Finding Home

Published by Evernight Publishing ® at Smashwords

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2015 Rebecca Brochu

ISBN: 978-1-77233-244-5

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: Melissa Hosack

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

For you, as always

FINDING HOME

Rebecca Brochu

Copyright © 2015

Chapter One

Salem was late, which was something he typically tried desperately to avoid. Just the idea of not getting somewhere at least five minutes early was normally enough make him break out into hives. Actually being late … just the thought was horrific. Unfortunately he hadn’t been able to avoid it, not with the way the power in his small one bedroom apartment had apparently went out in the middle of the night. Then, to add insult to injury, he’d somehow managed to sleep through the back up alarm he always had set on his phone.

He stumbled his way through getting dressed, threw on practically the first acceptable thing he laid hands on, grabbed his messenger bag off of the bar, and lunged out his front door. He only took a second to make sure it was locked, and then he whirled around and sprinted towards the stairs. Four flights of stairs were never fun, but they were quicker than waiting on the building’s ancient elevator to crawl its way up to him and then back down.

His face was red and he was breathing heavily when he pushed his way out onto the street. He almost froze at the shock of cold air that slammed into him.

"Fuck." Salem hissed as the sweat from his frantic sprint down the stairs abruptly froze and he went cold all the way down to his bones. He realized suddenly that he didn’t have his coat on, had run right out of his apartment without the long double breasted trench coat he’d obsessively saved for years ago. He didn’t have time to go back for it though, not with how late he already was, so he clutched the strap of his bag closer to his chest, gritted his teeth, and swung around the corner.

Only to slam straight into someone’s hard chest.

Salem shouted and almost went down, balance thrown off by the sudden collision, but a pair of large, strong hands wrapped in tattered gloves shot out and caught him around the elbows. He tilted forward instead and landed gently against the stranger’s chest for a second as the man steadied him. Salem got his balance back quickly and felt the first wave of panic rear its head at the realization that someone had a hold of him. Thankfully the man’s hands let him go easily before it had a chance to develop into full blown terror. Salem could breathe a little easier after they both took an automatic step back and away from each other. He managed to steady himself, pushed that initial swell of panic down, and took a second to run a cursory glance over the man he’d bumped into.

The guy was tall, with shoulders that were impressively wide, but Salem couldn’t tell much more about him. Not with the way he was wrapped up in a thick, patched camouflage jacket that was zipped all the way up, a dark knit cap pulled down low on his head, and a ragged scarf twined thickly around his neck and the lower half of his face.

What did stick out were the man’s bright blue eyes and thick, dark brows.

‘Oh, hello there.’ Salem couldn’t help but think this when he got a look at the man’s eyes, but after a second he noticed how tired they looked, dull and heavy like the man was exhausted. He immediately felt horrible about almost mowing the guy down. Or well running into him since he was probably a half a foot taller than Salem himself and had to be fifty pounds heavier, so the idea of him actually being able to knock the guy down was kind of ridiculous.

"I am so sorry. I’m late and I was in a hurry and I wasn’t looking where I was going. Salem reached up and grabbed the strap of his bag in a too tight grip, tangling his fingers in the material nervously as he looked apologetically up at the man. He was abruptly aware of their size difference again and felt another swell of unease rise up in his chest that he forcefully pushed down. I didn’t hurt you did I?" Based on how solid the guy had felt in those few seconds Salem knew it wasn’t likely, but he still felt compelled to ask.

I’m fine. The stranger’s voice was deep, a husky register that Salem had never achieved, and rough from disuse. You should hurry if you’re that late. Those blue eyes crinkled just slightly at the corners and Salem felt his breathe catch for a second with something that had nothing to do with fear.

I really am sorry. Salem apologized again even as he felt the itch to run away build back up inside of him. The knowledge that he became later with every second he wasted ate at Salem from the back of his mind. It was a fear he’d resigned himself to never escaping a long time ago.

Go on. You’re late remember? The guy stepped to the side, gestured for Salem to go on past him with a large, gloved hand.

Okay. Sorry again. Salem gave the man the brightest smile he could muster, tightened his grip on his bag, and darted past the stranger with a small wave of his hand. He got to the corner and something made him stop, made him twist back around and look behind him.

Across the distance his eyes met vivid blue as he realized the guy was watching him leave. Salem raised his hand up in another short wave and was pleased when the man returned the gesture.

Hope you have a good day! To his own surprise, Salem couldn’t resist the urge to call out to the man. Instead of waiting to see if he’d get a reply, Salem ducked back around the corner and took off at a sprint. He was late and didn’t have the time to make any more conversation or exchange gestures with intriguing strangers on the street.

