On the Edge (Mount Hope #3)

Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Declan

December had already been the coldest, worst, loneliest month of my life, and I was eager to see the end of it. The month had started in the Salt Lake City hospital and continued through several weeks at a rehabilitation center in Portland. I’d been released in time for Christmas with my grandparents, and now, finally, I was literally on the doorstep of my next chapter a couple of days before the new year.

The yellow Victorian owned by Dad’s friend, Eric, with its wide front porch and white trim, was in the historic district of Mount Hope, an area I’d always found laughably kitschy when I was in town visiting my grandparents as a kid. However, with the whole neighborhood still decked out for the holidays, I could see the appeal. All the decorations looked ready for a Christmas card painting.

A bitter wind whistled while I waited for my dad to grab my bags from his truck and join me on the porch. I was far more mobile these days, using a scooter-walker with a padded seat for my injured leg, but Dad had insisted on getting me situated before making another trip for my luggage. Given that my dad lived on the property, we could have gone in through the back entrance, but the front of the house had a narrow ramp for easier access with my scooter.

I’d met Eric and his four teens a few times, but I had only vague memories of the kids and Eric’s late husband. When his husband died, Eric needed help and my dad and other friends had pitched in, which was why my dad and Denver rented the carriage house.

I tugged my too-thin jacket closer. Most of my belongings were either in Arizona, storage, or scattered only God knew where. I hadn’t been around for the wrap-up of the motocross season, so I’d had to rely on Joey and others hastily boxing up my clothes and gear.

The massive oak front door swung open as my dad lumbered up the ramp with my bags.

“Skull fracture is such an imprecise term.” A short teenager, maybe fourteen, with wild, frizzy hair and a Science, Not Speculation T-shirt stood in front of me, blocking the entrance. “Did you know the human skull contains twenty-two bones? Also, I’ve been studying ocular migraines. How’s your nutrition? In particular?—”

“Wren.” My dad cut off the amateur teen MD, but his tone was fond. “How about you let Declan in the house?”

“Sorry, sorry.” Another teen appeared behind Wren, this one older, probably closer to eighteen. He was tall and thin with elfin features and wore pink sweatpants and a loose, cropped shirt with a peach outlined in glitter. The peach danced as he gestured at the first teen. “This is Wren. They’re a bit…enthusiastic that you’re joining us. I’m Rowan.”

Awkward handshakes were exchanged while I tried to keep my balance on my scooter as we finally entered the house. The entryway featured gleaming hardwood floors and a large staircase, and it was entirely too narrow for all of us.

Right as I was about to ask where my room was, my dad’s phone trilled with an incoming message. He set my bags down so he could fish out his phone. A lifetime of being a firefighter’s kid meant I knew what was coming even before he shook his head and exhaled a telltale harsh breath.

“I hate to throw you to the wolves…er…teens, but it’s the week between Christmas and New Year’s, and folks are calling in left and right. The station needs me to come cover a shift.”

“Of course.” I made a shooing motion. Any impulse I had to ask him to wait a few minutes had passed decades ago. When the station called, he had to go, and that was that. “Go.”

“I can help you get to your room, at least.” Dad’s mouth twisted, expression going pained.

“I’ve got it.” I forced a smile. Didn’t need him feeling guilty about doing his job. Simply a fact of life, nothing personal, and if my chest pinched, I knew by now how to ignore it.

“Love you.” Dad pulled me in for a quick hug. We were Murphys from a long line of first responders, not all of whom got to come home, and we always said I love you , no matter what.

Dad headed out, which left me and the teens staring at each other. I’d maybe met these two in passing at a Mount Hope event when we were all a lot younger, but I wasn’t sure. I’d been hoping for more familiar faces. Okay, that was a lie. I’d been specifically hoping Jonas would be home to greet me, but like my dad, he probably had to work long hours during the holidays. It was a bit silly how eager I was to see the guy again.

Jonas had visited twice while I’d been at the rehab facility in Portland, mercifully without my dad, and we’d spent most of the time talking and eating the takeout he’d brought to give me a break from hospital food. He’d kept his word, though, and had read for a bit from the mystery book each time. Before Christmas, he’d gifted me a subscription to an audiobook service and a list of audio titles I might enjoy, but I didn’t know how to tell him it was him I liked even more than the mysteries.

“Could you point me toward my room?” I asked the kids. I had a pack of tween and teen cousins, but even when I’d been one of the teens myself, I’d always felt a bit removed, unsure of how to interact outside the narrow context of motocross events. Promo I could handle. Small talk, not so much.

