Page 5 of Hounded (Fire & Brimstone)

5

Loren

The earth was cold when I stepped back into it. I shivered, and my teeth chattered as steam wafted off my skin to dissipate in the afternoon air.

The portal closed so quickly that I almost caught my bootheels in it. I didn’t want Whitney to see where I’d taken myself since what I admitted was damning enough. The line between my two worlds was hard and fast and not to be crossed by anyone but me.

I was late. Forty-five minutes past noon and counting. The edifice of Hopeful Horizons stood across the road and a parking lot away from where I’d emerged from the wide trunk of an oak tree.

Straining my eyes against the sun, I half-expected to see Indy sitting on the front steps with his duffel bag, waiting for me. But the lot was empty and so was the entry as I hurried toward it.

My hound wanted to race, and bound, and leap with joy that became almost palpable the closer I got to the facility. If Indy wasn’t outside, he would be in there. I could see him, smell him, hold him …

Whether from the rush or excitement, my cheeks were warm, and I was panting lightly by the time I arrived at the double glass doors. I steeled myself into tenuous calm before stepping inside.

The waiting room glowed white and blue. It was as quiet as it had been the last time I was here. As vacant, too, and the emptiness alarmed me. Turning toward the wall between the receptionist and me, I found her seat equally empty. A knock on the Plexiglas lured her from behind a bookcase in the back of her office space. She frowned as she looked me over. Most of her uncertainty appeared to be directed at my outfit, which was unchanged from the gala and definitely out of place here.

If she remembered me, she didn’t let on. Though, after two months, I hardly expected her to.

“I’m here to pick up my… friend,” I said, already struggling with the words. “His name is Indy. He’s being released today.”

With a soft grunt, she replied, “He left a bit ago.”

“Alone?” Panic edged into my voice.

She dropped into her chair and began clicking away on the keyboard. “We called the number on file.” She squinted at the computer screen, then read off my phone number. I was cringing long before she glanced up and verified, “Is that you?”

I coughed to clear the sudden tightness in my throat. “My reception is spotty.”

The woman clasped her hands on the desktop and looked at me. The compassion I’d garnered during our last encounter had been replaced with quiet contempt. I deserved that, and I expected more of it from Indy when I caught up to him.

The clock on the wall read 1:00 PM, which made me fully an hour late. I groaned.

“Is there a restroom I can use?” I asked.

She gestured to the corner of the room where a door was marked with a gender-neutral sign.

I muttered my thanks and hurried toward it, then slipped inside. The motion-activated light barely had time to register my arrival before I’d drawn a portal on the wall and ducked through it.

I jogged from the bathhouse down the hill toward the Airstream. Sunlight glinted off its aluminum exterior like a beacon calling me closer. Unlike this morning when the trailer park was a ghost town, neighbors now milled about, hanging laundry on drying lines and watering potted plants. I scarcely saw them, focused instead on my destination as my hound tasted the air, searching for Indy’s honeyed amber scent.

It was here, wafting on the breeze and growing stronger. My hound yipped with delight, and a smile teased my lips when I spotted the figure leaning against the white picket fence that bordered the Airstream’s tiny lot. An oversized sweatshirt hung off his shoulders, and a pair of ripped jeans snugged around his narrow waist. The duffel bag I’d packed lay on the ground at his feet.

The rehab facility had called me. I wondered if he had, too. The thought of him waiting, dialing, and getting no response made my stomach twist. What if something had happened? What if he’d needed me? I shook those fears away as I closed the distance between us, slowing my pace to an amble.

When I came into range, Indy glanced up. Minky brown hair curled at his brow, and his golden eyes widened as they flicked over me from head to toe.

“Look at the legs on you.” He gave a wolf whistle that almost stopped me in my tracks. “Damn things go on for days. Anybody ever call you that? Legs?” His smile faltered as he seemed to rethink before adding, “It’s not very creative.”

I stood before him, so close I could have grabbed his hand and pulled him to me. This was the part I hated most: the distance that shouldn’t have been there. Because when I looked at him, I saw the man I’d known and loved for a hundred years, but he saw a stranger.

So, I did reach for his hand, but only to offer a shake.

“I’m Loren,” I said and silently cursed the way my voice cracked.

Indy’s smile flagged again. “As in the Loren who was supposed to pick me up an hour ago?”

My lips fell apart, and my hand hung in the air between us until Indy clasped it.

“Don’t sweat it. I managed,” he said. “I’m Indy, but I guess you know that.” He pumped my arm up and down, then released me. His glittery eyes skimmed over me once more. “You look like you had a fun morning. Had better things to do than spring a junkie from rehab?”

I glanced at my suit coat and slacks. The burgundy velvet shimmered where it creased at my elbows and broke over the tops of my boots. Frankly, I couldn’t wait to be back in my own clothes, but Indy’s attention was drawn like a magnet to the bare stretch of skin down my chest. His gaze traveled to the area just below my beltline and lingered there long enough to make me frown. I gave a muffled cough that stirred him to attention, and he resumed his speech as though he’d never stopped.

“Sorry. Ex-junkie. Recovering addict…” He cycled through the terms while waving his hand in a circular motion. “I’m two months sober, though. Got the pin to prove it.” He gave his duffel bag a kick, indicating the enamel number sixty fastened to the strap.

“Congratulations,” I said. I meant it.

His smile turned wily as he leaned in and lowered his tone to a whisper. “It’s kind of a given. It was rehab, after all.”

I nodded.

Indy grabbed the duffel and shouldered it before gesturing to the Airstream parked beside us. “Well, now that we’re all here, you mind letting me in? This is the right trailer, isn’t it?”

