Chapter One
Roscoe
Roscoe made his way through the forest as was his custom every morning before dawn. He liked starting the day knowing that his pack was secure, that there were no signs of intruders around them and that their sliver of the forest was still isolated. They'd gone a long way to be safe and had sacrificed much. It was up to Roscoe to ensure they continued to be safe. During the first few days, Roscoe's brothers had made the walk with him, but with them off to gather more supplies, he was able to enjoy peace and quiet as well as maintain the safety of his den brothers and sisters.
Plus, he just liked the touch, taste, and feel of the forest, especially under his colossal bear paws. He felt strongest in this form, a massive bear--as big as one of those fancy smart cars—did not have many natural enemies leaving him free to roam, sniff and stroll as he liked.
That morning, he had caught the scent of something sweet and alluring. Like fresh cut grass on a Fourth of July morning. The scent had called to him immediately, and while he didn't normally spend his mornings following a delicious scent trail out of curiosity alone, that's what he was doing now.
He had the right direction, evident by the way the scent grew stronger. Now, it was like blueberry muffins, straight out of the oven and served with a generous dollop of homemade sweet cream butter. Roscoe trekked through the forest without much care to how loud he was being. It was hard to be large and stealthy anyway. But that meant that he broke branches as he walked, and after snapping a larger twig, he heard startled rustling in the clearing ahead of him.
"Who's there?" a voice asked. The voice had an odd quality to it like the speaker was trying to sound tough while also being terrified.
Roscoe waited. He was quietest when he didn't move, so he stood there, letting only his nose move as he sniffed the path ahead. Whoever was there had the delicious smelling thing with him. A bear's sense of smell was stronger than a human's by far, but nowhere near as strong as some other shifters, like wolves. For whatever reason, Roscoe couldn't get the scent of the speaker. Now he was curious.
Curiosity killed the cat. Good thing he was a bear.
"I know someone is there. Just come out so I can see you. No more of this hiding in the bushes bullshit. I don't have any money, so you can forget about robbing me. I've got some grass. You can have it. Or you can come smoke it with me."
Roscoe's soft growl rumbled through him. Ahead, the voice cursed and began to move quickly, haphazardly. There was shuffling, and then a zipper being zipped.
Good riddance to him, Roscoe thought. He didn't care about what the guy had that was attracting Roscoe. He wasn't allowing any drugs on his mountain. This man could take his smell and his drugs with him. He stalked forward, not bothering to try to walk softly. If anything, he did the opposite, making as much noise as possible.
Ahead, the speaker cursed again, fear in his words. The fear gave Roscoe pause. He didn't want this person's fear, just his absence.
His footsteps rushed away, and Roscoe moved forward, staying hidden, but remaining a driving force. Roscoe's pack had left their home to get away from drugs--among other things--Roscoe wasn't going to let some camper bring it back in.
He reached the small clearing where the man had obviously set up camp. The small fire couldn't have provided much warmth, and Roscoe didn't see a spot where a tent had been. He noticed the depressions in the dirt beside the fire, where the guy had been sitting and possibly laying down. There were no belongings left behind and with as quickly as he had packed up, there must not have been much for him to take. Was he homeless? An extreme camper?
Roscoe kept on forward, the smell was so strong in the campsite, but its effect on Roscoe changed. No longer was it just a delectable smell that made him think of happy memories and food. This intense, it was alluring. His body tightened as he let the scent wash over him. Too bad this guy had to do what he did. Roscoe would have enjoyed meeting him and discovering why his scent caressed Roscoe's dick.
He continued, maybe a little distracted in his thoughts, which would explain why he didn't notice that he'd broken through the forest line, the edge of his new territory and was now in clear view of anyone on the side of the highway.
Normally, this high up, the number of people on the highway would top out at zero. Or one, if he counted himself.
But, at this moment, that number also included one terrified, youthful man who happened to look back as Roscoe emerged. The man screamed and started forward, but he wasn't looking where he was going and tripped over the guardrail. His body flipped over it, and he landed, head first against the pavement.
Roscoe smelled blood.
The boy was so close to the road that if Roscoe left him there, a passerby would spot him. But maybe only after some idiot had run him over. Roscoe shifted into his human form and grabbed his clothes out of the pouch he wore around his ankle. The material was a special elastic that stretched when he was in his bear form and then hung loosely in his human form. Sometimes, the pouch slid off, but that was a small price to pay for not having to be naked all the time. Not that Roscoe minded being naked. Especially not when he was around a sweet-smelling male...
