It feels like the moon is spinning off into outer space without you
This room is such a lonely place without you
I wish that we could save today
But I know we can't stay the same
And I keep pushing you away
Don't wait for me, don't wait for me
Home is such a lonely place without you
Home is such a lonely place
- "Home Is Such a Lonely Place" by blink-182
When his mother had died, Steve had told Bucky that he could get by on his own. He'd been wrong, of course, and thankfully Bucky had realized that before he had. This time, Steve was under no illusions. He knew that he would never have made it through the days since returning to America without the support of his friends.
He was supposed to be packing up all of his, Bucky's, and Jake's belongings so they could move out of the Avengers headquarters. He was supposed to be finalizing the arrangements to buy the apartment building so they'd have somewhere to move to. He also needed to continue helping Jake get used to some semblance of normal life.
He wasn't sure what was wrong with him, but he could hardly seem to do any of that. The most he seemed able to manage was making the trip out to Rikers on the days he was allowed to see Bucky, and waiting for his phone call on the days he wasn't. Steve slowly worked on filling boxes full of their belongings, but he kept on getting sidetracked by staring at Bucky's pictures, or catching a whiff of his smell on his clothes, or picking up a Harry Potter book and wondering when they would be able to finish reading it together.
As ever, Sam was his rock. Not only did he take care of most of the cooking as usual, not only did he watch Jake when Steve went to visit Bucky, he was also the only reason anything else got done. Steve was convinced of that. Sam enlisted Jake's help in putting moving boxes together and filling them with some of the easier items. He reminded Steve to take breaks and join them in a game of Frisbee or at least sit with them on the couch while they watched a movie.
Sam also took it upon himself to oversee the details of their move. There were some phone calls and paperwork that Steve had to take care of himself, but Sam made arrangements for delivering the new furniture he made Steve pick out for the apartment. He even did the research and made the phone calls to get a tighter security system installed in the building.
He did all of this without hesitation, without waiting to be asked, even though he had to pack up his own belongings, sell his house, and furnish his own new apartment on top of everything else. Every time Steve thought about it, he was filled with an overwhelming muddle of guilt and gratitude that somehow made it even harder to get anything done.
One night after Jake had gone to bed, he and Sam sat at the dining room table, going over some of the final logistics of the move. Steve idly scrolled through a large selection of rocking chairs, trying to pick one. All of the essentials had already been delivered and would be waiting for them, but Steve wanted to get a rocking chair for Jake's room. The thought of sitting in one with Jake in his lap, rocking him to sleep, seemed like an impossible daydream right now, but...he could at least hope, right? It certainly never would happen if he didn't have a rocking chair in the first place. At the very least, he could give Jake a comfortable chair, even if they never made memories in it together.
"You deserve so much better than this," Steve murmured.
"Hmm?" Sam looked up from the items he was checking off his to-do list.
"You've always done so much for me," Steve said, setting the tablet down to focus all of his attention on the man sitting across the table from him. "I know you weren't planning for your life to go this way."
"Hey, there's a lot of stuff none of us saw coming. We just gotta roll with the punches."
Steve thought of Project Legacy. The Sokovia Accords. The bomb at the United Nations.
"It's not like this is permanent, anyway," Sam said. "Bucky's coming home sooner or later, and it won't be too long before Jake's starting school and doesn't really need a babysitter as much."
"What will you do then?" Steve asked curiously. "Since we're not Avengers anymore."
Sam tapped his pen thoughtfully against his notepad. "I'm sure I could find another VA job. I liked that—felt like I was doing some real good, really helping people who needed it. Not that I wasn't helping people as an Avenger," he quickly added.
Steve nodded his understanding. "It feels good to help someone without having to fight sometimes." That was certainly something he'd experienced with both Bucky and Jake.
"Someone has to pick up the pieces after the war's over," Sam said quietly. "So many vets come back and are just...lost. Don't know where to turn. And so then they end up on the streets, homeless, addicted, no one to help them... I've always wanted to do more about that."
Guilt squirmed uncomfortably in Steve's stomach. "Sorry for...hijacking you. Keeping you from doing what you really want to do."
Sam's somber expression broke into a quick smile. "What're you talking about? That's exactly what I've been doing all this time—helping a couple of World War II vets work through their baggage and put their lives back together. With a couple of detours along the way, maybe."
"And I'm more than grateful for that," Steve said earnestly. "I just...wish there was some way I could repay you."
