Chapter 8 - The Departure
The Greyhound bus idling at the Portland downtown terminal smelled of diesel exhaust, stale upholstery, and the universal scent of transient dreams.
Outside, the mist had finally turned into a steady, gray rain, drumming against the tinted windows of the bus and blurring the neon signs of the city into smears of red and yellow.
I stood on the concrete loading platform, pulling my old denim jacket tight against the chill, watching passengers haul their battered suitcases up the metal steps.
Rebecca stood beside me, wearing her ruined designer coat—now dry and brushed off—with her small canvas travel bag slung over her shoulder. Her copper-colored hair was tied back in a neat braid, and for the first time since I'd found her crying outside the bookstore, the hunted, haunted look in her amber eyes was completely gone.
She looked light. She looked free.
"Well," Rebecca said, offering a small, bittersweet smile as she turned to face me. "This is it. The grand escape to Mendocino."
"You're going to freeze your ass off on an organic farm," I pointed out, trying to keep my voice steady despite the heavy, hollow ache forming in my chest. "They don't have heated seats or espresso machines down there, you know."
"I know," she laughed softly, a bright, musical sound that cut through the roar of the idling bus engine. "And I can't wait."
She stepped closer, hesitation flickering across her face for a second before she reached out and wrapped her arms around my neck, pulling me into a tight, fierce embrace. I buried my face in her shoulder, breathing in the scent of rain, cedar soap, and the faint, lingering trace of the coffee we'd shared that morning.
"Thank you, Logan," she whispered against my ear. "For not looking away."
"Just... make sure you write," I choked out, pulling back and blinking hard against the sudden sting in my eyes. "Or at least send a postcard from the farm so I know you didn't get eaten by a mountain lion."
"I promise," she said.
The bus driver honked his horn twice, a sharp, jarring blast that signaled boarding was ending. Rebecca gave me one last lingering look, her amber eyes shining with unshed tears, before she turned and climbed the metal steps of the bus.
She found a seat near the window, sliding the glass down an inch to wave as the doors hissed shut and the heavy vehicle slowly lurched forward into the rain. I stood on the platform, watching the red taillights fade into the gray Portland mist until the street was entirely empty.
When I finally turned around to walk back toward my car, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled it out, expecting a text from Marcus complaining about the afternoon coffee delivery or an automated alert from my banking app. Instead, it was an unknown number with a Seattle area code.
I swiped to answer, pressing the phone against my ear.
"Logan," a deep, smooth voice said on the other end of the line.
I froze on the wet pavement. "Arthur?"
"My daughter has boarded the bus south," the billionaire industrialist said, his tone entirely professional, stripped of any lingering hostility. "And per our... agreement, my legal team has officially cleared the title on your building, settled your back rent in full, and deposited a standard contractor fee into your business account for the inconvenience of my visit."
I stared blankly at a passing delivery van splashing through a puddle. "You didn't have to do that."
"I don't leave debts unpaid, Mr. Logan," Arthur replied coldly. "And for what it's worth... my daughter was right about you. You're a stubborn, insufferable nuisance."
"Takes one to know one," I muttered.
A dry, unexpected chuckle came through the speaker before the line went dead with a click.
I lowered the phone slowly, staring at the screen. My bank app refreshed automatically in my palm, displaying a new, impossible balance that could keep Juniper Street Café running smoothly for the next five years.
I let out a long, breathless laugh, shaking my head as the rain continued to fall around me.
May you like
My father was gone. My predictable, quiet life had been completely blown apart. But as I walked back toward my car to open the afternoon shift, the heavy knot of regret that had lived in my chest for months was finally, completely gone.
Sometimes, standing out in the rain and handing someone a towel is all it takes to find your way back home.
