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the next couple of days. He stuffed them into a bag that was sitting next to the things Chris had started to pack and then slung both bags over his shoulders.
                When he straightened he was left staring at a bewildered but fully dressed Chris watching him from the bathroom door. “You don't look like you need first aid,” Chris pointed out slowly.
                “Not right now, but it's better to be prepared,” Steve grinned as he grabbed his friend, first aid kit and all, and all but pulled him out to his truck.
                “Prepared for what?” Chris asked sharply.
                “Don't worry, we're not going down frat row again.”
                “That doesn't answer my question.”
                “Well, maybe one of those books you packed has the answer. Do some research while I drive, won't you?”
                Steve made a show of innocently driving while Chris watched him suspiciously for a long moment. It wasn't long before Chris caved to the temptation of research, though, and Steve relaxed. By the time his friend looked back up from that book they were going to be deep enough in the mountains that Chris couldn't protest enough to make him turn back.
                He would just have to hope that the notebook he had packed for Chris to use as a word processor was going to be enough of a peace offering to let him live through the first night. Not that he thought Chris would actually attempt to physically murder him but the looks that his friend had sometimes were soul scathing.
                Still, Steve thought with a grin, it would totally be worth it to see his face when he realized what had happened.
     
     
     
     
     

 
     
    Chapter Three
     
                “So who do you keep texting over there? Tara and Andrew having problems again?”
                “Dad,” Skylar said with a deadpan look at her father. “Tara and Andrew never have problems.”
                “Uh-huh. Are they domestically disputing over there?” he asked. It wasn't all that unreasonable a question, Skylar surmised, since Tara did have a habit of texting when she was angry or upset so no one would know she was crying or yelling.
                “No, I'm not talking to Tara. I'm talking to Grayson.”
                Some parental sense made the set of her father's shoulders change. “Is Grayson a boy or a girl?”
                “He's a guy,” Skylar said as her thumbs flew across the keypad screen of her phone. Really, she was much too old for her father to have that kind of reaction to who she was talking to.
                “I'd appreciate it if you would look at me when I'm talking to you,” her father said.
                Skylar looked up at him, sent a quick message to Grayson to tell him she'd be a minute before replying, and then gave her father her full attention. “Yes?” Apparently she was wrong. There were some tones a parent could adopt that no child could safely ignore despite their age.
                “Where did you meet him?”
                “With Tara.”
                “How old is he?”
                “Twenty-six.”
                “Does he do drugs?”
                “Daddy!”
                “Well? You never know about kids these days.”
                “You know about me,” Skylar said, stung on Grayson's behalf.
                “Only because I know you,” her father grumbled.
                “And you should know I wouldn't hang out with somebody that does that,” Skylar countered.
                He made a dissatisfied noise in the back of his throat and went back to watching the news. “You're just talking?”
                “He's taking me out to a movie tonight.”