“Absolutely. And you don’t have to worry about your bags. I’ll get them.” Rowan picked up both bags, a large black duffel and a red backpack, one in each hand. “Ooh, look at me. Weights and cardio at the same time. Follow me.”

“You sure you can lift both those?” I wasn’t sure what to make of this kid and his obvious delight, all while looking like the wind could carry him away.

“Yep. I delayed my mandatory PE credit until senior year.” Rowan gave a shrug of his slim shoulders while waiting for me to accompany him down the hall toward the rear of the house. “The only thing that fit my schedule this year was a strength training class. Semester two of torture starts after the new year. I need the practice.”

Agreeing with him would be rude, so I adopted a more pragmatic tone. “Everyone is good at something. Maybe you just haven’t found your sport.”

I wouldn’t know because even before discovering motocross, I’d been an athletic kid, Little League, soccer, all that. I had decent hand-eye coordination and good stamina, which served me well when I switched to motocross.

“Have you seen me?” Rowan paused to pirouette, a nifty trick while holding the bags. What he lacked in muscles, he sure made up in grace. “I don’t have a sport unless we’re counting dancing, and even then, it better be for a musical number.”

“Fair enough.” I stifled a laugh. In school, kids like him, theater geeks and poetic types, had made me all kinds of uncomfortable. I wasn’t sure exactly how someone went through life so… free. Now, I was an adult, and the discomfort had given way to something closer to envy.

“This is your room.” Rowan opened another heavy wood door to reveal a large, sunny bedroom. All the blinds were open along a bank of windows that faced the back and side yards. My head started a low-grade ache, but I wasn’t about to ask the kid to close all the windows on my account. The room was an unfortunate shade of avocado with faded spots where pictures had likely once hung. Someone had made the bed with a soft-looking plaid quilt in fall colors with matching pillows. Two doors stood on the wall opposite the bed, and Rowan gestured at the far one after setting my bags down with a thump . “Bathroom through there. Jonas worked with your dad to make sure everything was accessible for you.”

“I don’t need special treatment.” Upon further inspection, I could see little accommodations for me—all hardwood floors, not a rug in sight. A rolling bed tray thing like in the hospital. A peek in the bathroom revealed grab bars and a walk-in shower with a shower chair.

“Dude, be lucky they decided against the hospital bed.” Rowan rolled his eyes at me. “And most of these things were already here from when my other dad was sick.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” I’d totally forgotten momentarily that the kids had lost their other dad, Eric’s husband, to cancer a year or so ago. Appropriately rebuked, I tried to sound more grateful as I moved to sit on the bed, pulling my injured leg up to recline, a maneuver I’d gotten way too good at. “This is fine.”

“No, it’s not. It’s an ugly mismatch.” Rowan gave a dramatic flourish as he indicated the decor. “But I’m here to help. What’s your favorite color?”

“Uh…black?”

“Not helpful, Declan. Not helpful.” Rowan shook his head regretfully. “Dad said we could paint, but black walls aren’t going to fly.”

“People think of black as the absence of color, but actually, it’s all of them at once,” Wren observed from the door.

“See, it’s a pretty cool color.” I smiled at Wren, who didn’t smile back. “Short stuff agrees.”

That got a deeper frown from Wren and a groan from Rowan.

“We’re not decorating in a black scheme. Sorry, but no.” Rowan narrowed his eyes. “How do you feel about subtle florals?”

“We’re decorating?” I couldn’t hide my shudder. I associated decorating mainly with my grandma’s house, which had collectibles everywhere. In Seattle, my parents had worked long hours, and while our craftsman house had been homey, no one would have mistaken the hodgepodge of items for a deliberate interior design scheme.

“Rowan. Wren.” Blessedly, Jonas chose that moment to appear behind Wren. He was accompanied by a medium-sized dog, some sort of cattle dog mixed mutt, the long-legged type I often saw at the races. “How about we let Declan rest?”

“Hey.” I grinned, not even trying to hide my relief at being rescued from Rowan’s decorating ambitions. “And this must be the famous Oz?”

Jonas had mentioned his dog in passing a few times, and I could see why he was so taken with the dog’s gentle temperament. No jumping or barking, the dog simply strode over to the bed, hopped up, and settled himself at the foot.

“How are you feeling?” Jonas stepped into the room, eyeing me critically.

I managed a moan even more dramatic than Rowan’s. “If one more person asks me that, I might punch a wall, and I don’t have a hand to spare.”

