Larke put a hand on his knee. “Dodge was always a pilot, in his heart. He wanted to fly. And playing hockey cut into his time in the sky.” She bore warmth and maybe a little pride in her eyes when he glanced at her. “And then he went off and became a war hero.”

His chest tightened, and he just grunted as he pulled into the depot. No need to start a fight right before she left.

The parking lot of the log-sided depot had been cleared, the pavement glistening with salt, and he pulled into a space. The train, with its festive orange cars, sat at the tracks, warming up.

Dodge got out and helped Riley pull their bags from the bed of the truck, then carried them to the platform, where a few tourists dressed in parkas, Uggs, and fancy fur hats stood taking pictures of the faraway mountains.

He set the bags down, and Larke pulled him into a goodbye hug. “I love you, little brother,” she said in his ear. “You’re right back where you’re supposed to be. You’ll see.”

He kissed her cheek and let her go, managed a smile.

Riley picked up a bag and loaded it on the train, leaving it in the vestibule near the door. Then he came back. Stuck out his hand. Dodge met it, and Riley held it a little longer than necessary. “Don’t get in your own way.”

Dodge frowned. “Take care of my sister.”

“Tier one priority,” Riley said and slapped him on the back. Then he picked up Larke’s bag.

Dodge was turning away when—

“Dodge! Wait.” Larke ran back to him. “I forgot. Dad needs a refill of his pain meds. Can you pick these up in town? I already called it in.”

She shoved an empty bottle in his hand.

Perfect. “Sure.”

He waited in the truck until the train pulled out, the orange container sitting like a grenade on the seat beside him.

Fine. Whatever. In and out, no problem.

He trekked back to the main road and drove the two miles to Main Street Copper Mountain.

At first glance, it had hardly changed. The road was still mostly packed earth, with a thin layer of pavement scraped smooth and salted. Gray, grimy snowbanks lined the sides of the road. At the juncture of Main Street and Seward’s Way, the words WELCOME TO YOUR LAST STOP were scribbled on a piece of wood stuck in a pile of rocks. Below it, another sign, similarly scribbled, read JUST KIDDING. WELCOME TO COPPER MOUNTAIN.

He always thought it was funny. Now he found it apt.

He’d ended up back at the end of the world.

From there, his town had been given a makeover. He took a left on Main and drove past the Tenderfoot Coffee and Bakery, the former small cabin transformed into a timber-framed building with a front porch and a drive-through.