“Take the Long Way Home,” Supertramp crooned out of the jukebox. Skip leaned back in his chair and watched as Rosie and Lucinda two-stepped their way around the little area in front of the bar. No one gave a shit that two middle-aged biker chicks were dancing together, least of all their husbands.

The same songs played on the same jukebox, while they drank the same beer and told the same stories they’d told the first time they did this. Thirty years ago, he’d been fresh-faced and green as hell when he’d stumbled into this bar. He wasn’t old enough to drink yet, but he was free and on his own with an overpowering need to set the world on fire.

He’d dropped out of school the year his folks had died. He’d left the commune not long after that.

He’d packed everything he owned and threw it in his beat up, old Bug and drove as far as he could. He broke down in front of this dive. And fell in with this bunch as if he’d been sent here to meet them.

Rosie and Lucinda were on spring break from Berkley. Sam and Colten were like him, just out of school with no plans for the future. Blake and Darren were up from Texas scouting colleges. And Jimmy and Norah were newlyweds on their honeymoon. They’d met as strangers that year back in ’87. All a bunch of new-age hippies with nothing to protest. Except Skip, he’d done that his whole life. He just wanted to see what normal people did.

Over the years they added new people to their group, through marriage or just like-minded people with nothing better to do than tag along through the woods with a bunch of drunk kids wanting to set the world on fire.

They’d lost people too; divorce and death were always part of life. But some, like Jimmy and Norah, just stopped coming.

Skip hadn’t made it every year. He’d missed a few along the way, but he kept in touch. The years when he couldn’t make it, he’d host a get together down at the beach house. After his folks had passed the commune fell apart, and he’d been left there alone with a bunch of ghosts. Why the hell not. There were enough rooms in the place for everyone to have their own retreat.

The song ended and Seven Bridges Road came up next. Classic rock, all the way. Skip could count on that much. The songs never changed on the juke, or with this crowd. There wouldn’t be a single Duran Duran song on there. Or Adam Ant or Boy George. He’d kill for some George Michael.

He’d lost George this past Christmas. The death had hit him hard. Harder than Bowie or Prince. Harder than any of the other losses of the past year, for reasons he couldn’t ever tell this crowd. 

“Who are we missing?” Blake thumped a tub of beers down on the table and looked around the bar. His black hair had gone completely silver in the last year. He looked good, even if he was pushing fifty.

“Just Colten.” Lucinda swept a bottle from the tub and collapsed into her husband’s lap. “This was his party and he’s the one who can’t be assed to show up.”

They usually met up later in the spring. March was always too wet for hiking and too cold. Back in the day, it had always been in March, mostly because of college breaks. After they all grew up, and got jobs and had kids, they’d played with the schedule, keeping up with each other as technology changed. They had their own Facebook group now. And Colten had written a couple of weeks back asking if they could meet up early this year. Skip had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach when he read the message. Something about the brief message had seemed like bad news.

“You’d think he would have said why he insisted on dragging us all up here or, I don’t know, maybe let us know if he’d changed his mind.” Rose grabbed a beer; she didn’t sit on her husband’s lap. She sat across from him and didn’t meet his gaze. Another ending right there. Skip would be willing to lay money on it.

“He’ll be along. He’s always late. He has to come from Virginia now. That’s a long way.” Blake drained a beer and slammed the bottle down on the table. He kept looking at the door where Sam and Darren had disappeared. That seemed to be the beginning of something.

Sam had lost her husband a couple of years back, and Darren… well, maybe the divorce would finally go through now that the kids were grown. Skip was sure they’d always been sneaking around. He just hadn’t cared until a few years ago. He hadn’t cared about a lot of things until Brian came into his life. One day he’d tell them about Brian. Maybe.

Not this year.

He checked his phone for messages. They’d be heading out in the morning and phone service was spotty on the trail. Brian hadn’t returned his messages today. Probably too busy sexing that hunk of a man he’d been mooning over for as long as Skip had known him.

He’d left two days sooner than he’d planned when Doc had shown up on his doorstep looking like a lost puppy. The love in his eyes when he’d clapped eyes on Brian had damn near floored Skip. He’d never had anyone look at him like that. Male or female. Not from lack of trying. That boy had his heart in his eyes for his boy. So Skip had done the only reasonable thing he could think to do. He’d grabbed his gear and gone instead of standing around making it all awkward. Now he wondered if he shouldn’t have stayed. Maybe played daddy for the first time in his life. Maybe asked Zack what his intentions were, and see if he was after Brian’s money, or the land. Money Brian had no idea existed, or that he was going to inherit everything Skip’s mother and grandparents had passed down to him. Neither of them knew there was anything to gain. And Skip was keeping it that way for the time being.

One day he’d tell the boys he was rolling in it. One day he’d tell his closest friends that he had a son. Norah’s son.

