Bearly Hanging On (The Jamesburg Shifters #6)(21)

The van was sluggish, even more than it had been before, as it was packed with food. It had taken about a half hour to get to the road with the grocery stores on paws, but driving took all of an hour.

His pulse raced at every stop light, every time he passed a car, and each time he drove by some night creature or another out for a stroll. But, of course, none of them reacted. None even showed him any attention past a polite nod, or in the case of one very strange man who seemed to be dressed up like Peter Pan crossed with The Joker, a wild pirouette and a fling of the arm.

When Ryan pulled into the clearing in back of his house, near the cellar, he knew he'd have a long night ahead of him, and that's if his uncle didn't notice all the commotion.

With the truck mostly empty, Ryan took a breather, sitting on the stump he normally used for cutting wood, and let his thoughts wander. They went to familiar places - Jamie, the folks out here in the woods - but also danced dangerously close to his own past, which he preferred to avoid. Too much pain, too much hurt. Too many deep shadows without any light in them.

They were doors he'd closed once before, ones he didn't intend on opening again. At least not until the time was right. His old life chewed at his guts, ate him from the inside out, but... it was the past. There was no sense dwelling on it, at least not now, not while there was no new thought to have or new guilt to feel.

"I thought I told you not to do anything stupid." His uncle's voice, light with laughter, interrupted Ryan's respite. "You say to a boy, don't do anything stupid, and he doesn't. You say to a man, don't do anything stupid, and he steals the goddamn van from a grocery store."

Boston sat down on the stump, sharing it with Ryan, who quirked a half-smile and shrugged. "I didn't expect to find the van," he said. "Then again, I don't know what I was expecting. I just went. Followed my heart, isn't that what you want me to do?"

"Hell of a time to start doing that," Boston's old shoulders shook with laughter. "And that isn't exactly what I meant. You're a stubborn bastard, you know that?"

"Don't fall far from the tree, I guess."

Even though his aunt and uncle only lived with him for a few years out here, Boston was almost always present when he was growing up. His father wasn't the most supportive, and his mother was frequently too busy with other things in life to deal much with Ryan, his sister, or his little brother. But for whatever reason, Boston always seemed to have time for them.

His uncle fished one of the cigars that he wasn't supposed to smoke out of his shirt pocket, and then offered one to Ryan, who declined. "I like how they smell, but that nicotine hit is a little much after all that exertion."

"Mm-hmm," his uncle intoned. "That's why I try not to exert."

He bit off the end neatly, and lit the other. The sweet smelling cloud of smoke drifted lazily past Ryan's head. "You remember the first time you and I did this?" the younger bear asked.

"'Course I do, how could I forget? It was twenty... five years ago. I remember because you'd just come home from a dance at Thomas Jefferson school. Remember that place?"

Ryan laughed. "I remember Cedar Falls, but just barely. That combined school, it went all the way to eighth grade, right?"

"Ninth," Boston corrected him. "The joke was after ninth grade, anyone had learnt all they needed. Reality was they just bussed everyone to the next district over. Say, you know that dentist in town? And his rabbit mate?"

Ryan shrugged. "I don't pay much attention to that."

"Well you should, because they're from Cedar Falls. And also, you need those chompers polished. As much tea as you drink, you probably need some dentures." His uncle laughed his whistling, airy laugh, and Ryan smiled. "Any rate, you should talk to them, they're from there. And now I'm coming back to the point. That school was mixed in more ways than one. To hear Thor tell it, town’s almost empty of our kind now, but back in those days it was about half and half."

"I cold-cocked Greg Richards because he whistled at my date," Ryan said, leaning back on his elbows and remembering one of the good times in his past. "And—"

"She wasn't even your date!" Boston slapped his knee. "I'll never forget. Little seven year old Ryan gets into the back of my old Buick after they called me to get you early. You looked like Lancelot himself, you were so puffed up about having defended that girl's honor. You were seven, Clarice Redman was thirteen, and the boy you knocked out was fourteen. Of course, you had a little extra help."

"Seven years should have been enough of a head start on growing for it to be fair." Ryan's eyes were glittering up into the sky, reflecting the slender, quicksilver crescent moon.

For a moment, they sat in silence, both looking up into the night sky, absorbing the millions of stars that stared back. "Sometimes I think I'm letting life pass me by," Ryan murmured. "Like I spend all this time helping everyone out, but it's just to fill a hole. If I don't have to spend too long looking at myself, I don't have to see the darkness, so I just keep busy."

Boston moved the cigar from one side of his mouth to the other and took another draw. "I was like that, too, you know," he finally said. "We Drakes have our... issues. Your father was the same way. Except his made him leave. You ever think about him?"