I reached into my pocket for his key fob. The small cluster came complete with a few novelty keychains and the ignition key for his car. Walking under the awning to the Airstream’s door, I unlocked and swung it wide.

Indy crept up behind me and stopped at the base of the fold-down steps. He leaned to look past me at the interior.

Wood floorboards butted up to white-painted cabinets and pale gray walls. Pops of navy and yellow came from the pillows on the couch and the short window drapes. I remembered every trip to the hardware store and the hours spent deliberating over fabrics and patterns. Well, Indy deliberated. I nodded along and gave the only input I had: I liked whatever made him happy. It made me happy, too, seeing bits of him like fingerprints all over our home.

I stood in the doorway while Indy slid past, and I hoped against hope that something would be different. I waited for recognition to dawn, for some knickknack to strike a chord, or for him to sit at his art desk and pick up his watercolors and brushes.

Instead, he made his way into the kitchen and turned a slow circle before saying, “Phew, I was scared it would be a dump. This ain’t half bad.”

The door fell closed as I entered and set his keys on the butcher block counter.

“Fridge and cabinets are stocked,” I said, giving all the encouragement he needed to begin rifling the pantry for snacks. “Hope you can find something you like.”

The duffel hit the floor with a thump as Indy pulled out a bag of potato chips and a package of chocolate cookies. There was real food, too, pasta and canned vegetables that would likely go untouched since I wouldn’t be around to cook them. That realization stung more sharply than I expected, and I looked aside as Indy opened the refrigerator.

“Thanks for all this,” he muttered, bent over and pushing past a carton of eggs and a block of cheese in a targeted grab for the milk jug. He straightened, laden with food and drink, and frowned at me .

“What was your name again?”

I couldn’t breathe.

“Loren,” I replied.

His eyebrow arched. “Just Loren?”

“Just Indy?” I tried to smile but wasn’t sure if I succeeded.

He shrugged. “Fair.”

He pinned the cookies and chips under one arm and twisted the cap off the milk. Tossing the lid on the counter, he tipped the gallon jug back for a lengthy swig, then wiped his mouth on his sweatshirt sleeve.

“Garbage food in that place, by the way,” he said. “Why’d you pick it?”

The strangling sensation returned, and I tugged at my collar as though it were to blame.

Honestly, I couldn’t remember why I’d chosen Hopeful Horizons or what I’d known about it beyond the photos and testimonials on their website. It didn’t seem prudent to tell him I’d opened a search window and clicked on the first result. I’d been too overwhelmed to look any further.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

It wasn’t an answer.

Indy’s gilded eyes fixed on me. It felt like an age passed before he replied, “Don’t be. I’m the one with the problem, right? Admitting it is the first step.”

He raised the milk jug again and guzzled from it as he shimmied past me into the alley of the living area. Dumping the snacks onto the couch, he approached the television and the cabinet beneath it. The milk dangled against his thigh as he opened one cabinet door and began thumbing through the stacks of DVDs inside.

“Where’d you say your place was?” he asked over his shoulder.

“I didn’t.”

He glanced back as though expecting me to tell him now. When I didn’t, he wagged his brows and grinned. “Mysterious.”

Home , my hound whined, and I wanted to stay. I wanted to tell Indy my place was here, but I’d already pulled up my roots. My whole life was packed in the plastic totes in the bed of my truck, and this trailer no longer bore any trace of me.

It was better that way, I told myself. We both deserved a fresh start.

“Do you need anything else?” I asked.

Indy pulled out a movie, The Labyrinth , complete with David Bowie in his teased wig and tight, white pants that I had heard no end of commentary about over the years.

Rather than reply, Indy held up the DVD. “Have you seen this before?”

I nodded.

“Is it any good?”

My gaze drifted to the sofa, recalling nights spent curled up with Indy’s head under my chin and the smell of him sweetening every breath. Whatever was playing on the TV was secondary to our closeness and tender kisses. I would sit through anything that gave me an excuse to be near him.

“You’ll love it,” I said.

He grunted and popped the case open, then fed the disc into the player .

As he settled onto the couch and tore into the bag of potato chips, I felt increasingly like an intruder. Music filtered through the television’s speakers and, when the title menu filled the screen, I headed toward the door.

With one hand on the knob, I paused to study Indy’s profile. Long lashes ringed his eyes, and his nose turned up slightly at the end. He had full lips I would have given anything to kiss, to show him the sentiment I resigned myself to whisper.

“Welcome home, Doll.”

Descending the steps, I wandered out onto the narrow, paved road in the wake of a passing golf cart. My brain was abuzz with all that had happened today. Emotions lurked, feelings I didn’t dare unpack. Not now. Maybe not ever.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I tensed, expecting to see Moira ringing me again. I pulled it out while forcing my face into a mask of apathy that cracked the moment I read the name scrolling across the caller ID: S. Sullivan.

I put the cell to my ear and answered on a long exhale. “Hey, Sully.”

“Hey, yourself. How’d today go?” Her voice was full of cheer and a degree of nosy fascination that became more pronounced in her next question. “Not interrupting anything, am I?”

I trudged ahead, angling toward the parking lot where my truck was parked. “No. Not interrupting.”

She made a sympathetic noise. “You sound bummed. Wanna talk?”

“What about? ”

“ What about ?” she echoed, incredulous. “Seriously, Lore? Get in your truck and get over here because I’m envisioning you moping around the RV park feeling sorry for yourself, and it’s a real drag.”

I halted my stride, suddenly too self-aware.

“You at the gallery?” I asked.

She laughed. “Where else? You aren’t the only creature of habit in this town. We should grab an early dinner, too. Keep the meat on your bones.”

My stomach grumbled, reminding me of the gala servers laden with delicacies not offered to hellish house pets.

“I could eat.”