I held up my healed wrist. Thanks to time and PT, I was able to steer the scooter and do basic tasks now, but punching anything would be foolish. Stupid or not, I glanced at the stack of pillows next to me. Might be worth a little pain to relieve some frustration.

“No punching.” Jonas gave me a stern glare that made me laugh. Damn, I was glad to see him again. And he looked good . Beard neatly trimmed, wearing a soft moss-colored sweater that made his hazel eyes appear greener than usual. Khaki pants hugged his thick thighs. I looked away before I got caught staring. I was the king of averting my eyes, but this was the first time I’d had to really work at it, a level of appreciation I hadn’t had prior.

“I’m telling you, he’d rest better if you let me work on the ambiance in here.” Rowan gestured with both hands as Jonas bodily steered him and Wren toward the hall.

“The ambiance is fine for now.” I yawned, more to hurry up the teens leaving than actual exhaustion. Lord knew I’d napped enough for several lifetimes this month alone.

“All right, everyone out.” Jonas good-naturedly waved Rowan and Wren away amid protests.

“Fine, but I’ll draw up some decorating plans for later.” Rowan made the promise sound closer to a threat as he left, followed by Wren, who was muttering about not having had a chance to quiz me about my symptoms.

“You do that.” I sank back against the pillows and briefly closed my eyes.

“How are you really?” Jonas asked as he went around the room, closing the blinds.

“Shitty.” The dimness helped, but I couldn’t quite shake my frustration or find it in me to lie to Jonas. “Sorry. I’m just so tired of being fine . Okay. On the mend . Could be worse . Fuck all the lies.”

“You don’t have to pretend with me.” Jonas stooped to pet his dog before settling into a weirdly shaped midcentury modern chair in the corner to the side of the bed. I appreciated how he always seemed to go out of his way to make it so I didn’t have to crane my neck to make eye contact, but the chair looked all kinds of uncomfortable and stiff and not at all suited to his big frame.

“I know. That’s why I like you. I can be whiney.” I made the comment flippantly, but a hint of a blush crept across Jonas’s face.

“Thanks. And I’ve told you, you’re not whiney, but even if you were, you could whine away.”

“Oh, I’ve got a list.” I gave a bitter laugh. “I can’t drive. Can’t ride. Hell, even being a passenger in my dad’s cushy truck makes me nauseous. I actually had to make him pull over on the way to my grandparents from Portland. I’m a mess. My ribs are healed, wrist is on the way, leg’s getting there, but it’s my fucking brain. Having to relearn how to do stupid stuff. Waste of my time. Shit, I’d take a blown ACL over this bullshit.”

“Amen. TBIs are the worst. As a nurse, I’d rather see a thousand knee injuries over one head injury.” Jonas scooted his chair closer to the bed. “There’s so much we still don’t know about the brain. There’s new research all the time though.”

“I hate feeling like a fucking science experiment to my doctors.” I groaned and gestured at the door. “That one teen, Wren, thinks the key may be my nutrition. Everyone has a theory, yet no one has a real answer.”

“It sucks. I’m not going to minimize it.” Jonas moved his hand like he might be reaching for mine but quickly dropped it back to his side. “And what’s worse is it’s not the kind of hard thing you can step away from or turn off.”

“Just have to deal. The therapist at rehab called it acceptance. Fuck that.” I finally gave in to the urge to smack one of the pillows. “I don’t want to accept this ‘changed reality.’ If something on the bike breaks, we fix it. We don’t accept it.”

“I’m sorry brain injuries aren’t as easily fixable as a suspension or motor.” Jonas shrugged, his tone becoming more pragmatic while remaining sympathetic. “However, one thing I’ve learned the hard way is that acceptance doesn’t mean you like a situation. In fact, it can mean the opposite—accepting there’s not a damn thing you can do to change an outcome.”

“Oh.” Sometimes, I forgot he was a nurse and had probably seen his share of gruesome stuff. I was so wrapped up in my own problems that I’d lost perspective. “Like with patients dying, you mean?”

“That’s one example, sure.” Jonas’s gaze shifted to one of the windows, eyes taking on a faraway cast. “There’s lots of messed-up situations in this world. I’ve had plenty of chances to practice acceptance, trust me.”

“Like?” Curiosity made me shift closer to the edge of the bed.

“Maybe you’d rather have a chapter of the book?” Jonas pulled out his phone, already clicking over to his e-book app.

“Hey.” I made a frustrated noise. “I thought we were friends by now. Actual friends, not just you humoring some other friend’s kid.”