No matter how gorgeous and captivating their eyes were.

****

Salem didn’t really think about his run in on the street over the next couple of days. He was too bogged down at work with an endless stream of paperwork to file, meetings to attend, and research to do. Being a paralegal in a small but successful law firm was no laughing matter and it always kept him busy. He enjoyed his job though, even if it did wear on him sometimes, and even if he felt like a glorified secretary more days than naught. It was still better than any number of places he’d worked in the past.

He was on his way home after a late night at the office, the collar of his coat pulled up high against the light mist of rain in the air, when he spied a familiar form. Dressed in the same patched jacket and knit cap, the guy he’d run into a few days before was huddled on the front stoop of a building only a few doors down from the entrance of his apartment building. The man’s large frame was folded in on itself, arms wrapped around knees that were drawn up against the wide chest Salem distinctly remembered crashing into.

For a moment Salem was confused, unable to understand what the man was doing outside at that time of night with the way the weather had finally begun to turn cold, and then it hit him.

The stranger was homeless.

Sadness welled up in Salem at the realization, sadness but not pity or disgust or any of the other things he knew a lot of people felt toward the homeless. He knew better than most people did that often homelessness wasn’t simple, and that it was the sort of thing that happened to some for any number of reasons. Not everyone who was homeless was lazy or strung out on drugs or whatever popular reason some people attributed to it. Salem knew that sometimes things were far more complicated. People could fall into that sort of situations thanks to the way life could sometimes get so far out of control it seemed impossible to get a handle on it again.

Salem had his own fair share of skeletons in his closet, some more violent and unpleasant than others, and he’d never been one to judge others without knowing something about them.

He found himself frozen for a second on the street corner as he chewed on his bottom lip uncertainly. It was late, the lure of a hot shower, some food, and his bed called out to him from his small but cozy apartment. As much as he tried not to disrespect the city’s homeless population, tried to be kind and polite, to treat them like people and to give money when he could, he’d also never had more than brief exchanges with any of them. Especially not a man as large as the stranger was, someone who could, based on his height and the width of his shoulders, undoubtedly do a lot of damage when angry. Salem tended to steer clear of those types of people, more for his own peace of mind than anything else.

But as Salem stared at the stranger from a distance, saw the way his arms were clenched tightly around his legs against the cold, he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if he didn’t do something. He wasn’t sure what it was about the man that made him want to reach out at least a little bit. He was normally so wary of new people, so skittish of getting close and careful to be polite but distant and self-contained in many ways. He was unsettled by the urge to reach out to the man but, at the same time, he knew himself well enough to know that the itch wouldn’t go away until he did something about it.

With a sigh, Salem forced his feet to keep moving towards his apartment building even as he kept his eyes trained on the stranger. He knew just what he would do.

He was too impatient and conscious of the fact that the stranger could disappear easily enough to wait on the decrepit elevator. Instead, Salem dragged himself up the stairs and to his door. He shoved his key in his lock and tripped his way into his apartment. He closed and locked the door behind him, automatically checked the chain and both deadbolts, and dropped his bag on the table by the door. He stripped off and hung up his coat, then headed towards his kitchen.

A flick of a switch had his coffee maker, always prepped and ready to go, running as he dug into one of his cabinets and pulled out one of his medium sized pots with a pouring spout on the side. A quick forage through another cabinet and the refrigerator produced all of the makings for the simple and quick chicken soup he’d learned to make years ago.

He had it on the stove and simmering after only a hand full of minutes, and then he turned his attention back towards his cabinets. Salem rummaged around for a moment and then made a noise of triumph when he pulled out two thermoses that had seen better days but were still perfectly usable. He washed the containers out, dried them off with a dish towel and then set them on the counter. He went back to the living room and grabbed his bag, pulled out his laptop, and set it up on the kitchen table so he could check his personal email while the soup cooked.

There was the normal spam, junk mail from websites Salem didn’t even remember visiting and a few newsletters from some that he did. There was a reminder to update his security and to renew his subscription to his word processing program that made him snort and vow to download something that didn’t charge him annual fees. The coffee pot clicked then and Salem went to stand when his attention was caught by an email from an address he didn’t recognize. Curious Salem clicked on it.

He read the first few lines of the email and his heart skipped a beat in horror when the words registered and he realized just who it was from. His hands shook from his flare of panic as he swallowed hard and kept reading. When he’d reached the end of the email, Salem slammed his eyes closed, brought a hand up to press his fingers hard against his mouth, and tried to resist the urge to scream. He took deliberate deep breaths, focusing on thoughts of peace and safety as he counted back from ten in his head and then forced himself to open his eyes.

He wrapped his shaking fingers around the