need details to know Josiah’s life with McBride had been...dramatic. Probably traumatic. And that pissed him off.
But Josiah’s life wasn’t Michael’s to fix, so he went upstairs to his own bedroom and didn’t sleep up there either. Not for a long time. As soon as he finally dozed off, his phone alarm buzzed at eight, and he dragged his exhausted ass out of bed and into the shower. Fatigue sloughed off and he dried, dressed, and then looked out his bedroom window. It oversaw the trailer.
The boxes and suitcase were gone.
Confident it was because Josiah was awake and not because McBride had driven over to reclaim the stuff, Michael went downstairs. Dad was already awake and watching TV with the volume low, and Michael realized he’d forgotten to close the curtains last night so Dad could sleep longer. Dad just tossed him a wave, though, on Michael’s way into the kitchen. He hadn’t really thought breakfast through when he invited Josiah, but he had stuff for French toast, so after getting Dad a glass of juice Michael started making a good cinnamon custard for the bread.
The bread was soaking and almost ready to fry up when the doorbell rang. Michael wiped his hands on a towel and strode across the living room. Dad had that familiar I want to get up and answer the damned door look on his face, but he was still weeks away from that particular activity. The tenacity was great to see, though.
Josiah stood on the porch, his face the perfect mix of surprise and confusion, and he thrust the note at him. “You got my stuff from Seamus?”
Michael took the crumpled piece of paper. “Well, not just me. I had a little help.”
“Why?”
“Because it was your stuff. He had no right to keep it from you. And we probably didn’t get it all but we tried our best.”
“Who’s we?”
No one last night had said to keep their involvement secret. “Me, Wayne and Brand Woods, Hugo Turner, Jackson Sumner, and Brutus. It was a last-minute group effort.”
Josiah’s eyebrows crept up into his hairline. And then he let out a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “You took Brutus? Seamus hates dogs.”
“Well, I don’t trust people who hate dogs.”
“That’s probably a good life motto.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and angled his head down. “Thank you. For getting what you did. It’s more than I ever expected to get back from him. You didn’t have to.”
“You’re welcome. And maybe I didn’t have to in terms of our professional relationship, but I had to do it for myself. I don’t expect anything from you in return. This was me trying to earn back some karma points from the universe.”
Josiah’s lips parted and Michael saw the question for what forming there. But Josiah closed his mouth and nodded, instead. “Thank you. For whatever reason you did it, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. We’re, um, having French toast for breakfast. Please, come inside?”
The way Michael phrased the final few words as a question seemed to battle against some of Josiah’s defenses, because he physically relaxed. “I’d like that, thank you. It probably sounds pathetic, but I’m not used to having friends in my corner. It’s been a while. I’m kind of awkward in social settings, and Seamus only ever occasionally brought his poker buddies over, but I didn’t care for them.”
“Well, you’ve got some friends now. You’re great with Dad, and you obviously made an impression on the Woods family a few months ago. Come on in and relax a while. You aren’t working today.”
“Okay.” Josiah entered the house like someone walking in for the first time, seeming to really take it in. The size, the decor, the placement of things.
Dad waved from his bed, his own smile bright and cheerful. “Morning, young man. Guess you had a night.”
“It was something. I’m so grateful for the trailer, Elmer, I mean it. We’ll figure out rent.”
“Don’t worry about that right now. Let’s all just enjoy a nice Saturday morning brunch cooked up by my son.”
Michael smiled and took that as his cue to head back into the kitchen. Once the skillet was nice and hot, he began adding the custard-soaked bread slices to it. It wouldn’t be a full brunch, since he didn’t really have other sides to offer his guest. On a whim, he cored and sliced up two apples just for the extra food.
Dad had found an old Western movie by the time Michael brought in the tray of hot French toast, syrup, butter, and apple slices. He put it on the coffee table, then went and got plates for everyone. The coffee was brewed, and Josiah took over that duty, pouring mugs for himself and Michael. They briefly danced around each other in the kitchen in a way that wasn’t forced. It was almost practiced. Easy.
And it kind of felt right.
Once Josiah had his plate, Michael prepared one for Dad and himself, and he took over the spot in a folding metal chair beside Dad’s bed, both of their plates on the rolling table. He assisted when Dad needed it without babying him, and while also eating bites of his own meal. The entire production was both strange and easy. As if their trio had done this a thousand times in the past, despite it being the first.
Michael wasn’t sure what it meant other than he was comfortable with Josiah here, in his home, as part of his family. And as much as he liked it, it also kind of unnerved him.
Once the meal was over, the dishes done, and he and Josiah both on their second cups of coffee, Michael asked, “Did we miss anything important at McBride’s house? I assume you went through the stuff we collected for you.”
“I went through them very fast, yes,” Josiah replied. “You got the important stuff, so thank you. I’m not put out by the loss of a few shirts or a bottle of aftershave.” His eyes narrowed. “Besides, I was never fond of that smell.”
“Okay, good. And feel free to use the washer and dryer in the basement for your laundry. I mean, it’s kind of your only option, since we don’t have a coin-op in town, and I doubt you want to spend an hour scrubbing stuff by hand in a metal bucket.”
He laughed. “No, I don’t. I’ve done it and I’d rather not. Actually, I should head to the store this afternoon and get some stuff. Snacks and food. A lot of what I’d bring for my own lunch was leftovers of the meals I’d cook for me and Seamus.” His voice went distant, his expression the same.
