It's a five-hour drive south before they're back in Javi's hometown. Emery takes it in stride, seemingly not bothered by the monotony of it all. Javi sleeps for most of it. He had offered to take a shift driving, but Em had said, "No offense, but this is kinda my baby."

     So Javi dropped his seat back, shut his eyes, and was almost immediately asleep. It happened like that now, with the drugs, he was either out like a light or battling his thoughts for hours. There was no in-between.

     When Javi wakes, he is overwhelmed by the familiar. Their windows are cracked and the crisp, woody air has filled the car, smelling like nostalgia. He sits upright, pulling the seat back up.

     "Welcome home, sleepy," Emery says cheerfully. You'd never know she'd been mostly driving for the last two days.

    Javi's mouth is dry. He desperately needs water. They're close to home now, passing houses and stores he fully recognizes. Nothing seems to have changed in the years he's been gone. He's not ready, he realizes. He'll never be, but he's definitely not right now. He needs to go back, back thirty days ago, back seven years ago. Somewhere along the way he made a mistake, many mistakes, and they all have led him here.

     "Do you mind if we stop somewhere? I need to take my medicine and I'm not supposed to on an empty stomach."

     Emery glances at him, nodding vigorously. "Of course, yeah. Do you have anything in mind? If my memory serves me, there's a McDonald's nearby."

     He appreciates that she doesn't prod about the medication. The fact he's a person now on an anti-depressant, even if it is a low-dose one, makes him feel badly about himself. Like he's failed himself in a way he'd never thought to account for before.

     "We can stop at the 7-Eleven. I don't need anything heavy. Just like a protein bar or something," he answers.

     Emery knows the way and turns down the road, muscle memory taking over. Javi is a masochist. He must be, since he's the one that asked her to take him home, to stop at the 7-Eleven he frequented so much as a child the owner, Tito, had set up two folding chairs under the awning outside for him and Tate.

     He must be a masochist because it's a certain slow death driving through his memories.

     "You coming?" Javi asks after Em parks.

     She shakes her head. "Nah, I'll wait for you here."

     Javi nods once before getting out. It's not that late, only a little after six. The sun's starting to set and there's a cool breeze. It's comfortable. The lot's mostly empty and he's grateful. It's a small town. He knows word will travel fast that he's back and he can imagine who that'll get to.

     He grabs a red bull and a pint of 7-Eleven brand Mint Cookie ice cream. Tito is not at the register. It's a teenager who looks entirely unenthused to be working there, their phone still in hand, scrolling with their thumb as they ring the two items up.

     Javi grabs a spoon on his way out, popping it out of it's plastic wrapping as he steps back outside. Emery's gotten out of her car and is leaning against the hood smoking a red dab pen. "Secure the goods?" she asks, blowing the smoke out of the side of her mouth. He'd never gotten into weed but watching her certainly makes him want a cigarette.

     He's taken the lid off of his pint and is about to spoon it into his mouth, suddenly violently hungry. Like sleep, that feeling comes on sharply and leaves him just as quickly.

     He lifts the pint up towards her, a sort of cheers. They're not alone in the lot anymore, a pickup truck has parked a few spaces down. Javi didn't really notice it when he'd walked out, distracted. He doesn't even really care to notice it now, scooping ice cream into his mouth. The coldness presses against the roof of his mouth. He appreciates the grounding effect extreme temperatures have on his body. The cold makes him feel more alive than is his normal.

     He's still looking at Emery, who's looking past him. He hears the footsteps and notices the change in her demeanor at the same time. She goes rigid, sitting up off of the hood. Javi shifts, looking in the direction of her eye line slowly, unsure who he'll find.

     It's Tate. Of course it's Tate. He always saw this 7-Eleven as a beacon of their friendship and what do beacons do if not send out signals to bring people home. Just by being here, Javi has summoned Tate to him.

     And Tate is — Javi can't stop looking, can't look fast and hard enough. Wants to pull the boy close and inspect him with a magnifying class, looking at every new wrinkle, dimple, scar, and scab that has formed, healed, and changed him. Tate is both the boy he knew, loved, and has no recollection of. He is the same and absurdly different.

     Javi loses all feeling in his body, from head to toe, his cells have come to a standstill. He knows he's holding a pint of ice cream and he knows when he stops holding it.

     It's about a millisecond after Tate says, "Javi."

