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It’s been 15 years. Tim flipped through that book Raylan left for him for some hidden meaning and looked over at that side desk, expecting him to saunter in with his hat and his bright white smile, trigger finger itchy every day since he left. He remembers how he hid his tears when he left, like a best friend leaving him at summer camp. God, how embarrassing. Raylan never called, never texted, so much as forgot about them back in Lexington. Rachel maybe got a message back to him about Ava, but he had no idea where it went. Word came that he returned to Tramble Penitentiary to see Boyd. Of course, it had to be Boyd and not him. He was busy raising Willa, the memory of a baby living on Raylan’s computer screen for her first year, now a teenager with piercings and an attitude much like her father. He didn’t have time to come back and reminisce. Boyd was locked up like he was always supposed to be, Art retired, Rachel became chief, and Tim stayed. Tim can’t say he’s grown; maybe he got more serious as the years passed. Rachel kept him busy and made him into something other than a sidekick sniper buddy. Finally done doing all the dirty work and coffee runs. He still cracks jokes and has that standard self-deprecation that never lets up, but something in him changed when Raylan left all those years ago. A gaping hole that was never filled, that he never addressed let alone spoke about. Maybe Boyd and Winona would be the only ones who understand it. That something in you permanently changes when you fall in love with Raylan Givens. When you give up something of yourself to him only for him to leave and never return, to push you away, to break your heart, and then come clawing back for it. Raylan loved Winona, and he loved Boyd. Sometimes, if Tim had imagined it hard enough, maybe he loved him too. Raylan could never stay; he was never meant to. But Boyd Crowder would always be the one thing to bring him back.
The phone rings 3, maybe 4 times, buzzing until it sounds like the blood rushing through his ears when he’s about to pull his sidearm. Raylan tries to ignore it, but it’s Kentucky, it’s home, it’s Boyd, and it’s everything he’s tried to push back since he left 15 years ago. Willa asked him why he quit. He’s stalling. He should feel guilty, he took her out on the boat as some father-daughter bonding. But Raylan tries as he might, would never make a perfect father. Raylan knows it’s Boyd. They’d never be calling otherwise. He thinks maybe he should let it ring. He’s retired. They can handle Boyd without him, Rachel is smart, and he knows Tim is capable. God, he hasn’t thought about Tim in years. Who is he kidding? Of course, he has. He missed his jokes, toothy grin like a dog’s, and reliableness. He thinks about him behind his eyelids when he pushes those feelings down, like when he was 19 and Boyd Crowder dragged him through the crumbling mineshaft. Fuck it. He answers the phone.
Rachel gets off the phone with Raylan, her face that rarely smiles curved into an amiable smirk. Tim notices this.
“Got a hot date or something?” Tim asks, his voice once a smooth, low drawl now a little hoarse from the cigarettes he’s picked up, more or less chain-smoked over the years, along with all the alcohol. A bad habit he’s not about to quit. Rachel scoffs.
“It’s Boyd Crowder,” she says, brows furrowed.
“When is it not?” Tim grins. Rachel gets up, grabbing her holster.
“He broke out of Tramble.” Tim stands there, still as if he is waiting for the green light. “This morning. State troopers are starting the manhunt.” Tim blinks awake then.
“Who was on the phone?” Tim asks, remembering Rachel’s smile. He remembers only Raylan got her to smile like that. Tim’s dumb jokes never landed. Rachel looks at him like he asked a stupid question.
Raylan packs Willa up and sends her to Winona’s. He takes his badge and guns from the safe. He hops on the next plane to Lexington, and the next thing he knows, he’s strolling back into the courthouse like he never left. When Tim sees that flash of suede hat under stark silver hair, he thinks he might be dreaming. Rachel greets Raylan with a grin and a handshake. Tim stands stunned, like he’s at the altar. Raylan’s all cordial, with smile lines, goatee dusted white, skin tanned and lean, and his brown eyes warm. Tim feels it all crash like dynamite hit him, and he’s awoken from some sort of coma. Raylan approaches Tim. The reunion is half awkward, much like their goodbye. He opts for a handshake, nothing as personal as a hug. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. They know if they were alone, this would be different.