Not this day.

He’d play the good-natured, loner stoner and watch his friends make fools of themselves, and when they were on the other end of the trail, and done with each other for one more year, he’d head up to his cabin and write another book.

His phone buzzed. Brian sent him a double thumbs up. Skip had forgotten what he’d texted… probably something like, was the house still standing? Something stupid to go with the stupid comment he’d left them with. Just don’t burn down the house. Jeez, he was an idiot.

The Doc had looked at him like he was trespassing on his territory. He’d obviously jumped to a conclusion that had pissed Skip off. The same conclusion another man had once come to. It had ended their friendship. Well, there was the fact that he had no idea Brian was his until the boy was sixteen, and Skip had stopped in to visit his old friends without letting them know he was coming. For three years, they pretended he didn’t know. For three years, he’d tried to see the boy. After Brian had found him down in San Diego and gone home, Jimmy had flown out and accused him of the unthinkable. Skip had decked him. If anyone could be accused of that, it sure as hell wasn’t Skip.

Brian had come home from his sister’s botched wedding with a gold ring and a broken heart of his very own. Because of Jimmy.

Skip looked around at the people gathered at the table, the same feeling of dread clutching at his gut. Only the faces from the original group were here this year. Minus Jimmy, Norah, and Colten. No one mentioned Jimmy and Norah anymore. Or invited them. Next year, they would be short one more spouse. The year after that might not ever happen. But he thought that every year. This year though, felt like an ending. Not just the end of a chapter.

This trip felt like they were putting a period on an era.

The door opened and everyone at the table strained their necks hoping to welcome their missing friend. Instead of Colt, a tall, broad-shouldered, Jarhead wearing fatigues and a scowl filled the doorway. He was far too young to be Colten. And far too hot.

Colten Mayes had been a short, Hush Puppy-wearing, computer programmer from Southern California. He’d gone on to make a fortune in Silicon Valley before moving to the East Coast about ten years back.

The men turned back to their beers; the women leered at the young man. So did Skip. He tried not to be obvious about it. But damn. He bet he could bounce a quarter off that guy’s ass. If he were ten years younger, he’d give it a try. He caught the guy’s eye; the stare was hard and unwelcoming. Make it twenty years younger.

The guy tipped his head in a curt, military style nod and started for their corner of the bar. Skip’s heart skipped a couple of beats as the ice blue gaze met his. He seriously wondered if he had attracted the attention of a hot ass Marine, or if the hot ass Marine had taken his interest the wrong way.

Fear? It had been a long time since he felt anything resembling fear. A little more than ten years ago when he’d stared into a pair of clear, green eyes and recognized his own mortality.

The Marine carried a bag over his shoulder. He seemed to have a purpose as he moved through the tables. Skip wasn’t the only one to notice they had gained the attention of a stranger. Blake was on his feet acting as their de facto leader with his pasted-on, politician’s smile and an outstretched hand.

Skip was willing to bet the whole hundred acres up in Oregon that the first words out of Blake’s mouth would be “Thank you for your service, Marine. Welcome home.”

Yep, nailed it. Skip didn’t stand with all the others. He nodded to the boy, because damn, he wasn’t too long out of diapers by the looks of him. Certainly not old enough to have served in the military. But then, Skip was feeling his age lately. And that boy was way too young for what his dick was thinking.

“Thank you, Mister Hamilton, Sir,” the Marine grasped Blake’s hand and shook it. He looked at each of the people at the table and greeted them by name. Skip wasn’t the only one wondering why this kid knew their names. “Skip,” he said, leaving off the Mister part as he met Skip’s gaze one more time. The Marine nodded again, and set the bag down on the table.

“Chad Mayes?” Skip said, recognizing the boy in the man and the father in the son. The feeling of dread in his gut turned rock hard.

“Yes, Sir.” He didn’t smile. There was sorrow in his eyes. “Dad asked me to give you this.” He pulled a package out of his bag and handed it to Blake with no explanation. Skip didn’t need one. He knew. “He wanted his closest friends to lay him to rest.”

“No.” It was Darren who reacted first. The big former football player from San Antonio, Texas sat down in the chair— hard. Darren was the last one Skip would have pegged to take it the hardest. “Colt is gone?”

“Yes, Sir,” the Marine said, his voice controlled in that peculiar way military men had. Just an answer. No emotion. He looked over Darren’s head, his gaze sweeping Skip before he returned his attention to Blake. “He passed three weeks ago. Cancer. He asked that it be kept quiet until you were all together. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Skip remembered Chad as a quiet child who favored his mother more than his father. Colten had lost the boy in the divorce and had no real contact with him after his tenth birthday. Losing his son had broken Colt. He’d left his life in California, and gone to the other side of the country to escape his ex. He smoked too much and drank too much and worked more than he should to fill the gap in his life.