❂

     Pepper's just fed his mother and she's in the living room watching reruns of Murder She Wrote when she gets sick. Tate's immediately concerned, following Pepper down the hall to the bathroom where she's wheeling his mom.

     "I got it, Tate," she snaps closing the door on him.

     He stares at the closed door. He knows that Pepper is always acting in his mother's interest, trying to respect her privacy, urging Tate to do the same. He counts down in his head, trying to decide how long he should give her.

     After ten minutes, Tate gets anxious and starts knocking. Pepper opens the door, looking frustrated. "Tate, you're really getting in the way of me being able to do my job."

     "Well is there anything I can do to help?"

     "Maybe go get some Imodium."

     "Imodium?" he repeats.

     "Yes, imodium and maybe some pepto, too."

     So that's how Tate finds himself standing across from Javier Castillo.

     And it's not a photo, it's not his imagination, it's most definitely Javi. Javi, standing there in sweats, shoving a spoon into some mint chip ice cream like it's a casual summer night in twenty-sixteen and not seven years later.

      Tate goes soft, wants to close the distance and hold him. It's Javi. He's missed him more than he's hated him, and that makes him hate himself. He plants his feet to stop himself from going to him.

    "Javi?" he asks even though he's sure it's Javi, knows it is, no question about it.

     When he says his name, he feels like there's a cascade of universal shifts. The sun drops a centimeter in the sky, earth's angle tilts a degree, the tectonic plates vibrate, and ocean levels rise. Somewhere a war has started, and Tate's standing in the middle of the battle field, collateral damage. Javi's name disturbs the very nature of this world.

     Or at least the one Tate's been living in since he left.

     Javi drops his ice cream pint, startled, looking very much like he's been caught red handed. Tate gets the sense he was hoping to swoop in and out of town without being seen, like he's on some covert mission. And that helps him grasp at the anger, stamping down on all the yearning that's back flowed up his spine like a clogged drain.

     His eyes roam chaotically, bouncing from his face down his body back again, trying to compare the Javi that's lived in his head for years to the one standing before him. Wherever he was must have been far away because he looks jet lagged and bedraggled.

     Tate hates himself the moment he thinks it but the thought is instant. He's beautiful. He's always been beautiful. Warm brown skin, thick hair, his face all sharp angles. He's grown into his looks. His face is slender, making his straight nose more prominent and his eyes look even larger. He has an earring, a thin silver hoop hugging his earlobe. His build has changed, too. The last of his baby fat melted away leaving behind what looks like a body chiseled with long strokes out of stone.

     Tate has to look away because he's at risk for caving, caving simply because he's missed this person who is actually not this person at all. He misses a Javi who never left, who stayed with him and that Javi doesn't exist. Is not real.

     That's when he sees Emery. He falters, taking a surprised step back. "Em?" he asks this time genuinely confused by what he's seeing. "What're you...are you with him?"

     "It's not like that," Javi says quietly, sort of desperate. Which makes it sound like a lie. Makes it sound like that's exactly what it's like.

     "Has he been with you this whole time?" Tate spits out. The feeling of betrayal comes down hard on him, making his stomach twist. How many calls between him and Em, how many times had he broken down, and cried over this loss?

     "It's not like that," Javi says again before Emery can answer.

     "I did not ask you," Tate snaps shooting his gaze to Emery.

     "He needed a ride," Emery says. "That's all."

     "That's all? That's all you have to say?"

     "That's all I can say," Emery responds.

     Tate turns his gaze back to Javi. "Some son you are," he hisses. "Missing your own mother's funeral."

     "Lay off him, Tate," Emery says.

     "Emery, don't," Javi interjects.

     Tate can hear his own blood rushing through him because his hearts racing and he's going to be sick. He doesn't understand what's going on here. And he hates himself for being jealous, of all things.

     His voice is ice cold, biting, when he says, "So this was it, huh? You two running off together. To hell with the rest of us."

     "It's not like that," Javi says his tone sharper.

     "Why did you even come back?" Tate asks. "Everyone was better off without you here."

     "Tate!" Emery snaps.

     He can't believe this. She's siding with him? He's past words. He has no idea how he's even standing. Because what in the fuck's going on? His own cousin. Who knew everything. Who knew how he felt and what had happened. And how Javi had left things.

     "Please Emery, stay out of this," Javi says to her.

     "Don't tell her what to do," Tate says.

     "This is ridiculous," Emery says throwing her arms up.

     "Whatever," he says finally, shoving past Javi.