...that you scared so badly he hurt himself. He pulled his clothes on and ran out to the body. The boy groaned, which was a good sign since it meant he wasn't dead. Roscoe hopped over the guardrail and bent down over the body.
He immediately regretted it.
If he thought the boy smelled good before, that was nothing compared to the unfiltered, undiluted, straight from the source scent. He made Roscoe want to roar into the sky. Images of claiming this boy, bending him over the guardrail and then again against every tree they walked by, filled his head. He was instantly hard. His dick pushed against the fabric of his pants harshly. His head filled with a lusty haze as he thought about taking this boy in every way possible until he had no question about who he belonged to.
He leaned over, and the boy whimpered. But it wasn't a sexy whimper by far. It was a fearful whimper. Just the noise to cut through Roscoe's lust and to see the boy with new eyes.
He was young, much younger than Roscoe and he was thin. He had chin length, brown hair that covered half of his youthful face, but it didn't hide his smooth skin, the absence of wrinkles and grays, all things Roscoe had earned in his years on this earth.
How old could this boy be? Eighteen? Twenty? He feared the latter guess was him being hopeful. He wouldn't be surprised if the boy was seventeen.
That thought was like cold water doused over him. If this boy was underage, he was safe from Roscoe. And Roscoe would make sure he got somewhere safe from here. There weren't any other bear shifters in the area, but there were other shifters and humans that could do a young boy harm. He lifted the boy up and cradled him in his arms, doing his best not to let him rock or move too much.
Roscoe walked them back to the boy's campsite and laid him down before jogging back to the road to grab his pack. He found it, with a sleeping mat and bag strapped to the top. When he returned, the boy was groaning, coming to slowly.
"What happened?" he asked, the voice had a different quality now than it had before. He was dazed, and it made his voice plainly young.
Innocent.
None of your business.
Even if the boy had been a little closer to Roscoe's age, he would be off limits. With the help of his brothers, Roscoe had just managed to pull what was left of his pack out of sure destruction. He'd had to be hard with them when they moved, and there had been no small amount of grumbling from people who wanted to continue their bad habits.
If Roscoe broke any of his own rules that would begin a low boil of resentment with his den brothers and sister that would quickly spill over. Plus, his brothers would kill him for putting the pack in jeopardy so soon after rescuing it. But, his brothers were still out on a supply expedition, so they couldn't yell at him for making sure this boy was safe. Roscoe had been the cause of his injury after all.
He ignored the boy's question, making him a nice spot to lay his head instead. If there was one thing Roscoe could do, it was nest. Give him a corner of the forest, and he'd make it cozy. Though, he couldn't stop imagining how much more pleasant the little sleeping bag spot would be if he was able to cuddle against the young man.
"Where is that thing?" the boy asked with wide eyes looking into the forest containing no small amount of fear.
Roscoe grunted, "You don't have to worry about it."
"That isn't what I asked," the boy replied, showing a bit of backbone.
Enough for Roscoe to bend over and--
He shook his head and then shoved his large hand through his hair. He'd gotten a haircut recently, courtesy of one of his den sisters, Gaia and his fingers tried tugging on locks that weren't there anymore.
"That thing won't bother us. So why does it matter what it was?"
"It was huge. I thought for sure I'd finally seen bigfoot. Or a yeti, whatever you want to call them. All my years of camping out in random, isolated places and I finally see one here, in Middle of Nowhere, USA."
Roscoe knew too well how isolated they were. It had been why he'd chosen the lands just outside of Noel. "It wasn't a bigfoot," Roscoe said and then wondered why. What did it matter to him what this guy thought?
"What was it?" he asked again.
Now he'd done it. He'd told the boy it wasn't a bigfoot which implied he had seen it and knew what it was, so he couldn't claim ignorance now. "Listen here, son--"
"Son? You're like, old enough to be my older brother, tops."
Roscoe tried not to get too excited over that. "I could definitely be your daddy."
Now, that had come out wrong.
Except, it felt so right, and the moment his words had reached the young guy's ears, his mouth parted as he drew his breaths in more deeply. If Roscoe was reading his signs right, which he was, he could bet money that that had turned the young man on.
"You want to be my daddy?" the young man asked, and Roscoe had to get up and walk away, trudging toward a tree, he grabbed it, scraping his fingers against the bark providing the right balance of pain to distract himself.
