Page 98 of Soft Flannel Hank

She pulled into his driveway and parked Magda’s truck next to Hank’s. She had briefly contemplated returning the truck to Magda’s house, but she worried that Magda would try to talk her into staying, and Esther didn’t want to bring Magda into this mess any more than she already had. Hank would make sure Magda’s truck got back to her.

As she shut off the engine, the sudden silence felt almost like a passenger. She peered outside and down the street, which was quiet. On a run, Esther bolted out of the truck and up the steps to the mudroom. Magda had a key to Hank’s house on the ring, but when she turned it in the deadbolt, she found that the door was already unlocked. Esther felt cold with panic as she crept into the kitchen.

It looked as it always had. Clean. Utilitarian. The coffee pot was in the drying rack and the clock on the microwave was slow. She’d half expected to find the house torn apart. With drawers pulled out and their contents strewn all around. Whenever someone’s house was raided by criminals in police procedurals, it looked as if a tornado had passed through. Ransacked, they sometimes called it.

But Esther should have known better. Callum wasn’t a messy man. He was as meticulous as he was ruthless. He would have instructed his people to proceed with gloves and precision when searching the house for clues about her whereabouts. He’d want it to look as if no one had been there. And it did.

Esther could feel the remains of their presence, though. And while the house was empty now, the air was thick and heavy. Esther placed the keys on the kitchen table and sat down in a chair. Jory would be here to pick her up any minute, and then she’d be gone. While she hoped she could end up in World’s End someday for good, she would never be back in this house. She would never again have her feet under this table.

Because though her motives were pure and motivated entirely by love, Hank would never be able to trust her again. Maybe that was because she didn’t completely trust him. She trusted him to never hurt her, but she didn’t trust him to keep a cool head and to do the smart thing where she was concerned.

Her stomach growled loudly, and Esther went to the pantry to see what was left. A box of Hank’s protein bars sat on the shelf. She pulled a green foil wrapper. She would leave him more of the flavor he liked better and take the one that tasted like toothpaste, as he’d described it. It felt like penance. It felt like a gift. A wholly insignificant one, perhaps, but a gift nonetheless.

Esther sat back down at the table and opened the mint green foil. Hank was right. The peppermint protein bar tasted like toothpaste and was entirely too moist and too dry at the same time. She pulled her water bottle out of her backpack and took a big swill to swallow the mouthful she’d been chewing for what felt like an eternity. She had finally choked all of the bar down just as she heard a car pull into the driveway.

Esther peeked out the mudroom window and saw Jory’s car parked behind the trucks. It wasn’t the car Esther would have picked for Jory. She would have guessed that someone with Jory’s eclectic style would have driven an old, restored convertible or something with a lot of character. But Jory drove a little black sedan that was as sleek and comfortable-looking as it was fancy.

Esther took one last look at the kitchen as she threw the bar wrapper in the trash. Her eyes landed on the small section of counter between the fridge and the stove where Hank had hoisted her and dry humped her like she hadn’t done since high school.

The truck keys sat in the middle of the kitchen table, and Esther turned the lock in the doorknob before she closed it behind her and walked quickly down the steps and to Jory’s car.

“Hey, sunshine,” Jory said as Esther closed the car door and settled into the passenger seat.

“Morning,” she replied. “Thanks for doing this.”

“Pssht,” Jory said, putting the car in reverse. “What are friends for if not to pick you up and let you stay at their house when you’re on the run from murderous immortals?”

Esther snorted and looked out the window as they drove down Hank’s street. She saw his truck and house in the side mirror. She sighed.

“It’s not all that bad, babe,” Jory said, reaching over and squeezing Esther’s hand.

“Isn’t it?”

“All will be well. He’ll get back safely. Magda’s already got Jamie planning to go up tomorrow for him.”

“That’s not the part I’m worried about,” Esther mumbled.

“He’ll be pissed. And you’ll probably be in for a long lecture where he’s going to talk at you about how misguided you were. Well, as much as Hank talks, that is.”

“He won’t. He won’t want anything to do with me after this. I promised I wouldn’t leave again, and then I did.”

“But you left a note. He’s a reasonable man, Esther,” Jory protested.

“He is. But he’ll never take another chance on me. He’s been hurt too many times.”

“Well, if I can give you some unsolicited advice from someone who has lived a verra, verra long time,” Jory said, slipping into her Scottish accent on purpose, “it’s that you should never make declarative statements like that. Life is long. And wild. You’ll see.”

Esther sighed. “I hope you’re right. I hope he can—oh, shit.”

“What?” Jory asked, looking frantically in the rearview mirror.

About a half of a block ahead of them and walking towards them as they sat at a stoplight, Esther saw the man from her dream, the man who had been riding in the car with Callum. She could see his vibrant neck tattoos even from this distance. He looked directly through their windshield.

“That’s him. That’s the day scout that was asking Hank about where I was.”

“Fuck,” Jory hissed.

The man was ahead of them by a quarter block still when the light turned green and Jory pressed on the gas. “Just act natural,” she said.