Skip took a fresh bottle of beer from the bucket and raised it to the Marine. He didn’t say anything; he downed the contents and pushed his chair back from the table. There was nothing to say, and tomorrow would dawn too damned early for his tastes.

He clapped the Marine on the shoulder and left them to say or do whatever they were going to say or do to mourn the passing of a friend. He felt the weight of the Marine’s gaze on him as he escaped the room that was closing in on him.

The cold air outside, filled his lungs and stung his eyes.

This would be his last trek up this mountain. He was sure of that now. He sent a text to his son telling him he loved him. He didn’t expect to hear it in return. His phone vibrated a text. Brian sent him a big heart.

It was enough.

* * * * *

Four years in the Marines with two tours in Afghanistan, and the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life was to walk into that tavern carrying his father’s remains. Chad didn’t know these people. He was simply fulfilling the final wishes of the man who’d left him behind. Final wishes that had nothing to do with Chad.

He remembered his father’s friends from the few times he’d come along for their yearly meetups. The last time, he’d gone with his parents to this funky house on the coast for a weekend, and gone surfing for the first time.

He’d been hooked after that. He remembered the red-haired teacher more than he remembered the rest of his dad’s friends. The one who’d seemed so much… He couldn’t find the right word, even now, for what he remembered about the guy. He laughed more and seemed to live outside. He took Chad and the other kids to this old run-down amusement park to play mini-golf when his parents had spent the day drinking and talking about stock portfolios and shit like that. The guy, Skip, he’d rolled his eyes at the grown-up talk and told them all he was taking the kids and going to be free. That was what he’d felt like to Chad. Freedom. He’d smelled like sunshine and salt water, and his eyes crinkled when he laughed. That’s what Chad remembered the most about the man.

Chad met those same eyes over the heads of the bar patrons. It had been a shock to remember how green his eyes were. The lines around them were deeper, but he still looked the same. He sat at the end of the table slightly away from the others. He seemed to be studying them. But that was something Chad had noticed when he was a kid. Skip always seemed to be the one outside looking in.

He was quick with a joke and a smile. He was everybody’s friend, yet… He seemed the loneliest. His smile faded when they weren’t looking. He was always the first to leave. Chad had followed him once to find him sitting on a rock overlooking the ocean. Skip had welcomed him, and Chad had curled into his embrace and watched the sunset with him. Skip never said a word. But Chad had never forgotten that moment.

He felt the weight of Skip’s quiet gaze on him while he broke the news to his father’s friends. They hadn’t recognized him. The one who always seemed to do the talking had thanked him for his service and almost immediately dismissed him. Skip recognized him first. The heat Chad had seen in his eyes dimmed and went cold. He’d raised his beer to Chad, clapped him on the shoulder and left without a word. The heat from his hand burning a hole in Chad’s soul. He swallowed hard as he turned with the others to watch the man walk away.

“Skip was probably closer to your father than any of us,” one of the women said, her voice filled with apologies for the perceived slight. “He’s going to take it the hardest.”

“Not that we aren’t taking this hard,” the one who’d thanked him for his service added quickly lest Chad think he was heartless. Chad didn’t. He didn’t think anything about any of them. “It’s… such a shock. He didn’t tell anyone he was ill.”

“No, Sir, he kept it need-to-know. I found out not that long ago. He didn’t want me to worry.” Chad tried not to think about the day he’d left the service, when he’d called to ask his father if he could visit. He’d planned to re-up for two more years, but… at the end, he’d changed his mind. He’d seen enough killing to last him a lifetime. He went home to a dying father and an emotionally absent mother.

“You must have been devastated.” The other woman in the group said; she was the only one wiping away tears. Chad wondered if these people even gave a shit about his father. Why in the hell had he set up this trip and come all this way to just give his ashes to a bunch of assholes who didn’t know him?

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said, realizing he was standing at military ease with his hands behind his back and his face carefully blank. He cleared his throat and looked at the door where Skip had disappeared. “I was able to say goodbye. I guess that’s more than some people get.”

“You know, Colt always talked about having his ashes scattered in these mountains. I just never thought he’d want us to do it.” The third woman, Sam, the one his dad had dated for a while before he married Chad’s mother, reached over and took his hand. “We loved him very much, hon. Don’t let them fool you. I know you’re thinking this is a mistake, but Colt loved these idiots and we loved him. He dragged us through this forest the first time when most of us had never set foot out of a city and brought us back year after year to do it all again. We have thirty years of memories on these trails. And we’ll know where he wants to rest. I think he told us all, at one time or another, where his favorite spots were.”

The prickling sting behind his eyes surprised him. Chad let her hand enfold his. That was more than his mother had done. He didn’t hear from her the entire time he closed his father’s house and put his things into storage. The house had been a rental; he’d cleaned it out and turned over the keys. That was a week ago. The drive across the country in his father’s car had left him exhausted and… just exhausted. He didn’t feel anything else.