"I want you to go about your way," he said when he'd calmed down enough. "Where were you heading?"
"You have a habit of not answering my questions."
Roscoe bit down on the tip of his tongue to keep from growling. "I don't have a habit of anything with you. Habits require time and repetition. I intend on pointing you in the right direction and seeing you out of my forest."
"Your forest?" the boy repeated, not the least bit phased by Roscoe's harsh tone and short words. Roscoe swore he could see the boy's wheels turning in his mind as he stared at Roscoe, looking his body up and down and then looking back out to the forest as if trying to make the two images line up in his mind.
"What's your name?" Roscoe asked half to distract him and half because he couldn't keep thinking about him as the young man.
"Sawyer, yours?"
"Roscoe."
"Pleasure." Sawyer made to stand, winced, and sat back down, nestling against the bed Roscoe had made.
Roscoe tried not to puff up with pride at that.
"Do you own that animal then? Is it like, a pet gorilla or something?"
"How hard did you hit your head? You do know what continent you are in, don't you?"
"Look, man I know that gorillas don't normally roam the Pacific Northwest, but this thing was huge. And, it looked pretty comfortable waltzing around on hind legs."
He hadn't been waltzing.
His guesses weren't that far off really, which was spooky. As much as it would make him an asshole, he had to shut down his line of thinking. "I saw it before I saw you. It was a normal wolf, and it ran away the moment it spotted me. You were probably just scared when you turned back and let your mind go crazy." His stomach twisted, turning his breakfast sour. Why was lying to this stranger so difficult? Roscoe had done much worse in his efforts to care for his pack.
"Whatever you say," Sawyer replied.
Roscoe didn't believe him for a second, and it appeared that Sawyer hadn't wanted him to since he had done nothing to his demeanor or delivery to attempt to convince him.
"If you want to lie about a freaking bear the size of a Land Rover, that's fine. I can move on just as easily as I stayed." Sawyer reached into his pack and pulled out a small, clear bag.
Roscoe watched him calmly pull out a roll of gauze, wrapping it around his head and covering the spot where he'd hit his head. He ripped open a pack of painkillers and swallowed them down without water. His movements were quick, and something about them made Roscoe believe it wasn't the first time he'd applied first aid to himself.
Roscoe didn't like the implications of that one bit.
"Hey, you don't have to go now. Maybe rest a bit more? I can...I can be a lookout while you sleep...if you are worried?" What the hell was he saying? This guy was on his way out of his forest. And no matter how good he smelled, out was the only direction this boy could go when it came to Roscoe's forest.
"Hmm, let me see. Should I let a huge, random hot dude watch over me while I am physically weakened by an injury or should I try to get the hell out of here and to safety?" Sawyer tapped his chin as if thinking his question over. "Tough one...tough one..."
Despite himself, Roscoe laughed. "Okay, put that way, I get how dumb I sounded." He glowered at Sawyer from under his eyelashes. "You didn't have to point it out so succinctly, you whippersnapper."
"Again, with the age thing. I'm twenty if that makes you feel any better."
It shouldn't, but knowing his age didn't have the word teen at the end kind of did.
"You can't be much older." Sawyer evaluated him, letting his gaze sweep over Roscoe's body with an intensity that made Roscoe hard. "Maybe twenty-eight? Tops thirty."
Roscoe snorted. "Now I know you hit your head hard. Forty-two," he declared, waiting for the interested glimmer in Sawyer's eye to dim.
It didn't.
"Experienced. I like it."
If he'd been drinking anything, Roscoe would have choked on it. Irrational anger soon followed shock. Where did Sawyer get off saying something like that to a person he had recently called random? "Experienced? Is that like calling me wise? All nice ways of saying I'm old, but the end is the same." He attempted to redirect the conversation.
"Experienced isn't like wise. And it certainly isn't like old. It's like, if I gave you a piece of meat, you'd probably know how to butcher it. You'd have the proper knives for the job, and you would have the knowledge. Not like some younger guy who'd likely give it a shot but do a botched job with the one knife he owned that he uses for everything."
"A piece of meat?" Roscoe was determined to ignore the innuendo. "Are you a butcher or something?"
"My dad is. Was." Sawyer's voice caught when he corrected himself and when he looked back over to Roscoe, it was with a bewildered expression. His face cleared, and he flashed Roscoe a cheeky smile. "As I was saying, at your age, I could trust my meat in your hands."
