His legs folded.
Evan reached him before he hit the floor.
Buddy’s chest pressed hard against Evan’s knees, and then his whole body sagged forward. He buried his head against Evan’s uniform, pushing his nose beneath Evan’s arm with surprising determination.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Evan’s mother, Dana, stood in the kitchen doorway with one hand over her mouth.
The front door remained open behind Evan. His suitcase was still beside the wall. He hadn’t even taken off his jacket.
None of that seemed to matter.
Evan was twenty-two years old, broad through the shoulders now, with his hair cut close and a face that had changed in ways Dana couldn’t quite name.
But the moment Buddy leaned into him, Evan looked seventeen again.
Then fifteen.
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