     He's pushing this whole interaction to the back of his mind. He doesn't want to know why he left or why he's back. Actually, as far as he's concerned Javi is not back.

     He doesn't know who the fuck that was.

❂

     Javi is hyperventilating when he gets in the car beside Emery. He takes out his prescription, over-pours his pills into his hands. It's an accident but he thinks about it for one second. He doesn't think he'd die from taking the whole bottle but it wouldn't be good for him. He hates that his mind goes there first but he can't help it. That the instinct to run, to do the final run, is always there, only quieted now by the pills.

     Emery reaches over, placing her hand over his fist. "Let me," she says softly, taking the pill bottle and picking the extras out of his palm, placing them back in.

     "He needs time," she says when there's only one pill left in his hand. "But you both need to talk. You should tell him what happened."

     "I would appreciate it," he says before he pops the pill into his mouth and drinks it down with his red bull. "If you didn't tell anybody what I've told you. Where you had to pick me up from."

     "Of course I wouldn't," she says quickly, her tone sincere. "I would never do that, Javi. It's not mine to tell. But I hope you will."

     "I need to figure some things out," he says after a moment. "But I'm supposed to—I'm not supposed to be on my own for a while."

     Emery pulls out of the lot and makes her way to Javi's house. He likes that Emery remembers everything. She flitted in and out of his town as she pleased, even when she was young. She had every reason to forget him, this town, everything about her time here but she hadn't.

     "So then you'll stay here? With your dad for a bit?"

     Javi sighs, running his fingers across the stitching in his seat absentmindedly. "I don't know," he says finally. "I'm not really welcome here."

     "Of course you are," she says quickly. "Your dad is going to be so happy you're home. And Tate, Tate'll come around."

     Javi doesn't even hope he will. He actually hopes he won't. Emery was right when she said he deserved better. Better was not Javi.

     His house is on a dirt road. Off the beaten path, his mom used to say. The thought smarts and tears spark in his eyes again. There's a detached garage and his mother's old green Tahoe is parked in front of the garage. His father's car is behind it, which is strange because it's always been the reverse.

     The porch light is on and he can see an old cat is perched under the window. Its head lifts when Emery pulls up in front of the house and the headlights shine on it. Javi makes no move, no indication that he's going to move, even after Emery parks.

     She turns in her seat to look at him. After a moment she slugs him in the arm and says, "You got this."

     "He probably hates me," Javi says quietly.

     "He's your dad, he doesn't hate you."

     "I missed the funeral."

     "Just tell him why."

     "I can't tell him that."

     "You can tell him that," Emery insists. "He is your dad and he loves you. This is something he'd want to know. Trust that he wants to be there for you."

     "Why would anyone want to be there for me?" he asks, entirely too honest. "I wasn't there for them."

     Emery wipes a stray tear on her cheek. Javi wonders what about this conversation is making her cry. He should be the one crying.

     She says softly, "Javi, being there for someone is not a transaction. You give it when you can and you take it when you need it."

    "I just don't really feel deserving of it. Of taking it from anybody."

     She smiles weakly. "Take it anyway. But for now, just be brave and be honest. Like right now actually cause I think that's him at the door."

     She's right. The front door's opened and there's his father standing in the doorway, a hand cupped over his eyes while he tries to see over the headlights shining on him. Javi swallows. He has no choice but to get out now.

    "Thanks for everything," he says turning to look at Emery.

     She nods slowly, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "I'm really glad you called me, Javi."

     "It was either you or an uber," he says with dry laugh.

     She shakes her head. "I think there were a couple other options before a ride share."

    Javi looks back at the porch. His father has stepped out and is coming down the steps. He opens the passenger door, taking his little bag of belongings with him. He nods at Emery one last time before shutting her door, and walking around the front of her car towards his dad.

     "Javier?" He hears his father say and the crushing magnitude of it all comes down on him like an air strike. He wobbles but his dad's there to catch him, pulling him into his arms. "Javier," he says again, his voice thick with tears. "You're home."

     "I'm home," Javi whispers clutching his father, arms lacing over his back, not wanting to let go. He hears the wheels of Emery's car crunch through the dirt and then they're resigned to mostly darkness, the lone light on the porch doing little to light them.

     Javi is crying, the sobs making his shoulders quake and his father is squeezing the hell out of him. "I'm sorry," he says over and over again.

     Sorry I left.

     Sorry I never came back.

     Sorry I missed it.

     Sorry I missed mom.