“Sit down, hon. You look tired.” The woman with the long, black braid said. She wore a tight black t-shirt with Harley Davidson logos and black riding chaps. He couldn’t remember which one she was. Not the petite blonde with the carefully styled hair and delicate manicure, or the blousy, earth mother with the spiked gray hair with neon purple highlights. Rose or Lucinda. Sam was the suburban soccer mom, probably a grandmother by now. He’d seen their Facebook profiles, but couldn’t match the truth to the blasts from the past.

A biker, a hippie, and a soccer mom walk into a bar and no one blinks. Chad blinked.

“If it’s all the same, Ma’am, I’ve been driving for a week. I’d like to find a room and get some sleep before I head back tomorrow.”

“Oh, no, hon. I mean, absolutely. We’ll get you a room and tuck you in, but don’t you want to be there for your dad? I know he’d want you there to scatter his remains,” Sam, the soccer mom said. The men were passing around the box his father’s ashes were stored in. He didn’t know one from the other. The only one he remembered had left. The instructions had never said he’d have to stay. But they never said he’d have to leave either. He’d never gone on the hike. He remembered staying in the cabins while his father had gone hiking. His mother had taken him to see the few sights in town and they’d moved on to the next stop to wait for the hikers to find their way down the mountain for a shower and a hot meal. He remembered lots of drinking.

He took the beer that was offered, and forced himself to relax. He was starving and tired and… “Yes’m. I’d like to know where my father rests. I’d appreciate that.”

“Good, it’s settled then.” One of the men waved over a waitress and they ordered food and more beers, and someone went to the jukebox and played a country song about resting high on a mountain.

“Skip has the only free bed. We took the last rooms when we checked in. And Skip and Colt always roomed together anyway, since they were the only singles.” He heard someone discussing him. A plate of bread came out and he grabbed a roll. He didn’t care where he slept. He had his bedroll in the car. He had what gear he was allowed to keep as a civilian. He could manage a week in the woods. He’d slept in worse places.

“Somebody will have to go find Skip.”

“He’ll be out on Lookout Point, staring up at the moon. Tell him… just get a key and let him do his thing,” the leader dude said, and one of the other men left as the food arrived.

Awhile later, the guy came back with a key. The cabin number was on the plastic tab. It was at the back of the resort if he remembered. Not that this old roadside place could be called a resort. It was still just a roadside tavern with a bunch of cabins sprawled out behind it. But it was quiet, and Chad needed quiet. He ate without tasting the food and excused himself. He would let them keep the ashes. He’d decide in the morning if he was going up the mountain. After all, he’d said his goodbyes a long time ago.

The sharp scent of pine assailed him as he stepped out into the cold night air. He wondered where he’d find Lookout Point before heading to his car. He found the cabin at the very back of the property; there were no lights on inside. He grabbed his gear and let himself into the room.

It hadn’t changed much since he was here thirteen years ago. The wood paneling made the room feel dark and the shag carpeting held the scent of cigarette smoke and urine. The beds looked new at least. He dropped his bag on one of the two beds and pulled out clean boxers and his Dopp kit and went into the bathroom to shower.

He wasn’t alone when he came out. He hadn’t heard anyone come in. He’d have dressed in the bath if he had. The man sat on the other bed; the knit cap he’d worn in the tavern lying on the bed beside him along with his shirt. He was bald now; the red curls Chad remembered, shaved away. His shoulders were broad and toned. His arms long and strong. Red hair swirled around his nipples and over his abdomen to disappear behind the waistband of his jeans.

Chad held the towel tight in one hand and his libido even tighter. “I didn’t hear you come it. There’s still hot water.”

Skip swallowed hard, his green eyes looked everywhere, but at Chad, to settle on the bathroom door just behind Chad’s shoulder. “Yeah, that sounds good. Thanks, Kid.”

He took a stack of clothing with him into the bathroom, turning back to Chad as if he was an afterthought. “I’m sorry about your dad. Colt was a decent man and a good friend. I’ll miss him very much.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Chad said, letting his gaze drop to the floor. “He spoke highly of you too.”

“Get some sleep, Kid. We’re leaving at the crack of dawn,” Skip said his voice sounding strained. He didn’t wait for Chad to reply. He closed the bathroom door and Chad let out the breath he’d been holding. His skin flushed hot and ran with chills. He shivered and sweated, but he fought it. He fought it hard. This need he had. And hadn’t expected to have here of all places. With a man old enough to be his father of all people.

He closed his eyes and forced his mind to go blank. When he stopped sweating and shivering, he dropped the towel and pulled on his boxers and a pair of sweats and a t-shirt and crawled into bed and went to sleep.