Page 3 of Winter Longing
Hank grinned wide and stole one last fry from Rosie’s plate. “’Atta boy!”
Chapter Two
Cole had learned quickly that going on vacation with Tank was both a headacheandan adventure—luckily, more of the latter than the former. Tank’s boundless energy seemed to ignite around six in the morning and didn’t extinguish until long after midnight. By day four, Cole, several years Tank’s junior, was struggling to keep pace.
Scotland was fabulous, proving to be a feast for the senses, a great mix of history, natural beauty, warm hospitality, and whiskey nearly at every corner. They’d started their trip in Edinburgh, where they explored the cobbled streets of the Royal Mile, the imposing majesty of Edinburgh Castle, and Mary King’s Close in Old Town, a labyrinth of passageways, vaulted chambers, and old tenement houses that dated back to the 1600’s. Reputed to be haunted, the close lay entirely underground, its tenement buildings remarkably intact, with doors, shuttered windows, gutters, and even rooms still visible. Tank had insisted on a night tour, a spooky affair filled with tales of restless spirits that had left Cole rolling his eyes and Tank grinning like a kid.
From there, they’d rented a car and driven north through the scenic hills of Perthshire, stopping at Stirling Castle for a dose of William Wallace history. Tank had a knack for befriending strangers, and by the time they’d reached the castle’s great hall, he was sharing a dram of whisky with an overly enthusiastic local guide. Cole had caught some of their conversation, which Cole himself had heard on the plane, regarding Tank’s high school’s production of a musical version of Braveheart, in which Tank himself had played the lead.
“You sang? In a musical?” Cole had needed clarification when he’d first heard this. “Youdid?”
Tank had shrugged in the seat next to Cole on the international flight. “Dude, it was twenty years ago—yeah, I sang. By the way, all the hottest chicks were in the drama club. But seriously, it was awful—I mean,Iwas great, but the play was brutal.”
“Please tell me there’s video of this somewhere.” Cole had pleaded. “In some old metal file cabinet in the basement of your high school.”
“Colorado next, if you want to get your hands on that,” Tank had teased, referring to the four years he’d spent as a teenager in Colorado when his mother and father had split and he and his mom had briefly moved out west.
Their journey had continued into the Highlands, where the scenery became even more dramatic. Yesterday, they’d spent hours near Loch Ness. While Tank had discussed with their guide the probability of the fabled monster Nessie being real, Cole had been more interested in the tranquil beauty of the loch and the ancient ruins of Urquhart Castle perched along its shores.
Now, on day four, they found themselves near Loch Linnhe, the towering slopes of Ben Nevis looming ahead. Tank, ever the adrenaline junkie, had declared it hiking day.
“We can’t come all this way and not see the view from the top,” Tank had said in an effort to cajole Cole.
Cole was game for many things, all the tours Tank had previously booked and plenty of sightseeing, but wondered if he should draw the line on hiking. While he appreciated the rugged beauty of Scotland, he wasn’t convinced that trudging up the UK’s tallest peak after three days of nonstop adventure was the best idea. He and Tank were both healthy males, but they weren’t hikers. Yeah, he’d done short climbs around Buffalo at Chestnut Ridge and Letchworth parks, but those were a far cry from what Tank had in mind.
Still, Tank’s zeal was hard to resist—and they were right here—so that Cole found himself suppressing a groan and lacing up his hiking boots, consoling himself with the hope that the hike would be short, uneventful, and a good dinner with a nice glass of whiskey would be his reward later.
Adjusting the straps on the small backpack he’d purchased and filled with water, a multitool, a flashlight, an extra pair of socks, and an entire box of energy bars, Cole glanced up the trail that snaked toward the peak of Ben Nevis. The morning sun was deceptively warm, but the chill became obvious as they slowly reached higher elevations.
Tank was a few paces ahead, arms spread wide as if embracing the mountains.
“This is what it’s all about, man,” Tank said, his voice carrying over the stillness of the trail. “Fresh air, nature at its purest, and a challenge to remind you you’re alive.”
“That reminder came this morning at 6 am,” Cole called up to Tank, “when you scared the shit out of me, bouncing on the bed like a five-year-old.”
“You snoozed through two alarms, dude!” Tank shot back, spinning around to walk backward with a cocky grin.
“For good reason,” Cole defended, adjusting the winter hat he’d purchased at the same time he’d bought the backpack. “We closed that pub last night.” They hadn’t gotten back to their hotel until almost 2 a.m., and Cole had struggled the entire trip, and more so last night, to sleep with Tank’s snoring being loud enough to shake the rafters.
“Gotta make the most of every hour, my man. When are you ever going to get back to Scotland?”
It was a good point, or it might have been, except that Cole was really impressed with Scotland, and had already decided it would definitely be a place he’d like to visit again. They werecramming a lot into each day, but there was so much more to see.
“This is soul-repair,” Tank pronounced, his voice carrying easily over the wind.
Cole couldn’t argue with that. There was some benefit to traveling with Tank. While Cole tended to overanalyze everything—until all the spontaneity was sucked out,as Tank had pointed out several times over the years—Tank was the kind of guy who turned every moment into an adventure. And sure, Tank’s relentless energy could be exhausting, but Cole couldn’t deny that he was glad he’d been talked into coming.
As they crested a ridge, Tank paused to admire the view. The mountains rolled out in endless layers of white-capped green and gray, the sky stretching impossibly wide above them.
“Worth it, huh?” Tank said, pointing toward the horizon.
Cole nodded, breathless from both the climb and the scenery, but hardly able not to appreciate the vista presented to them. “Yeah. That’s quite a view.”
They continued up the trail, the conversation meandering from the landscape to Tank’s latest business venture—a juice bar he wanted to open in Buffalo.
“I’m telling you, it’s gonna be huge,” Tank said, gesturing animatedly. “Cold-pressed, organic, all that good stuff. It’s what the world needs right now.”
“Uh-huh,” Cole replied, his smile amused. “And when exactly did you become a health guru?” Cold-pressed, organic juices weren’t in the same arena as fries, chicken wings, or Tank’s favorite—and Buffalo’s own—beef on weck. Certainly, it shouldn’t be mentioned in the same breath as beer and whiskey, Tank’s other favorites.
