Better Than People (Garnet Run 1)

Simon blinked hard and avoided looking at her, but she tugged his hand.

“Don’t make the mistake of letting fear convince you that you already know the end of the story. Don’t cheat yourself out of something wonderful because you’re too scared to take a risk.”

“But I’m—”

“No,” she interrupted. “You’re not talking now. You’re listening and then you’re going to bed to think about what you heard.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Jack is very handsome.”

His head jerked up. She had a dreamy look on her face. He nodded.

“He made the cookies. I just told him what to do.”

Simon raised an eyebrow to say, Okay, and?

“He listened. He listened when I told him how to cream the butter and he listened when I told him that he might need to give you a little time to get your head around things.”

Jack always listened. He listened to Simon’s fears and feelings, his ideas and desires. Jack listened.

“Someone who listens—really listens? That’s not someone to throw away, Simon. That’s someone you fight to talk to because when they listen it’s worth it. That’s someone you have to listen to right back. Did you?”

Had Simon? Had he really listened to what Jack was saying, or had he stopped listening to Jack and begun listening to himself?

“Shit.”

“Yes.”

Simon dropped his forehead to the kitchen table.

“Go to sleep, dear. Think about things. But don’t wait too long.”

Chapter Eighteen

Jack

The first night after Simon left had felt long, but Jack had a mission then: to think honestly about what he needed. The second night after Simon left was the longest night of Jack’s life. It didn’t help that he’d eaten approximately a dozen snickerdoodles and couldn’t tell if he was nauseated or hungry for something not made of cinnamon and sugar.

He’d gathered dead limbs from the clearing for kindling, chopped half a cord of wood by porch light, cleaned the kitchen and bathroom until they stank of vinegar, organized his office, and brushed the animals until their coats shone. Well, except for Rat’s. Hers never shone, no matter what.

Every ten minutes he fought the urge to jump in his truck and go back to Simon’s house. But Jean had told him to be patient; that Simon would come to him when he was ready. He believed her, but...he hadn’t thought it would be this hard.

When morning came, Jack paused at every sound, hoping to hear Simon’s car crunching up the drive. But it didn’t come.

He threw on a coat and took the pack for a short and stumbling walk. The walk was short because he was obeying the doctor’s orders to take it easy at first (not to mention it was slow going walking in the cumbersome boot), but the truth was it terrified him that Simon might come to find him when he wasn’t there.

But Simon didn’t come.

It was absurd: eight months of self-imposed exile in his cabin, followed by two months of wishing more than anything he could get out and not being able to. Now finally he was able to leave and he didn’t dare.

He took the pack on another short walk that evening and finally passed out on the couch as the sun set, exhausted enough to sleep through the night.

He woke early, fed the animals, and took them for another short walk. He could tell he was overdoing it. His shin ached and his left calf was starting to complain about him walking half on tiptoes.

This was the thing he’d longed for every time Simon left the house, and now that he had it all he could think was that he wished Simon were with him.

He thought he understood what had happened. Simon had convinced himself this would never work and when Simon convinced himself of things it was very hard to convince him otherwise. And Jack didn’t know how he could. How could you tell someone that the things they had experienced time after time were not true in this instance? He couldn’t.

But maybe he could show him.

When he got home he showered quickly, mind made up.

No more being patient, no more waiting for Simon to struggle through this alone. He might have had to wait for him to come to the house before, but now Jack was going to get him.

Jack dragged his clothes on over still-damp skin, shoved a beanie over his wet hair, and pulled on his boots.

“I’ll be back,” he announced to the pack. “And I’m bringing Simon with me. Hopefully. Fuck, okay, bye.”

Pirate meowed in what Jack chose to take as encouragement and Jack whipped the front door open determinedly, beginning his quest as he intended to go on.

And almost ran smack into someone standing outside his door.

There, on his porch, stood Simon, hand raised to knock, just as he’d been the first moment Jack had seen him.

Only this time, he wasn’t looking down with his shoulders hunched up to his ears. He was looking right at Jack, electric blue eyes burning, with shadows beneath them that spoke of his own sleeplessness.