Page 1 of The Way Back Home
PROLOGUE
NOAH
Noah Ziegler took his time moving through the crowded Atlanta airport. He was in no particular hurry. Nor would he be upset if he missed his flight and had to sit around for hours.
Apathetic. Disaffected. Emotionally numb. Whatever the label, that was his default these days. Sure as hell beat the alternative.
He strode up to one of the status boards as it refreshed. Flight after flight was showing delays, including his.
“Shit,” a guy next to him grumbled. “What the hell is going on that everything is delayed?”
Like Noah knew. He was too inside his own head to worry about what was going on outside it. “Who knows? Weather maybe?”
“I guess. And I guess I’ll be cooling my heels in the USO for the next few hours.”
Hmm. Wandering the airport and dealing with screaming kids and irritated travelers, or chilling on a couch in the USO? Not a hard choice.
Remembering his manners, Noah stuck out his hand. “Sounds like a good plan. Noah Ziegler. Army.” Or at least he had been.
“Dean Sinclair. Navy. Hoping to make it to Albany, New York, sometime today.”
They turned in tandem and walked together in a confident, synchronized stride. When they reached the USO, the volunteer on registration duty was busy with someone else. Noah stuck his hands in his pockets and looked around while they waited. Sinclair’s phone buzzed in the silence, but the guy made no move to check it. Didn’t even look at the device.
The volunteer—Blessing, by her name tag—finished and turned, greeting them with a warm apple-pie smile. Noah hung back, allowing her to deal with Sinclair first. The guy was in more of a hurry than he was.
“That’ll be Mom checking on you,” Blessing said knowingly, tipping her chin toward Sinclair just as his phone began to vibrate again.
Noah tuned them out, wondering how his own mother was doing. She’d seemed fine with him taking the job at Hopewell, but he knew she’d hoped he’d find a place closer to home.
While Sinclair filled out his info, the woman turned to Noah. Her beatific smile remained in place. “Your mother worries about you too,” she said.
“No question,” he agreed matter-of-factly.
Most mothers did, he supposed, though their methods for expressing that worry varied. Judging by the nonstop buzzing in Sinclair’s pocket, for example, his mom was an obsessive texter.
Blessing cocked her head slightly and continued, “But she understands. And it will all work out in the end. You’ll find your way back home. You’ll see.”
Noah withheld his snort. The smiling woman didn’t know what she was talking about. Probably thought she was being helpful.
Sinclair laid the pen on the paper and pushed it toward Noah, prompting Blessing to turn her attention back to his temporary companion. Undeterred by the lack of response, she chirped on happily about good seats and big leather chairs, perfect for responding to texts sent by worried mothers.
As if on cue, Sinclair’s phone vibratedagain. Noah felt a brief pang of sympathy for the guy.
When he finished filling out his info, Blessing led them back to a quiet room, where three guys and a massive black German shepherd had already copped a squat. Introductions were made.
Noah tracked the intel with detached interest. Tyler Marconi, retired Army. Seth Hansen, Air Force. Code Drakos. If Blessing said what branch Drakos was from, Noah missed it. It wasn’t as if it mattered in the scheme of things.
The first few minutes after Blessing left were spent discussing her seemingly psychic abilities. Maybe she had them; maybe she didn’t. Again, didn’t really matter, although it could prove useful. If he’d had the gift ofprescience back in Afghanistan, Kowalski wouldn’t have died, and Noah wouldn’t be taking a job in some godforsaken town in rural Kentucky.
He sank down into one of the unoccupied leather chairs and settled in for the duration. If nothing else, Blessing had been right about how comfortable it was.
Noah sat back and closed his eyes. He didn’t know much about the ranch where he’d be spending the next six months, only that it was smack in the middle of horse country. That worked for him. He needed time to work things out before he went back to his family—assuming he went back at all. Carrying his guilt was hard enough without having to look into the eyes of people who knew him too well to be fooled into thinking he was okay.
His twin, for one.
Time passed in an uneventful blur as, one by one, his companions left the USO to continue their journeys. Eventually, it was his turn.
“Have faith, Noah,” Blessing said to him quietly. “Your path lies ahead. Follow it, and it will show you the way back home.”