Sam snorted slightly, going back to his list. "Dude, you're giving me a rent-free apartment in Brooklyn that probably costs more than all the places I've lived before combined. I think we're cool."
"Still...you shouldn't have to take care of everything like this. You're moving too, and you've got your house to sell..."
Sam shrugged, flipping a page in his notepad. "Been talking to Gideon. He's been wanting to move out of Ma's place for months now, but the only apartments he can afford right now are crap. So we're seeing if we can figure something out—he'll take care of the house, maybe pay a little rent, and he can stay there until he finds something better. Or until he can buy it."
That didn't make Steve feel much better. Sam looked up and seemed to realize that. "Steve," he said more seriously, "don't worry about it. Really. This is hard on all of us, but especially for you and Bucky. I'm just glad I can help."
Steve looked into his friend's warm, dark eyes, steady and calm as always. "Thank you, Sam. You're the best friend anyone could ask for."
Sam grinned and nudged Steve's foot under the table. "Hey, don't get all mushy on me yet, Cap. We've still got work to do."
Steve smiled back. "Okay, but this means I get to give you the mushiest hug I can manage once we're moved in."
Sam laughed. "Deal."
"Hey, Cap?"
Steve looked up from the clothes from Bucky's chest of drawers that he was slowly, sadly packing away. He'd finally forced himself to do it during Jake's naptime, but he was all too grateful for a distraction. Sam stood in the doorway, holding Steve's shield and his Falcon wings.
"Uh...what do we do with these? I mean...we can't really take 'em with us, can we?"
Heaving himself to his feet, Steve stepped closer and took the shield from Sam's hand, feeling its familiar, comforting weight. It had served him so well over the years, protecting his and others' lives countless times. Having a vibranium shield had affected his fighting style to such an extent that he wasn't sure how to fight without it.
But then...he wasn't going to fight anymore. He shouldn't need a weapon or a shield anymore, not when his primary concerns needed to be taking care of his son and getting his best friend exonerated.
So he handed the shield back to Sam. "I guess we'll just leave them here. You know the code for the storage shed, right?"
"Yeah, I'll take care of it." Sam sighed as he turned to go. "I just hope I don't look out my window one day and see someone flying around in this..."
Steve chuckled, but then he turned back to his task and his face fell again. With a sigh, he pulled open the bottom drawer and continued taking out clothes that Bucky might not be able to wear for a long time.
He reached in, feeling for the corners to make sure he hadn't missed anything, and his fingers touched a piece of cloth much smaller than the other articles of clothing he'd been dealing with. Curious, he pulled it out and found himself holding a neatly-folded piece of dark blue cloth. A very familiar square of blue cloth with a pattern of white stars.
Winter's bandanna. Steve had wondered what had happened to it; he hadn't caught so much as a glimpse of it since...when would it have been? His birthday last year. Breakfast. Sam had made pancakes, and Winter had worn that bandanna even though it meant he had to eat very slowly and carefully so as not to get syrup on the cloth.
Yes...and then he'd switched it out for his mask for the next few hours, until...
Can I be Bucky again? Can I...stay with you...till the end of the line?
Closing his eyes, Steve pressed the soft bandanna to his cheek. Irrationally, he wished he could go back to those days. He knew it was silly; those days hadn't been all sunshine and roses either. He shouldn't wish to go back to the days when Bucky was so insecure and fearful that he couldn't even tell Steve who he was. The physical prison he was stuck in now was still preferable to the prison his mind had constructed for him, trapping him in a world of self-inflicted pain.
But at least I could hug him then, Steve thought.
Steve had to get up and leave the room before his emotions got the better of him. But he tucked the bandanna into his pocket, just so...well, he wasn't entirely sure why he did it. But it made him feel a little better.
Pacing back and forth around the common room, Steve tried to get ahold of himself. They'd rented a truck for the next day, and they needed to have everything ready to move by then. He still had a lot to do, even with Sam helping, and he didn't have time to waste feeling sorry for himself.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, providing a welcome distraction. He and Bucky had quickly learned the hours that the inmates were allowed to leave their cells during the day, but Bucky's phone calls weren't always at consistent times. There was usually a long line for the phones.
But when Steve answered the call, it wasn't the usual message letting him know that he was receiving a call from a correctional facility that would be recorded. Instead, it was another familiar message, but a much less welcome one.
