“Yeah,” Evan said. “It’s… I thought she’d last forever.”
“I’d hoped she would, too. She and my grandmother, Ethel Brinks, were good friends. Martha was devastated when my Memaw passed,” Mick said. “Look, Martha wants to see you. If you’re considering coming home, make it snappy.”
“I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon,” Evan said. “I’m booking a flight right now.”
“Do you need to be picked up? I can collect you from the airport.” He wanted to get Evan to his grandmother as soon as possible.
“I’ll text you the info. Thank you.” Evan’s voice caught. “Why didn’t she call?”
“She’s too weak to call and she said she’s tried. I tried, too,” Mick said. “I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Text me and I’ll be there to get you.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He listened to the silence on the other end of the line as Evan hung up. What an odd guy. He didn’t understand the relationship between Evan and Martha, but the way they conducted themselves wasn’t his business. He stepped back into her room. “Martha?”
“Mick.” She’d closed her eyes.
“He’s coming. He’ll be here tomorrow.” Mick resumed his spot on the plastic chair. “I’ll collect him when he flies in.”
“Good.” She sighed. “Now we can all get some rest.”
“Yes.” He stayed in the room until the nurse returned. He needed to get some sleep and recharge for tomorrow. If he had to drive into Cleveland, then he should be rested up. God, he hated traffic.
His phone pinged with a new text. He checked the screen. Evan had indeed texted him with his flight number, arrival time and gate number. Well, color me shocked. Part of Mick had expected Evan to stand him up. He hadn’t.
Mick sent a reply.
Thanks. Will be waiting in the baggage claims area.
He’d done what Martha had wanted and rounded up Evan. He couldn’t help but be intrigued. He vaguely remembered Evan from school and hadn’t been impressed. Evan had been self-absorbed and devoted to his music.
He’d also been very straight.
Mick paused.
If Evan was straight, why would Martha be trying to fix him up with Mick? He didn’t know and wasn’t going to try to figure it out.
He tucked his phone into his pocket. Before he went home, he needed to stop by his office. The paperwork had piled up and he hated being at the hospital. He should get work done and catch a nap. According to Evan’s text, he’d be on the last red-eye flight. If the plane was on time, then he’d have to get up early to be at the airport to drive Evan home.
He was too nice a guy. That was his problem. He helped too much for too little in return. Being nice wasn’t getting him anywhere or doing anything for his career. Sure, being the good guy and saving the day fulfilled him, but sometimes it seemed like he spent more time on things for others than on himself.
He left the hospital. If nothing else, he hoped Evan would do right by his grandmother and be an adult. There was no time to coddle him through the estate process. Martha didn’t have much time left and Evan would have to take over—whether he liked it or not.
Mick massaged his forehead and settled behind the wheel of his car. What have I gotten myself into?
* * * *
Evan fiddled with his overnight bag. He wasn’t used to taking planes and his concert schedule demanded he drive from venue to venue. He ate, slept and showered on the bus. The situation wasn’t great, but his damn career wasn’t going anywhere. The fans loved him and claimed he put on fabulous shows, but he couldn’t get traction anywhere else.
His father had said he’d spun his wheels. His mother had said he should’ve come home. Music was a good hobby, but nothing to last forever.
Farming wasn’t in his blood, though. Music stirred his soul. He came alive on stage and fed off the energy of the crowd. But the venues weren’t as good as they’d once been and the crowds were now smaller. People wanted to hear poppy versions of country music. His trademark gruffness didn’t work well with the popular sound. He wasn’t in vogue. Either he’d have to change his sound from gritty to something more streamlined or give up on his dream.
God damn it.
Now a Mr. Mick Ryan wanted to come home. After his mother and father had succumbed to lung cancer, he’d sworn his grandmother would live forever. She hadn’t smoked two packs of cigarettes a day like his parents. She didn’t drink and she took care of herself. She’d backed him in his dreams of being a famous musician. She cared when others didn’t and she knew he was gay. She hadn’t been shocked when he’d come out to her and she hadn’t pushed him to out himself to anyone else.
According to Mr. Mick Ryan, his grandmother, his biggest fan, was fading.
Damn.
He held on to the armrest as the plane descended. He’d never unbuckled his belt. Instead, he sat still and tried not to be scared. His thoughts wandered. He’d known a Michael Ryan in school, but Michael was three or four years younger than him. Could Michael be Mick? Probably not. Anyone with any sense got the hell out of Cedarwood. Nothing was happening there and they tended to hate the gay community.
But if Mick was Michael…he couldn’t be the same skinny kid with thick-rimmed glasses and poorly cut hair who loved to discuss the latest book he’d read. Michael had been the smartest kid in the school. If Evan remembered right, Michael had come out before Evan had graduated.
Nah.
Michael couldn’t be Mick. Michael was probably in New York or California making the rounds of the clubs and having a great time. He probably ran the world, too. He couldn’t be single or in Cedarwood. No way.
He hadn’t noticed the plane stopping, but he did see the passengers beginning to debark. He clutched his bag and unbuckled his seatbelt. Time