Roscoe wasn't sure whether it was his own domineering arousal or anger at Sawyer coming on to a complete stranger in the forest that propelled him over where he lifted the young man to his feet, holding him by the throat. His grip was firm, but he wasn't even restricting Sawyer's air flow. He just wanted to get the boy's attention. "Do you have a death wish or are you just that easy?"
"Do I have to choose?" Sawyer replied flippantly, but he wasn't fooling Roscoe. His voice trembled ever so slightly as he spoke.
"I could be a murderer. I could be anyone, and you wouldn't know. I'm not asking you to run and hide from every person you meet but have some caution. Don't get them thinking about something if they weren't already."
Sawyer took a deep breath as if he was proving he could. "If you were a psycho and wanted to hurt me, nothing I said or didn't say would change that."
Roscoe couldn't decide if he was angrier that Sawyer was right or that he knew that in the first place.
He let go, waiting for Sawyer to have his balance before stepping away. "I'm sorry, that was rude of me."
"It's okay. You did it for a good reason. It was actually kind of hot, all disapproving daddy and all."
This time, when Roscoe invaded Sawyer's personal space, he was gentle and soft. "It is never okay for someone to hurt or scare you without your permission. No matter what their supposed reasons are."
"Whatever you say, Dad."
Roscoe wrinkled his nose. "There is definitely a difference between Dad and daddy."
"Ha. I guess there is. Which do you want to be?" Sawyer asked, his tone going husky and alluring.
"No matter what I want," Roscoe replied, nearly stumbling in his effort to get away and reach clean, Sawyer-free air.
Sawyer watched him but then sat back down on his sleeping bag. "Has anyone ever told you, you are a little like a yo-yo?" he asked, wagging his finger from one side and then back to the other. "All up in my face, then way over there, then all up in my face again."
"I'm not usually like this."
"I have an effect on you?" Sawyer asked with such a big goofy grin, Roscoe didn't want to contradict him.
"You smell good," Roscoe admitted.
"Okay. Weird." Sawyer reached over to his firepit. He grabbed matches from his bag and some paper, and within a minute he had a pleasant little fire going.
"You're pretty good at that."
"I am," Sawyer replied, pleased. "I've had enough practice."
That wasn't the first time he'd implied that being alone in the woods wasn't a new or unusual thing for him. As the moments passed, Roscoe needed to know why.
"Why do you camp so much?"
"Camp? I don't think you can call it camping when you don't actually have an alternative."
"You're homeless?"
"Technically, the world is my home, isn't it?"
Roscoe sat on the other side of the fire, not caring that the ground was wet. "How long has the world been your only home?"
Sawyer gave him a side eye and then drew his legs in. It bugged Roscoe that Sawyer would move any part of his body further away from him. "It's not important. Besides, if I tell you, you'll just get all mopey and sad. My story isn't for the faint of heart."
"I think my heart can handle it."
Though, by the way Sawyer's gaze could make his body warm up, he wondered if that was true.
"It's dumb. Not even original. The same story we've all heard a hundred times."
"Try me, Sawyer."
If he hadn't been staring so intently, Roscoe wouldn't have noticed the soft tremble that went through Sawyer when he had said his name.
"Dude, you already got mad at me for coming on to you. I don't think it is fair for you to flaunt your sexiness in my face if you don't want me to take a shot."
Roscoe scooted a little closer. "Stop changing the subject."
"I'm not. Just saying, it isn't fair. You don't get to look at me with eyes that scream bedroom and then--"
Roscoe set his hand on the boy's knee. "Sawyer, tell me."
He shouldn't have touched him.
After, he would realize what a colossal mistake it had been.
Before, he was able to touch him because he'd been passed out and Roscoe hadn't known anything about him. Now, he was awake and warm. And Roscoe knew he was also resilient, clever and had a tongue as sharp as a knife. His jeans were cold under Roscoe's palm, but that only made the heat from his body that much warmer. His scent, which Roscoe had almost grown used to during their conversation, strengthened until it was like a mist, enveloping them both.
His fingers kneaded Sawyer's soft flesh as he relished in just how fragile the boy was. He liked that, just like he liked the round, innocent eyes Sawyer had when he looked up at him, wondering where this was going.
It was apparent that Roscoe was the dominant hand here. For all his talk, the moment Roscoe had touched Sawyer he had gone quiet, pliant. Not frightened. Roscoe would have been able to smell it if fear had been rolling off him.
His hand grazed over Sawyer's crotch. Definitely no fear there. Just beautifully hard, stupidly appealing flesh.