"Hello, Mr. Rogers. This is Aniela Kowalski. Are you able to take a call from Secretary Ross at this time?"
Steve's heart sank to the pit of his stomach. What could Ross possibly have to say to him now, after everything that had happened? Ross hadn't said a word to him since that day he'd come to headquarters with the Sokovia Accords in tow. Steve took a deep, steadying breath and reluctantly said, "Yes."
After a moment or two, Ross's well-known voice sounded in his ear. "Good afternoon, Mr. Rogers. I hope I'm not calling at a bad time?"
It wasn't lost on Steve that Ross had stopped calling him Captain. "No, this is fine," he said. "I was just working on some packing."
"Ah, yes," Ross said delicately. "The move. That's actually what I'm calling about today, Mr. Rogers. I know you've been through a lot lately, and I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to assist you."
Steve let out a frustrated huff. He had absolutely no patience for Ross's guessing games today, and he had no intention of playing along this time. "What do you really want, Mr. Secretary? Why are you calling me?"
"Now, we may not always see eye-to-eye," Ross said in a placating voice, "but I simply want to reassure you that I'm on your side. We're both working towards the same goal: protecting the innocent."
Steve gritted his teeth. "My best friend is sitting in jail at this moment, surrounded by some of the most dangerous men in the state. What about his protection?"
"It's true, we may not have reached that goal yet," Ross said, "but you know as well as I do that wars aren't won in a day. Still, I believe we've made some important steps forward in recent days. If you can give me a few minutes of your time, I can explain several ways the Sokovia Accords will improve and even save millions of lives—"
Steve swore under his breath, not caring if Ross heard or not. He started pacing back and forth again, stepping around cardboard boxes. "Are you still trying to get me to sign the Accords? After Bucky was almost gunned down in the streets because of mistaken identity? I didn't see anything in the Accords that would protect us from people who are ready to simply write us off as a threat immediately."
"So far, nothing's happened that can't be undone," Ross said calmly. "Once we put out the PR fire, these documents can be amended. And I can see that Mr. Barnes gets the best counsel available, to get this misunderstanding taken care of as quickly as possible."
"But only if I sign, right?" Steve rolled his eyes. "Thank you, sir, but Bucky already has an excellent attorney. There's nothing in that document that can outweigh the danger and discrimination I'd be subjecting myself and my family to if I signed it."
For the first time, he detected a trace of impatience in Ross's voice. "Mr. Rogers, might I remind you that, without signing the Accords, you will no longer be allowed to continue your work as Captain America. For decades—for a lifetime—you have served this country and saved countless lives. Hundreds—no, thousands of people are alive today because of you. Children are able to live and grow up in safety because of the work you've done as Captain America. Can you really throw away your legacy so easily?"
Steve's pacing came to a stop and his free hand curled into a fist. "Mr. Secretary," he said through gritted teeth, "the only legacy I care about now is my family. And if the most you can do is give me these reassurances after the fact to change my mind, rather than making sure the safeguards were in place from the beginning, that tells me exactly how important my concerns would be to you if I signed. I will not support regulations built on fear. Not now, not ever. I have nothing more to say on the matter."
After a brief silence, Ross growled, "I never pegged you as a selfish man, Mr. Rogers. Even after everything this country has done for you, after all the opportunities and exceptional gifts you were given, you aren't willing to give back. You'd better leave that shield behind when you leave. I can see you never deserved it in the first—"
With a curse, Steve hung up and threw his phone onto the couch, where it bounced wildly a couple times before dropping onto the carpet on the other side. He dropped his head into his hands, digging his fingers into his hair and growling wordless frustration to the empty room.
He was sick and tired of it all—the manipulative words, the doublespeak, the threats hiding under a thin veneer of geniality. He hated how complicated everything had become, and he loathed how powerless he felt at every turn. There was nothing he could do, no clear enemy to fight, no work to throw himself into and step away with the solid reassurance that he'd done something to help.
Steve rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to dispel the anger burning in his chest, then took a deep breath and let his hands fall to his sides.
He found himself looking at the door to Jake's room, which was open just a crack. Wide blue eyes met his for a moment, then with a tiny squeak, they disappeared again.
Steve suddenly realized he'd just been stomping around the room, his voice rising with each sentence, and then he'd thrown his phone across the room and growled out his fury for all the world to hear. He wasn't sure how long Jake had been watching this display, but what must Jake have thought of it all?