     Sorry this is the best of me.

     Sorry this is who I am.

❂

     Tate doesn't know how he gets home but he's home and he's sunk to the floor against the front door and he feels like he needs to not be here, in this town, in this house, in this body. But running has never been his style. He let that be Javi's thing.

     Still, he can't stand the sitting still. Because the sitting still means thinking about everything that just happened.

     "She's doing better now—are you okay?" Pepper has joined him in the front room, coming to a halt only a few feet away.

     Tate looks up startled, forgetting she was here. "Sorry, yeah, I'm fine."

     "She's in bed," she says. "I hung fluids just in case. Are you sure you're okay? You look pale."

     Tate nods and pushes himself up to his feet so he can get out of her way, opening the front door. "Have a good night," he says crisply. It's a bit abrupt but Pepper doesn't seem to take offense.

     "Yeah you too," she says eying him unsurely.

     He watches her walk out to her car and doesn't close the door until she's driven out of sight. It's quiet in the house, too quiet, so Tate steps outside and sits down in one of the whicker chairs. The crickets are out, chirping loudly, the sound dispersed across his front lawn.

     The noise helps and he doesn't even realize he's dozed in the chair until he's startled awake. Emery's standing on the porch with a duffle bag slung over her shoulder. He's groggy but his rage is swift, waking him up.

     "Whoa," she says holding her hands up, palms out. "If looks could kill takes a whole other meaning with you."

     Tate tenses, clamping his jaw to keep from lashing out at her. "It's really not what you think," she says next. "I mean I don't really know what you think but. I hadn't heard from Javi at all, okay. Like at all. Until yesterday. He called, he needed a ride down here. That's it."

     "And you just dropped everything to give him a ride?"

     "It's Javi," Emery says like that's explanation. "To be honest, I was just so. I couldn't believe he was ready to come back here? I wanted to make sure he actually did."

     "And why is he back here?"

     She shrugs. "You'd have to ask him that."

     "He missed Lena's funeral."

     "He knows that, Tate. He doesn't need you reminding him."

     "Why are you giving him so much slack?"

     "Because why kick somebody when they're down?"

     "Maybe because they deserve it?"

     "I think until you really know what happened and why he left and why he never came back, you can't really make that summation."

     Tate glares at her. "He's a coward."

     Emery looks at him with nothing short of sympathy. "Tate," she says. "You're going to have to forgive him eventually."

     "I don't have to do anything, actually."

     "That's really mature."

     "No, mature is taking care of the people who loved you your whole life. Mature is being there, being there everyday, even when its ugly, when it's terrible, when you'd rather be anywhere else. Mature is putting others before yourself."

    "Don't mistake sacrifice for maturity," she says finally. "You sacrificed a lot. It's honorable. But not everyone's willing to do the same."

     "He didn't even try to stay in touch," Tate says sort of pleadingly. "This isn't even about me. His poor parents. Poor Lena."

     "You have no idea why he did what he did, Tate," she says with finality.

     "You're right," he says standing. "And I don't really care to know. He can do whatever it is he came here to do and leave just as quickly as the last time. It's not my problem."

     "If you say so," Emery sings which makes Tate's blood boil.

     "I do say so," he snaps.

     "I'm agreeing with you!" she says but again her tone's all off. "Anyway I'm taking the guest room. I'm freaking beat."

     "Oh, yeah, help yourself," Tate says snippily.

     "Oya vey, don't take your anger out on me! I'm just the driver. And I've been driving for like two days straight. I need a good sixteen hour respite."

     Tate takes a deep breath and lets it go. He is taking it out on her, which is unfair. Even if she did give him a ride back. It's in her nature to do that. And anyway, she's the closest thing he has to a sister. He's not going to hold a grudge against her.

     He pulls her into his side. "It's good to see you."

     "Not really giving good to see me vibes," she mumbles and he laughs.

     "I'm sorry, I'm just—."

     "I get it." She nods and then pushes away. "Alright I'll see you tomorrow. Don't wake me before noon thanks."

     She ducks inside, jogging up the stairs, her steps light like a fairy. Tate locks up the house, going into the kitchen and shutting off all the lights. It's part of his nightly routine. He closes windows, double checks the front door before heading upstairs. He has a baby monitor he carries with him into his room. His mom's room is downstairs and this how he keeps an eye on her while they're sleeping.

     He showers before bed, and by the time he climbs under the covers the stress of the day pulls him into a dreamless sleep.