“It’s good to see you,” Tim says. Because God, it is. It feels like some missing piece was settled right back into him. Raylan smiles at that, making Tim feel like he’s standing in the sun.
“You too.” Raylan lets go of his hand, calloused and warm as a freshly fired gun. They know they’ll have to talk about it later. Why he never called, why it had to be Boyd that brought him back here. Tim lets himself bask in it, the itch scratched for now.
Rachel catches Raylan up to speed. Cops are finding abandoned stolen cars and searching for Boyd across state lines, his face plastered on news stations and wanted signs, a reward posted for his capture and arrest. They say he made out with a guard he seduced with his charms. Said her name was Nicki Earl. They follow a trail of breadcrumbs, a man and a woman matching their description, going into gas stations and rest stops, moving down the country.
Raylan and Tim set out on a deranged road trip, Rachel following behind with the state troopers and marshals, tracking the man who’s haunted the Lexington Marshals office since the better part of 2010. They start their drive through Tennessee, little towns, and side roads in Tim’s Chevy Suburban. Hoping to get through to Memphis by the end of the day.
“So, how’s–” Tim waves his hand around in the air, “Winona and the kid?” He attempts small talk, knowing it’ll be a long journey. Raylan sighs in the passenger seat, his hat perched atop his head like when he would attempt to sleep on stakeouts.
“Fine. Willa’s fifteen now. Fiery. She’s got my attitude, wanted to follow me here. I made her stay with Winona. It’s safer for her. Winona’s,” Raylan pauses. “You know.” Tim nods.
“You settle down at all?” Raylan asks with half a smirk. Tim rolls his eyes.
“You wish,” he grins, turning serious again. “But no. No one worthwhile sticks around.” The car goes quiet save for some country song on the radio. They roll through Memphis, Tennessee, to Little Rock, Arkansas, by nightfall. Tim doesn’t sleep that night. Raylan is too close in the motel bed, his silver hair glistening in the moonlight as he sleeps soundly. Tim feels the years stretch out like the stars did in the Afghan desert when he felt unstoppable, alive. His longer hair now peppered with silver, that wrinkle at his brow stuck, with smile lines and crow's feet at his eyes. He clings to those ‘what if’ and ‘almost was.’ He knows Raylan would chase the criminal over him. He knows it like the ache in his bones when winter comes.
Making it through the flat plains of Texas, Tim recalls his childhood. It’s been years since he’s been in the state. Mornings on the ranch, the sticky humid air in church, the prickly fur of the steers and the dogs, teeth that bit and knuckles that bled. He flexes his hands on the steering wheel, tasting blood in his mouth that isn’t there.
“You from around here?” Raylan asks. Tim is quiet, remembering how he’d sneak away from the night and watch the endless stars in the field behind the house. Careful not to wake the dogs and the man in the house who never believed him. Tim shrugs.
“More or less. I’m from a small town called Snyder. Used to be an oil town. Nothin’ special. Joined the Army just to leave the place, haven’t been back since.” He remembers the sound of the screen door shutting for the final time, loading the truck, the scars yet to form.
Tim falls asleep fast in their motel room in Odessa. His body curled tight, the sliver of streetlight illuminating his face. The lines scrunched up in a tense emotion as he twitches in his sleep. His hand opens and closes like he’s reaching for something. Raylan moves over and places a hand on his shoulder to nudge him. Tim shoots up, grabbing his arm tight. “Who are you?” He asks, voice raspy from sleep, eyes dazed. After a moment, his eyes focus on Raylan, and he loosens his grip. “Jesus, sorry,” he mumbles. Raylan’s gaze turns sympathetic.
