tried just a little bit of heroin. It seemed like an ironic, rock ’n’ roll thing to do at the time. The next day he blithely told Robin, expecting him to be amused like he always was when James shared his weird adventures.
But Robin was not amused. Instead he shouted at James for the first time ever and then broke down in tears. It shook James to the bone, and he was so desperate to reassure his brother that he stopped partying and threw himself into photography instead.
God, why did he have to think of that now? Weariness came down on him like a tidal wave, and he hung his head.
“The hell’s wrong with you, man?” Hunter demanded. “What’d I tell you about these woods?”
“I know,” James mumbled miserably.
“No, you don’t,” Hunter shot back. “Or you wouldn’t have done that. You think bad things don’t happen out here? You think people don’t get killed doing shit like this, going places they’re not supposed to be?”
James shook his head, closing his eyes.
“What if they’d caught up with you, James? What if they shot you on sight? Are you trying to get yourself killed? Is that it?”
“Fuck,” James whispered, covering his face with trembling hands and sinking over his knees. “I don’t know.”
There was a long silence, and then Hunter let out a rough sigh. His footsteps approached, and his weight sank down on the sofa beside James.
“I’m sorry,” Hunter said, putting a cautious hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to come down on you. I saw your car and I just…thought about you in trouble out there, and not being able to do a damn thing to…it just scared the hell out of me.”
There was something raw in Hunter’s voice that hit him right in the chest. “I’m sorry,” James whispered, and he really meant it.
“You don’t gotta apologize. You just gotta ease up, man. Or slow down, or something, all right?”
Slow down? Ease up? How? James shook his head, feeling that hole in his chest open up again.
“C’mon, James.” Hunter’s voice was gentler now. “Can’t flame out before you find Beau, right?”
Beau. God, but he’d been close today, hadn’t he? A flicker of purpose broke through the fog, and he gave Hunter a grateful look for the reminder.
Then he remembered how absurd this was. Storming into this guy’s life like a hurricane of bullshit, slurping up his kindness and generosity, forcing him to come to the rescue again and again…
Hunter smiled ruefully as he studied James’s face. “Better clean those scrapes up. Why don’t you jump in the shower? I’ll get you a towel.”
“Sure,” James mumbled as Hunter stood up and disappeared into the hallway.
Hunter was right. That was stupid, going into the woods like that. Just like it was stupid to drink himself into oblivion every night. Just like it was stupid to run and hide from settling the estate. Losing his family had kicked him into a downward spiral, and he’d done nothing but grease the skids. There hadn’t seemed to be any point in resisting. After what had happened to Grace and Bryce and Robin, how was he supposed to care what happened to him? How was he supposed to care about anything?
That was how it had been for three months. But now something was changing. At some point over the last few days, he had started to care about things. About finding answers. About finding Beau. And now, weirdly, about not putting that awful look on Hunter’s face again.
Hunter came back with a thick green bath towel and a tube of Neosporin. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.” James stood up and took the towel and supplies from Hunter and went to the bathroom, pulling the pocket door shut before facing the mirror. Jesus. No wonder Hunter had freaked out. He looked like he’d clawed his way out of a grave. There were twigs and bits of moss in his hair, and his dirty face was practically covered in blood. Fortunately, it seemed to come from just a few shallow scratches. Like he’d pissed off the wrong cat.
He shed his sweat-drenched tee and toed off his boots, wincing when he saw how mud-caked they were. He must have tracked it all over. Once he’d stripped down, he turned on the shower and stepped inside, tipping his face up toward the spray and wincing as the water hit the scratches.
Hunter’s soap did smell like sandalwood.
After drying off and gingerly dabbing ointment onto each little red stripe, he stared