“Kid,” Robbie says quietly, bringing him back to the present again. “Lance. You’re family. Please.”

Lance pretends for another second that he has a choice…that spending the very last of his money at a motel is a viable option. Then, he swallows and nods. “Yeah. Okay.” He’s sure he does the least convincing impression of a casual shrug ever. His body is quaking, mostly from the cold, so all that really happens is that his right arm jerks. “Okay,” he repeats. “Sure.”

Robbie lets out a gusty sigh, so close all of a sudden that Lance can hear it even over the snow-laden wind, and then the heavy warmth of Robbie’s coat lands on Lance’s shoulders. The feel of it is almost overwhelming, like being wrapped in Robbie’s arms for that moment after he collapsed back in the jail.

“I don’t—” Lance starts to protest, but Robbie is already walking past him, down the handicapped-accessible ramp that’s clear of snow, probably liberally spread with salt by some public servant in anticipation of the forecast. Lance has little choice but to follow him.

Lance hunches his shoulders so that the collar of Robbie’s coat brushes his cheek, and he smells soap, cologne, and something else—spicy, so it’s probably not aftershave, considering Robbie is so deliberately unshaven. Does he oil his beard? Does he moisturize?

When Lance sees the familiar truck parked on the curb, he smiles despite himself. The old blue Chevrolet is gathering snow on the pristine curves of its body; with a couple of evergreens in the bed, it would look like something straight out of a Christmas card. It’s in the same mint condition that Lance remembers.

“You still have it,” he observes. Robbie has his shoulders up around his ears. He’s wearing a grey Henley that’s molded to his chest—proof, if Lance needed it, that he’s still strong and hard-bodied from daily work. His black hat is dusted with snowflakes. The cold is getting to him almost as fast as it did Lance, judging by the red tip of his nose and how hastily he reaches for the truck’s driver’s side door.

Still, he pauses to shoot Lance a smile. “Yeah, I plan to drive it until the wheels fall off, or somebody steals it. You okay? I’m freezing.”

Okay. The concept makes Lance want to laugh. He’s never been okay in his life. But he’s told this lie a hundred thousand times, and it comes easily enough. “Yeah, I’m fine,” Lance says, and he slides into Robbie’s truck.

Chapter Four

Robbie

He doesn’t know what he can do except blast the heat and drive, so that’s what he does. He brought the old truck without thinking, even though the new dually handles a little better in the snow. The dually is five years old, not really “new” at this point, but everything is new compared to the Chevrolet.

Anyway, the stock trailer was still hooked up to the dually, and Robbie had been in such a hurry after getting off the phone with Danny, he hadn’t been willing to take the time to unhitch it.