“Nightmare?” Tim’s eyes are tired. He nods, sighing. He pulls away, grabbing his cigarettes and lighter. Raylan doesn’t ask any more questions.
“You miss home?” Tim asks around a menthol. Raylan finds he doesn’t. Hasn’t thought of Miami in a day or two, barely ever thinks about it when he’s here.
“No. Why should I?” He says, then feels a stab of guilt hit his chest. Tim scoffs.
“Wow. Not father of the year, huh?” He grins and exhales the smoke. Raylan doesn’t complain. Tim eyes him for a moment. “You really do have a soul. Never thought I’d see the day.” He jokes. Raylan glares at him, eyebrow cocked in that way he does when he’s testing you. He doesn’t think he has a soul; he just still has the ability to feel guilty for not loving Willa the way he should.
“How come I never heard from you?” Raylan changes the subject. That worried crease in Tim’s forehead appears. Raylan forgot how much he missed it.
“Heard from me?” He scoffs, a drag and a puff of smoke following it. “What about you?” Tim bites, not really meaning to. The subject is sore.
“I had a life, a family,” Raylan says. “I left Kentucky, I didn’t have anything left here.”
“You mean you didn’t have Boyd left here,” Tim corrects. A flash of anger appears in Raylan’s face, he suddenly regrets saying it.
“You never even bothered to call me. You could have,” Raylan says. Like Tim could ever have just picked up the phone, he wanted to, would spend sleepless nights itching to, he never would.
“I couldn’t just drag you back here. It had to be Boyd, it always was.” There, Tim said it. The unspoken truth. Raylan is quiet, his face turned away in a veil of shame. Tim itches to ask, ‘why couldn’t it be me?’
“I’m sorry,” Raylan says. It’s the last thing he expected to hear. Not sure he’s ever heard him say it.
“What for? You have a daughter. Couldn’t expect you to raise her here. It’s better in Miami.”
“For leaving.” Tim doesn’t know what to say. Raylan leaves the ‘you’ at the end unsaid.
Tim puts out the cigarette in the ashtray, the smoke spiraling up. He settles back into bed, pulling the scratchy blanket back up over himself even though it’s too warm.
“Forget it.” He mutters, and tries to fall back asleep knowing it won’t come. The burn in his chest settles with the nicotine buzz. Raylan watches Tim’s shaking shoulders until dawn.
Boyd Crowder lounges on a ratty beach chair by the dirty motel pool, Nicki Earl’s legs dipped in the water, lukewarm from the desert heat.
“Thinkin’ we could be over the border by Friday,” Nicki says, her voice light. They’re waiting on fake passports and IDs, their latest stolen car low on gas, they wouldn’t get too far.
“I think the heat’s gettin’ to you, baby,” Boyd huffs. “We’d be lucky if this cash don’t run out by the end of the week.” He thumbs the dollar bills stashed in his pocket. Nicki stands, hips cocked to the side, her long dark brown hair tied up.
“We definitely won’t if you keep havin’ that attitude,” she grins. Boyd loses his smirk.
“Hey, this is serious business, darlin’. You know how this border thing is. We’re on borrowed time. My face is everywhere, border patrol definitely would have me on standby…” he thinks. Nicki sits on the edge of the chair, legs still wet.
“It’ll be fine, baby.” She takes his hand, an attempt at being comforting. Boyd shrugs her off, swinging his legs over the edge. “What, you’re having second thoughts? Why’d you bring me down here?” Boyd honestly doesn’t know.
“You got me out of that cage.” Nicki looks at him, expecting more but it doesn’t come.
“So this is just payback for helping you? Do you even really want me here? ‘Cause I could just go home.”
“I don’t know, Nicki” She scoffs. She points at him accusingly.
“You just used me for the break out, didn’t you?”
Boyd’s eyes narrow. She lets out a shocked laugh. “You did! God, I should’ve known. You never loved me.”
“Nicki, wait—“ She storms off.
