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This is the furthest south Kevin’s ever been, and he finds it absolutely miserable.
The dust in the air is practically choking him, and the summer sun is beating him senseless for good measure. Every minute feels like an hour, and every hour, a lifetime. Yes, Kevin hasn’t been this miserable since law school.
He gives his horse a feeble but encouraging pat. They must not be far out now. He’d passed Manteca Falls around noon, and according to his map, his destination must not be far. He hopes, anyway. If the map’s wrong, he’ll probably die out here. Shriveled and dried up in the desert. It might be better than suffering the elements much longer.
And to think he’s going through this because of a mere rumor . A rumor backed by recent events, yes, but a rumor all the same. A shockingly competent breakout of Sisika Penitentiary, executed two weeks ago to the day. Its most notorious and infamous inhabitant, now at large. And scattered but insistent reports of a tattooed man, starting in New Hanover and continuing southwest, all the way to Mexico.
Kevin doesn’t put much stock in rumors, but his judgment is clouded when it comes to Max. Always has been.
The most recent paper he’d read had placed Max in Diez Coronas, off the San Luis River, north of El Presidio. If it’s true, the first thing Kevin wants to do when he sees that fool is smack him across the face for setting himself down right near an army settlement. Though he suspects that might be exactly why Max would be drawn to it—he needs something to rally against, he always has. American or otherwise, any state authority was an enemy to Max.
God, he’s tired. The sun hasn’t quite fallen below the horizon just yet, but it’s dim, dim enough that the weak glow of a campfire on the edge of the river stands out just enough to catch Kevin’s eye.
In all likelihood, it’s a stranger. But he’s been riding for days now, and he’s finally here—he has to check.
He’s not far away, and reaches the camp in a good ten minutes. He gives his horse an apologetic pat as he dismounts. She doesn’t even have a name—he’d bought her as soon as he’d heard the names of those missing after the prison break, with the feeling in his gut that he’d be making a trip soon enough.
The camp seems empty, but not deserted. The wood on the fire has only just caught; it must have been lit recently. There’s a tent made of worn canvas, too. Kevin looks around; nobody seems to be here. It wouldn’t hurt to look. He crouches, pushing aside the flap with one hand—and freezes when he feels cold metal against the back of his skull.
“Not very kind of you to nose around, partner,” a voice sounds, and Kevin’s heart stutters.
“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he replies evenly. Kevin doesn’t want to startle him, because Kevin isn’t an idiot and knows it’s not a good idea to surprise anyone holding the muzzle of a gun to his head. But God, he knows that voice, and he wants to badly to turn around and just—
“I’m just fucking with you, Kev.” The gun barrel against his head is gone, replaced by a hand on his shoulder, forcefully spinning him around and bringing Kevin face-to-face with who he’d been hoping to find. Maximilian Thoroughbred grins at him, wide and wild. “Missed you.”
“I missed you too,” Kevin replies quickly, and it doesn’t feel real, seeing him here. He’d been as good as dead, locked up in there, and Kevin had mourned him like he was. “I missed you too,” he says again, because it still hasn’t sunk in that he’s really back. That Kevin has him again.
“Yeah, I know,” Max says smugly, all while looking at Kevin with a fondness that reminds him why he’d been so stupid as to ride down here in the first place. “And how the fuck did you find me, huh?”
“You’re not subtle.” Kevin can’t help but return the smile. “You’d think a man like yourself wouldn’t be eager to go back to prison.”
“I ain’t going back to prison. I got you. Greatest lawyer in the western states.”
“You had me before.”
“Yeah, well.” Something flickers over Max’s face. “I wasn’t in my right mind.”
“I know.” Kevin places his hand over Max’s, who laces their fingers together. Max’s hands are rough, calloused, like he remembers. “You still owe me money.”
“Of course that’s the first fuckin’ thing that comes to your mind,” Max complains, though it lacks any real frustration. “He comes all the way to see the love of his life after the greatest of prison breaks, and he says I owe him money. C’mon, Kevin.”
“You’re not the love of my life.” It’s half a lie.
“Mm-hm. Keep tellin’ yourself that.” Max’s free hand worms its way around Kevin’s waist. It’s comfortable and familiar. “Hey. I’m gonna hide here for a few more days, wait ‘till things cool down, and then I’m going north again. Find Siz, Alabaster, and the like.”
“And?”
“And,” Max rolls his eyes, “you’re gonna come with me.”
“Fine.” Kevin doesn’t need convincing. He’s here already, isn’t he? “I’ll keep you out of trouble.”
“I know how to stay out of trouble.”
“No, you don’t.” And with that, Kevin pulls him in and kisses him like he’d never left.