Michael glanced at Dad, whose own face was difficult to decipher. Somehow a mix of sad, angry, and determined. But who were those emotions directed at? Hopefully, the anger was directed right at Seamus McBride, where it belonged.
“Get whatever,” Michael said. “And if you feel like cooking something that your little fridge can’t hold, you can store it here in the house. Not a big deal at all.”
Josiah’s eyebrows jumped. “Really?”
“Sure. I remember trying to keep shit in a minifridge in college, and after we packed in the beer, there wasn’t a lot of room left for real food. Especially if the ice monster took over.”
“Ice monster?”
“Yeah, you know how sometimes in those fridges the freezer part just ices over and crowds out everything else? My college roommate and I used to call that sucker the ice monster. We’d have to let the fridge he brought defrost in the dorm showers every other month. Lost a lot of Hot Pockets to that monster.”
“I bet.” Josiah laughed again. “I will beware of the ice monster. But I don’t plan on stocking any beer, so I should be okay on space to start. I appreciate the offer and since old habits die hard, I will probably still be making slow cooker meals. And sharing them with you guys. You’re not technically my roommates, since we’re under different roofs, and I will possibly be exchanging work for part of the rent, but I like to share food. Feeding people makes me happy.”
“And this boy loves to be fed,” Dad joked, breaking the seriousness of the conversation with his peal of laughter, and jacked his thumb at Michael. “You share what you can. Not like he can cook all that good. Except maybe French toast.”
Michael made an exaggerated eye roll. “I can cook fine in a pinch, I’m just not used to it. Kenny usually—” He stopped, not used to bringing up his ex around, well, anyone in his life here. “I didn’t really cook much, but my delivery app game was on point. Not many options for that around here.”
“You young’uns and your apps. Can’t just go do things, you gotta have an app for it all.”
“If it helps,” Josiah said to Dad, “I’ve never used a delivery app, either. I still only use my cell for basic things like phone calls, Solitaire and checking out ebooks from the county library system.”
“Nothin’ wrong with the basics, son. Only reason I got one of those monthly flip phones is because I got a flat once out in the middle of the county, didn’t have my spare tire, and I ended up walking five miles to the nearest neighbor. About wore out my boots and my legs that day.”
As Dad and Josiah began debating the merits of cell phones, Michael leaned back and listened. It was familial in a nice way, while also familial in a way that made him jealous. The pair obviously got along well and were at ease enough to tease each other. So different from the politeness that coated every interaction Michael had with his dad. But neither one of them was ready to really discuss the issues between them. Or what had happened the day before Michael left Weston for nearly two decades.
Part of Michael wanted to discuss it. Dad’s stroke had scared him. The idea of his father dying before they cleared the air hurt his heart. Addressing that air and all the drama in it? It scared him on a very different level. The level of a son who still wanted a reason to love his dad.
“Michael?”
He startled, nearly spilling coffee on his hand. “What?”
Josiah’s calm smile soothed the feathers ruffled by Michael’s stray thoughts. “I asked your dad if you’d like me to leave the slow cooker here in the house, so I can prepare evening meals for you both. It’s no trouble.”
“Oh.” Michael looked at Dad, who gave him a slight nod, on board with the idea. “That’s fine, but we’ll obviously contribute to the groceries for meals you want to share with us. Help with meals is great, but we don’t expect you to cook for us. That’s not part of the conditions of renting the trailer.”
“I just want to earn my keep.”
“Like I said, we’ll negotiate all that. Trailer rent against your pay for helping Dad, any meals you help with, we’ll figure it out. It hasn’t even been a full day for you, Josiah. We don’t have to know it all right away.”
Josiah held his gaze for a long moment that seemed to stretch out and out...until Josiah blinked. “Thank you. And thank you again for brunch. And my stuff. I suppose my impulse to keep all those moving boxes was a good one.”
“It made things a bit easier. We didn’t have to tear through McBride’s house looking for his stash of plastic grocery bags to haul everything out in.”
“Under the kitchen sink.” Josiah cleared his throat. “Um, if you both don’t mind, I need to finish going through those boxes and organizing things. Plus a grocery list for later. Toiletries and stuff, too.”
“Sure, that’s fine. If you need help with anything, let me know. Dad will be fine on his own for half an hour.”
Something odd flickered in his eyes. “Of course. You’re, um, obviously free to stop by at any time. I’m sure I’ll see you both soon.”
Michael didn’t say anything while Josiah took his coffee mug into the kitchen, then left quietly out the front door. He wanted to go after Josiah and ask him questions, ask more about what his life had been like with McBride, but he didn’t want to stress Josiah out more by being nosy—or make Dad suspicious about Josiah’s sexuality. Michael was only guessing himself, based on what he’d seen at McBride’s house.
“I don’t know much outside of ranching and metalwork and junk,” Dad said, “but I do know when things aren’t right. And things aren’t right between Josiah and the sheriff.” Michael looked over, working hard to keep his surprise off his face. “You keep an eye on Josiah, hear me? He’s a good boy.”
“I agree, Dad,” Michael replied. “I’ll do my best.”
“Good lad. Now, go find something else to do and let me watch my movie.”
“You’ve probably already seen it five times.”
“So?”
Dad’s perfectly deadpan response made Michael laugh as he stood and took his coffee mug into the kitchen for a refill.