“You’re on your own, Boyd,” she calls, eyes teary, stormy with betrayal. She takes her bags and money, gets on the next bus and leaves Boyd alone in the desert.
“You gonna go back home after this?” Tim asks, the car rolling through the Arizona desert. The sun setting pink over the sand, cacti, and burnt orange rocks. Raylan smiles. Some rock song playing low on the radio. The window is open, crisp air running through Tim’s hair.
“You want me to?” Something in Tim’s chest loosens at that. “Why’re you asking?”
Tim sighs. “I guess I have this weird idea that I’ll get you all to myself someday.” Raylan laughs warmly. Tim turns up the radio.
Boyd sits in the motel room with a photo in his hands. Coyotes howl in the night. He thumbs over the picture, Ava and a little boy with his eyes, black hair. He knew Raylan lied to him then, could see his eyes shine with it. He knew it was for a good reason. He couldn’t be trusted. He doesn’t need to find Ava, he knows she’s safer and happier without him. Took years in prison to come to terms with that, no matter how much he loves her. He pockets the photo.
Raylan and Tim ask around towns and motels and gas stations, and get a tip about a man with Boyd’s description in the border town of Douglas. They inform Rachel who sends the cavalry. Tim and Raylan ask the motel owner and she points out his room.
Tim sets up the sniper rifle. Rachel knocks on the door. “U.S. Marshals. We have you surrounded, Boyd. You can leave the room peacefully, or we’ll break in,” Rachel says coolly. Raylan isn’t far behind.
Boyd steps in behind them. “Looks like you found me.” He says, his pistol in hand. Guns are pointed. His eyes land on Raylan, his gaze softens for a fraction of a second. The sight of him so much older. Tim’s sight right on him. Boyd’s hand twitches on the trigger.
“You gonna keep your promise, Raylan? Put me down for once?” He grins, wolfish. The desert wind is cool in the night. “I know about Ava. Know you lied to me to protect her. Know that I’m… a father.” His eyes get watery, voice tapering off. Raylan looks guilty, expression steeled. “I’ll never get to be happy, free. Raise him like a real father.” Raylan’s gun stays raised. “Did it change you?” Boyd asks. “Being a father?”
Raylan smiles, not genuine. “No.”
He steps closer to Raylan, breathing hard, gun raised, finger on the trigger. “Go on.” Boyd is haggard, desperate. “Kill me, Raylan.” His voice is different than Tim remembers, Boyd scoffs sadly. “Or are you gonna miss my heart on purpose again?” Raylan’s shaking now, eyes wet with tears, his cool exterior around Boyd long gone with the years and the memories. He can’t. Of course, he can’t. It’s Boyd Crowder. He loved him, still does despite it all, still will.
“Let me do it,” Tim asks through the walkie talkie, his voice sounds miles away. Rachel looks at Raylan, knows it won’t be long until Boyd starts firing. Tim’s chest aches. Rachel inhales.
“Go ahead.”
Tim exhales, long, measured. The world slows down for a second and the bullet fires, the crack echoing through the silent desert like thunder. Boyd falls, blood pooling at his head. The rush of the recoil fades into a tremble of dread. He doesn’t bring himself to look at Raylan, afraid to see the pain etched there.
Boyd Crowder is given an unmarked grave, buried in the hills of Kentucky he dug in and ran through. Raylan watches as they put the pine coffin in the hole in the ground. Tim standing next to him and remembering his and Boyd’s unfinished game of Scrabble all those years ago. He feels the sting of guilt and convinces himself it’s for the best that Boyd’s here. Tim drives Raylan back to his luxury motel in Lexington, the same one he stayed in before. He parks out front.
“You staying?” Tim asks Raylan, afraid of the answer. Raylan knows it’s where he belongs. It will always chase him down. And Raylan, who’s never found it in himself to commit to anything or stay in Kentucky with Boyd gone and buried in the hills, says okay.