What would have happened if one of his Hydra handlers had received a phone call as frustrating as the one Steve had just finished? Would they have dealt with their emotions and moved on? Or...would they have taken their frustrations out on a very convenient, very small boy who couldn't fight back?
He wondered if he ought to just leave Jake alone. If he so much as said a word or opened the door, Jake might assume he was coming to hurt him. Steve didn't want to do anything that would frighten Jake further...but he also couldn't stand just letting Jake sit trembling in his room, waiting for a blow that would never come.
He needed to know the blow would never come, and the only way he could learn that was if Steve told him.
Taking another deep, calming breath, Steve walked forward and knocked softly on the door. "Jake? I'm coming in, all right?"
When he pushed the door open, he wasn't surprised to find Jake crouched in the corner between the wall and the bedside table. He was scrunched up as small as possible, hugging his knees close to his body just like the first time Steve had laid eyes on him.
"Hey, buddy," Steve sighed, sinking onto the foot of the bed. "It's okay, you can come out. I'm sorry if I scared you."
Jake just sat there, watching every move with wide, wary eyes. He was trembling so hard Steve could see it even halfway across the room.
"You don't need to worry, buddy," Steve said gently. "You're not in trouble. I'm not mad at you, it was...someone else." He ran a hand through his hair, forcing himself not to think about the conversation he'd just had. If he did, he'd just get angry all over again. "I know I shouldn't have lost my temper. I'm sorry."
Jake just sat there, watching him. Waiting in trepidation for what would come next.
Steve held out his hand. "Come here, Jake. I'm not going to hurt you, I promise."
Jake let go of his knees and put his hands on the floor as if to push himself to his feet, but at the same time he jerked backwards so abruptly that his head thunked loudly against the wall. It was like he was simultaneously trying to obey Steve and stay as far away from him as possible.
"I promise," Steve repeated in the softest, gentlest voice he could manage. "I just want to give you a hug. Please?"
Slowly, Jake got to his feet, his eyes darting around the room as if trying to decide whether he could make a run for it or not. Steve held himself still except for an encouraging nod and smile, holding his hand out, open and inviting. He could see Jake shivering all over as he slowly stepped forward, his eyes as wide as if he were approaching a snarling lion.
When Jake was finally within arm's reach, Steve laid his hand on Jake's shoulder and slowly lowered himself to one knee on the floor. "I promise I'm not going to hurt you," he repeated, then carefully leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Jake's stiff, trembling body.
Jake didn't hug him back. He just stood there rigidly, his muscles as tense as a coiled spring. Steve could feel Jake's heart pounding and his breath brushing against his neck in terrified little puffs. Even now, he was sure that a fist was coming his way any second.
"I love you, Jake," Steve whispered for the hundredth time, knowing that he would probably have to say it a hundred more times before Jake understood or believed it. "That means I want what's best for you. That's why I'm never, ever going to hurt you. No matter how upset I get, I promise I will never take it out on you." He let out a weary sigh. "It's okay if you don't believe me, or if you don't really understand what I mean. Just hold onto what I'm telling you. I'm going to prove it to you, Jake. I promise I will spend my whole life showing you what I mean when I say that I love you."
Though he just stood there, not saying anything, Jake relaxed ever so slightly as more time passed. Steve realized he was rubbing Jake's back in soothing circles, much like he often did with Bucky. Jake didn't melt into his arms or snuggle closer to him, but his heart stopped pounding so crazily against Steve's chest. His breathing slowed down, and though he still stood there stiffly like a tin soldier, at least he wasn't trembling with fear anymore.
Steve wondered how many more times he'd have to do this before Jake got the picture. Well, that didn't matter. He'd keep doing it, no matter how many times it took. It was a mission as important as any he'd undertaken as Captain America.
Steve had decided Monday would be the best day for the move. There was no visitation at Rikers on Mondays and Tuesdays, so he hoped they'd be able to get most of the job finished before his next visit with Bucky.
He'd been surprised but grateful when Natasha offered to help them. She'd spent the past few weeks in Vienna helping with the cleanup after the bombing, but apparently she was back in town now. She volunteered to fetch the U-haul truck they'd rented, bringing it by bright and early that morning. Steve carried the heaviest boxes, and with an extra pair of hands, they soon filled the truck with all of their belongings. The process was simplified by not having to move any furniture.