Alarms rang in his head for him to stop and think about what he was doing. He was an alpha. A pack master. He should have control and willpower that exceeded that of any in his pack and yet, he could no more lift his hand away from Sawyer's body than he could push him into the fire.
The desire to learn what his body felt like was taking him over. Did he enjoy a softer touch? Roscoe scratched his fingernails up his thigh. Oh no. His boy liked it hard.
His boy?
Roscoe pulled away with a snarl and jumped back faster than he'd ever moved. This moment, whatever it was, had come on so quickly. Like spotting a fish zooming underwater, it had been that fleeting.
It had to be fleeting.
There could be nothing here that remained, no ties or hooks to sink into his flesh and bind him.
When he was finally brave enough to look at Sawyer, the boy was breathing hard. He'd pulled his legs in and hugged them, making him look much younger than his non-teen age.
"I'm sorry," Roscoe nearly shouted because he couldn't stand Sawyer looking so forlorn.
Sawyer turned his face away from him, toward the fire.
That wouldn't do. Without being able to see his face, how was Roscoe supposed to know if he was okay? He stalked around him, giving the young man a wide berth as he walked to the other side.
"That was my fault, and I am sorry," he said, slowly, surely.
Sawyer looked up at him with an expression that was so lost, Roscoe's hands trembled with the desire to hold him.
"What was that?"
"I lost control. I--"
"No, not your lack of self-control..."
Ouch. That hurt. Not that he didn't deserve it.
"...you were just touching me with your hand. So why do I feel like it meant so much more? Like...it was the first right thing I have ever done? That's crazy," he said, but it sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than anything.
"It isn't crazy. Well, I mean, you aren't crazy. Maybe I am. But, I felt it too."
Sawyer lifted his head in surprise. "You did? Then how did you stop?"
"I... a lot of people depend on me, Sawyer. They need me to be undistracted and constantly vigilant on their behalf. You are..."
"Distracting," Sawyer said sadly.
"No. Yes." Roscoe cursed and approached as closely as he dared. "You are perfection. I am the one with the flaw here."
Sawyer sighed loudly. "This is one degree away from, it's not you, it's me, territory. I don't need to hear that." He got up and busied himself gathering his items and putting them neatly back in his bag.
Watching Sawyer pack up was like a punch to Roscoe's gut. Sawyer was leaving. He had to, Roscoe knew that but watching it happen sucked.
"Where will you go? Furthermore, what were you doing here?" Roscoe kept his hands in his pockets to keep them from grabbing Sawyer and making him look at him. "I just realized you never answered my question about what you were doing out here in the first place."
"I'll go where ever the road takes me, I guess. I camped here last night and heard enough cars pass to know there's a decent amount of traffic. Someone's bound to be going someplace interesting."
"You'll hitchhike? No. No way."
Sawyer stopped and raised his eyebrows at him. It was almost worth feeling like a nagging mom to see Sawyer's grin again.
"How do you think I got here? It isn't all that dangerous, ya know. I've only been almost murdered once or twice."
It felt like his stomach fell out of his body as he imagined Sawyer in a situation where he had been almost murdered.
"Look, I get the random, randy, pawing moment but don't pretend to actually care about me and what I do past what I can do for your dick," Sawyer snapped.
Just hearing the word, dick, had Roscoe's leaping to attention. Hell, it had been at attention before.
Roscoe watched Sawyer's eyes drop horribly to the space between his legs. He knew what the young man saw there. Roscoe was massive, bear shifters normally were, and there would be no hiding his erection, even if he had a moment to try to tuck or pull it.
Sawyer licked his lips.
He fucking licked his lips while staring at Roscoe's cock and Roscoe could only growl.
That got Sawyer's attention, his eyes snapping back up to his face. "That was a crazy noise you made," he said warily.
Good. Wary was good.
"Why don't you go to Noel?" Roscoe barked.
"I think I saw the sign for that. Why?" he asked with some interest. "Do you live in Noel? You and those people you need to care for?"
"No, I don't."
Sawyer glowered. "Never mind then. Probably a piece of shit town anyway."
It wasn't.
"Let me take you to Noel, Sawyer."
He loaded his bag on his back and did a little hop to settle the straps. "No thanks. I think I'll go south instead."
Roscoe moved to stand in his way. "Let me take you to Noel, Sawyer," he repeated softly.
Sawyer's step faltered, though, that might have been because he didn't want to get too close to him.