If he was only being nice to me because of my dad, he could get out now. I gave him my stoniest glare.

“We’re friends.” Fine lines appeared around Jonas’s eyes and mouth like the admission cost him. “And I don’t see you as a kid, trust me.”

“Good.” I replaced my glare with a satisfied grin. Knowing Jonas liked me and didn’t simply feel obligated made my head lighter than it had been in weeks. “If I can be honest with you, why can’t you be honest with me?”

“Because friends or not, you don’t want to hear my sob story of how I lost my family.”

“Jesus. Your whole family died?” I sucked in a breath, heart hammering. I’d expected… Hell, I wasn’t even sure. But not this. For the first time, I reached for his hand instead of waiting for him to make contact. “Fuck. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

“They didn’t die. They’re alive. That’s what I’ve had to accept.” Jonas spoke in a flat tone as he held tightly to my hand. “They’re gone, lost to me.”

“Because you’re gay.” I didn’t make it a question. I knew way too much about how the world worked.

“Oh, my family kicked me out long before that, but being gay pretty much nailed shut any chance of contact. Have you heard about the lost boys of Utah?”

“No.” I frowned, pretty damn sure I wasn’t going to like what I heard, so I kept right on holding his hand like that might make sharing his story easier for us both.

“My family is polygamists. I have seventeen siblings last count. As with a lot of polygamist sects, teenage boys are often kicked out so they won’t compete for the girls.”

“That’s bullshit,” I blurted out.

“Yep.” Jonas nodded curtly. “Little did they know I wasn’t anyone’s competition, but the patriarchs sent away a bunch of us the same. My mother was one of the daughters of the prophet for the sect. Didn’t make any difference. I’m one of the lucky ones, actually.”

“Being raised by a cult that then kicked you out doesn’t sound like a win.”

“Yeah, but a lot of guys like me end up drug addicts, sex workers, without housing, or worse. I camped out a few days near a high school in Provo, figuring I’d blend in. A teacher found me and hooked me up with an organization to help ex-polygamists. Luckily, I wasn’t eighteen, so I ended up in state custody for a few years.” Jonas’s expression stayed bland throughout his story, almost as if he were sharing someone else’s tale. Meanwhile, I wanted to rage on his behalf.

“Luckily? You were a kid .” I made a wounded noise, clinging to his hand more for me than him at this point.

“Being under eighteen meant getting to live in a group home for teens. That meant I had a place to stay while I graduated from an alternative high school. Having a diploma provides more opportunities than most lost boys get, and having ID and paperwork allowed me to get a part-time job working at a retirement home.”

“That’s how you decided to become a nurse?”

“Yeah. I figured I could make something of myself. Help people who needed it. Nurses at the retirement home told me I’d always have a job if I had a nursing license. I liked the sound of that.” Jonas’s tone became more wistful. God, I wanted to go back and give his younger self the biggest, cushiest house I could find.

“How did you end up in Mount Hope?” From what my dad had said, he’d met Jonas back when they and Eric and their other friend Tony were all at community college and living in a big apartment together.

“I wanted the hell out of Utah. I had thoughts of trying to find a big city—LA or Seattle, maybe. But I got a chance to hitch my way to Oregon. I spent a night in Mount Hope at the truck stop on the edge of town, saw a sign for the community college, and never left.”

“You didn’t try to go back ever?”

He shook his head sadly. “I wrote a lot of letters over the years. Managed a few phone calls here and there with folks connected to the sect, but the plain truth is they didn’t want me. Not then and especially not after my first divorce, when I officially came out, but I’m not about to change.”

“Wow.” I whistled low. We were still holding hands, so I squeezed his tightly, like pinning him to me could make up for whatever horrors he’d had to endure. “That’s some heavy shit. I’m sorry you went through that.”

“It was a long time ago.” Sliding his palm away from mine, he sat back in the chair. “I should let you get some rest.”

“Wait.” I leaned forward. “I’m sorry for bringing up old hurts. You don’t have to leave.”

“Well, my dog certainly seems to have made himself at home.” Jonas offered a sad, crooked grin as he pointed at Oz, who was now snoring, wrapped into a perfect furry circle against my calf. “How about I read, and you at least pretend to nap?”

“Deal.” I’d let him move on from his past and talk about less painful stuff, but I wasn’t forgetting anytime soon. And it wasn’t simply the depressing nature of his tale. I’d never felt protective like this about anyone, like I would do serious harm to those who’d hurt him, and like I’d give a hell of a lot to keep him safe and happy in the future.