Adam wanted nothing more than to get back in his truck and head home. If he hadn’t had that appointment in the morning he would have. But the orthopedist had been adamant about this final checkup. He supposed he had some city paperwork to sign off on or something. Otherwise Adam didn’t see the point. His arm was as good as it was ever going to get, at least as it was now, he knew that. The only thing they’d been able to offer for the existing joint was a seemingly endless stream of surgeries that might or might not help. He’d already had six, carried around enough plating and screws to set off metal detectors, and adding another surgical scar wasn’t high on his list of things to accomplish. Eventually, he might go for the elbow replacement surgery they’d been pushing. But for now, he’d had enough of hospitals, doctors and, most of all, scalpels.

The only thing he liked less was this urge he felt to run. Again.

And so he didn’t. He instead made himself drive to the center of their old beat, found a parking place in front of the hardware store, got out and began to walk. It had changed a bit in five years. He passed the bakery, where Greg had often stopped not for the cliché of doughnuts, but for a particular cinnamon roll treat his daughter loved. They had still lived together, their relationship close, tight, since Greg’s wife had died when their daughter was barely five.

He remembered the first time it had hit him that Amanda was an orphan now. And the fact that she was an adult didn’t make that any less true, especially as close as they’d been. He had tried to imagine what it must feel like, what he would feel like, what it would have been like if he hadn’t had his folks, if they hadn’t been there to see him through the worst of his physical recovery. He couldn’t.

He passed the pet supply store, thankful not to see any sad-eyed, hopeful puppies that made him want to buy them all just to get them out of there. They’d given that up apparently—thankfully—because the window was instead full of treats and leashes and collars and some sweaters the ranch dogs would tear to bits rather than be caught wearing.