"Why the fuck does it matter where I go? You don't want to be distracted. I am distracting. So, I get to say fuck off to whatever that weirdly awesome feeling was when you touched me and go on my merry fucking way."
"You shouldn't cuss so much," Roscoe said, his feet somehow bringing him closer to the young man.
"I'll fucking think about not fucking cussing so much. Asshole."
Roscoe couldn't help his smile. He also couldn't help the gravitational pull he felt. Whenever he wasn't constantly blocking or fighting it, Roscoe's body was moving to be closer to Sawyer's. He stopped an inch from him. "Let me take you to Noel, Sawyer," he said again, reaching up to finger a strand of his chin-length hair. It was silky smooth. "I know a woman who has a bed and breakfast type place. You'd like her."
"I don't swing that way," he quipped, but no amount of sarcasm was going to keep Roscoe from touching his hair or convincing him to go stay with Maggie.
"I have an agreement with her. She'll let you stay for free for a few days. Maybe you can try to find a job someplace, sleep inside for a while."
"What makes you think any of that is something I want?"
"Because you haven't told me to fuck off again."
"Only because I like the way you're touching me."
Was he touching him? Sure enough, his hands were at Sawyer's hips, and he was lining their bodies up. There was no way Sawyer couldn't feel his erection now, bulging between them like a beacon that shouted out Roscoe's depravity.
This guy might not have teen at the end of his age, but he'd gone through some stuff. He was going through things. He had no business messing around with Roscoe because even if Roscoe could mess around with him, Roscoe's brand of lovemaking wasn't for the young and innocent. Roscoe liked it intense.
He could only imagine how intense it would be with Sawyer. Him, giving Roscoe trusting eyes that he didn't really deserve as Roscoe showed Sawyer the ways his body could bend without breaking, the ways he could experience pleasure with Roscoe that would have been pain with any other partner.
Sawyer flattened his palm on Roscoe's chest but applied no pressure. He neither pushed Roscoe away nor pulled him close, he just set it there as if testing what would happen.
When Roscoe didn't make him move it, he launched up on his tiptoes, bringing their lips together.
There was pleasure, that tingling feeling when nerve endings were being stimulated in all the right ways, and then, there was this kiss. He searched his memory for what Sawyer had said. Something about them seeming right. Like the earth had been crooked and they'd all been walking slightly slanted until this moment when they were pulled upright.
Sawyer might have started the kiss, but Roscoe quickly took it over. He reached behind Sawyer, settling his grasp low against the small of his back, pushing their bodies together. Sawyer gasped, likely at Roscoe's dick being pressed into his stomach, and Roscoe swallowed the gasp, claiming it as he longed to claim everything else.
Their tongues met, dancing against each other to a beat that was as old as time. Sawyer tasted every bit as good as he smelled. In fact, every new Sawyer sensation outdid the last. Hugging Sawyer was better than just touching him. And kissing him was better than hugging him. How good would it be to have Sawyer beneath him, begging to be filled by his humongous cock? Would his tiny body even be able to take his length? Roscoe was willing to find out.
Except, he couldn't.
Sawyer seemed to notice the moment Roscoe's obligations butted into his brain because he whimpered, not in a sweet surrender sort of way, but in annoyance.
"If you tell me that fucking kiss was just a distraction, I'll knee your gigantic dick."
Roscoe smiled against his cheek. "That was unavoidable." He pulled back, setting Sawyer's clothing straight. Someone had undone the top button of his pants. He fixed them extremely quickly, knowing he couldn't keep his hands so close to his penis for long. "But not something that we can--"
"If you agree not to finish that sentence, I will let you take me to Noel, and I'll stay with this Maggie chick."
"Deal." If kissing him had felt right than hearing that he wasn't simply hitchhiking out of Roscoe's life felt like someone had tied a thousand helium balloons to his boots. He'd been ignorant of how heavy his footsteps hit the earth, and now, it felt like they wouldn't at all.
There was stern Roscoe in his brain telling him that it didn't matter where Sawyer went from this moment on because their story was over. But stern Roscoe was a dickhead that normal Roscoe was intent on ignoring at the minute. If Sawyer was staying in town for at least a few days, then he might just happen to run into Roscoe once or twice. The town wasn't so far from where Roscoe lived. This didn't have to be goodbye as much as it could be a see you later.
It was with that knowledge that Roscoe was able to safely see Sawyer through the city limits and up to Maggie's door.