Taran #2
And then I saw him.
There. A small figure standing in the distance at a bus stop I knew damn well didn’t have regular service.
My heart lurched in my chest. Relief flooded through me, warm and overwhelming, so strong it nearly knocked me off my feet.
I pulled the truck over without thinking, slamming the gearshift into park before I was even fully stopped.
My boots crunched against the snow as I rushed toward him, calling his name before I even thought about it.
“Rory!”
He turned, his eyes wide, but he didn’t move. His shoulders were hunched, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets as if trying to make himself smaller. The cold wind whipped around us, but all I could focus on was him, standing there like he’d been waiting for a ride that wasn’t coming.
I reached him in two strides, my hands almost instinctively pulling him into my arms. His body was cold, too cold, and stiff at first, but then he let me hold him, his body finally relaxing, though he’d been out here for far too long. His face was pale, lips chapped from the wind.
My chest tightened, and I pulled him closer, shielding him from the bite of the wind. “Thank God,” I muttered, my voice breaking a little. “You’re okay.” I didn’t even try to hide the relief. It was too much to hold in. “You know how worried your dad’s been, right? He’s losing his mind.”
Rory didn’t answer right away, and when he finally looked up at me, his eyes were heavy with exhaustion and something else—guilt, maybe even regret. “I didn’t mean to scare him—I was going back home.”
His words were soft, quiet. I set him back down gently, but my hands stayed on his shoulders for a moment longer than necessary. The cold was gnawing at us both, and I couldn’t think straight with it biting into my skin like that.
“Let’s get you out of the cold.”
I didn’t give him a chance to respond before I led him toward the truck, keeping a careful eye on him as we moved.
He was shaking—whether from the cold or something deeper, I wasn’t sure—but I wasn’t about to let him stay out there a second longer.
The air bit at my skin, but all I cared about was getting him inside, where he could warm up.
Once we reached the truck, I opened the door and guided him in.
As soon as he was inside, I reached into the back seat, pulling out an old blanket I kept there.
I draped it over his shoulders, wrapping him up as much as I could, trying to make sure he felt safe.
His body was still tense, but the shaking slowed down a little.
The truck doors slammed shut, and I started the engine.
The warmth blasted through the vents so quickly, it almost felt suffocating, but Rory seemed to appreciate it.
He was finally starting to relax, though his hands still shook slightly.
Whether it was fear or just the cold, I wasn’t sure, but it hurt to see him like this.
I turned the heat higher, watching him out of the corner of my eye. His eyes were distant, staring out the window as if he could erase what had just happened. His fingers pressed against the glass, his breath fogging up the surface.
“Hey,” I said gently, my voice softer now, “you okay?”
He nodded, but didn’t speak, his gaze still fixed outside. It was clear he was holding something back, but I wasn’t going to push him too hard—not just yet.
I reached over and adjusted the blanket around him, making sure he was warm, then let the silence settle between us. I needed to give him a minute, just to breathe, to settle.
Once I was sure he was warmer and calmer, I asked quietly, “Why did you come here, Rory?”
He didn’t meet my eyes. Instead, his hand slid into his jacket pocket, pulling out crumpled papers. He fiddled with them nervously, smoothing out the edges, like it mattered.
“I’ve got thirty-seven survey forms,” he muttered.
“Everyone loves Dad’s baking. They think he’s great, and I wanted to do something...
anything for him.” His voice cracked on the last word.
“I thought if I could show the bank how good he is... I could help him get the loan. He deserves it, you know?”
He handed the forms to me, his hands trembling slightly. It wasn’t just about the forms, though. I could see it in his eyes—he was trying to fix everything, but didn’t know how.
I took the papers, not really sure how to respond. There was so much care in his gesture, so much good intention, but... but he was in way over his head.
“You should’ve asked for help, Rory,” I said, my voice softening as I tried to find the balance between understanding and showing him the seriousness of what had just happened.
I paused for a moment, my gaze on him, making sure he understood that I wasn’t angry at him for trying, but I couldn’t ignore how dangerous it had been for him to just go off like that.
The snow was heavy, the roads unpredictable.
I couldn’t even imagine what might’ve happened if I hadn’t found him.
“You have no idea how worried your dad’s been. And not telling anyone where you were going? That’s... that’s scary. Do you realize how close you came to getting lost out there in that weather?”
Rory didn’t look up, his shoulders hunched in that way that made him seem smaller than his twelve years. Guilt was written all over him, but it was more than just the consequences of his actions—it was the weight of having tried so hard, and yet still not getting it right.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice so small it barely registered above the hum of the engine.
The words hit me harder than I expected.
I couldn't just let him shrink into that guilt, not when I could feel the depth of his good intentions. I reached over, pulled him into a gentle hug. His body stiffened for a second, surprised, but then he relaxed, curling into me. He was trembling, whether from the cold or the storm of emotions I wasn’t sure.
But I held him, my hand rubbing his back in slow, soothing circles.
“You were trying to help. I know that. But sometimes things don’t go the way we plan, and that’s okay. What matters is that you’re safe.”
I could feel the heat from his face against my chest, the way his breath hitched every now and then. He was trying to be strong, but at twelve, strength was often about allowing yourself to break a little. He didn't have to be tough right now.
He sniffed.
I hugged him a little tighter, not caring if the truck was parked on a snow-covered street.
“You did a brave thing, coming out here to help your dad. I get it. But you can’t just disappear, okay?
You’ve got to let people know what you're doing. That’s how we keep each other safe. Do you understand?”
He nodded against me, his arms slowly wrapping around me, clinging to the comfort like he was afraid to let go. The tightness in my chest loosened a bit, and I let the moment stretch out longer than usual.
“Just don’t carry this all alone,” I whispered into his hair. “You’ve got your dad. You’ve got me. You’re never alone.”
His head tilted back, and I could see the remnants of guilt in his eyes, but there was something else there too—a flicker of relief.
“I won’t do it again,” he promised quietly, his voice thick with unshed tears, each word trembling with emotion.
I pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes, my hands still resting on his shoulders. “I know you won’t.”
We sat there for a moment, the cold creeping into the truck through the small cracks in the windows, but neither of us moved.
I could hear the faint rustle of his coat, the soft sigh he let out.
His body was still a little tense, but there was something lighter in the air now, something more peaceful.
Finally, I pulled out my phone and dialed Taran's number. Relief ran through me as the call connected. The second it rang, I knew what I had to say.
“Taran,” I said, my voice calm but full of reassurance. “I found him. He’s okay. Just... wait. We’re coming home.”