While Sam and Natasha put the last few boxes in the truck, Steve wrestled with the booster seat he'd gotten for Jake. Finally, he thought he'd figured out where all the straps went.
Jake stood uncertainly at the front of the car, where he could keep everyone in sight. He was eyeing Natasha particularly closely, not used to seeing her around lately. As she walked toward the driver's seat, she spotted Jake and waved cheerfully.
"Okay, Jake, here you go," Steve said, patting the booster seat. "Hop on up, and I'll get you strapped in."
Obediently, Jake clambered into the car and watched carefully as Steve fastened the seatbelt around him. His eyes were wide, looking around at his unfamiliar surroundings. They hadn't been on so much as an afternoon drive since they'd first brought him home, so this was all new to him. Steve wondered if maybe they should have taken him on a few outings to get him used to this, but he'd always seemed so wary of anything new, and Steve hadn't wanted to alarm him any further. Well, it was too late now anyway.
As Steve stood there for a moment, double-checking to make sure Jake was safely strapped in, it occurred to him what he was looking at. Hydra's precious specimen of Project Legacy, the one they'd intended to one day become an assassin to rival the Winter Soldier...sitting in a booster seat.
Grinning, Steve brushed a strand of hair out of Jake's eyes. "Okay, buddy, sit tight. We'll get to our new home soon."
As he pulled away from the front door of the Avengers headquarters, Steve watched the building recede in the rearview mirror. His life as an Avenger was in the past now.
Then he drove through the gate and fixed his eyes on the road ahead. He didn't look back.
The drive to Brooklyn was more light-hearted than Steve had expected it to be. Sam turned on the radio and sang along to the songs he knew, and made up words for the ones he didn't. He kept looking over his shoulder and trying to get Jake to join him, but Jake just stared at him in utter confusion. Steve smiled, remembering a similar drive with Winter sitting exactly where Jake sat now.
At last, they made it to the apartment building he'd bought. It was six stories tall, with two apartments on each floor except for the top one. Sam had opted for one of the apartments on the first floor, since they only had one bedroom each, so his belongings were unloaded first.
"I'm gonna feel like the doorman, living here," Sam laughed as he unlocked the door to his apartment.
"I'll make sure to give you a big tip at Christmas," Steve chuckled. "I mean, how many doormen double as babysitters?"
"Do you get a dorky hat and a uniform too?" Natasha asked as they carried in the boxes with Sam's name on them.
"Nah, I think I'm done with uniforms now," Sam said quietly. Silence fell for a moment or two, but before it could grow awkward, he clapped his hands together and said, "We better start moving Steve's stuff. He's up in the penthouse."
Natasha groaned, following them back outside. "Please tell me there's an elevator..."
Steve chuckled. "Don't worry, I made sure of that. I do have a four-year-old, you know."
They all grabbed a box or two and piled into the little elevator. Jake could just barely reach the button labeled '6' when he stood on tiptoes. On the top floor, instead of a door to a second apartment, there was a door giving access to the rooftop. The one apartment on this floor was the largest in the building, with three bedrooms.
After stacking the boxes in a corner, Steve looked around a little more closely at the space they would be calling home for the foreseeable future. He hadn't taken the time to walk through the apartment before buying the building, so this was the first time he'd seen it in person.
The front door opened into a large open room with exposed brick walls. To the right of the front door was the living room, with large windows looking out over the skyline. They'd bought an L-shaped sectional couch to sit in front of a large TV, as well as a couple bookcases to hold the collection of books Steve had been amassing over the past few years.
To the left of the front door was the kitchen, with shiny new silvery appliances and a table large enough to seat six. The windows on that side of the room pointed north, and Steve couldn't help wondering if he'd be able to see Rikers Island from here.
Opposite the front door, there was a wide doorway leading to the hallway with the bedrooms and bathrooms. On the far left was the room Steve had picked out for Bucky, and right next to it was the master bedroom, which Steve would use. On the other side of the master bathroom was the smallest bedroom, which would be perfect for Jake. Next to that was the laundry room, and at the end of the hall opposite from Bucky's room was a second bathroom.
"Nice place," Natasha commented as they made their way back down to get another load of boxes.
"Where'll you be living now?" Sam asked her.
Natasha shrugged. "Here and there. Guess it just depends on where they want me."
"How are things going in Vienna?" Steve asked, passing boxes to the others.
"Slowly." Natasha grimaced, hefting a heavy box of books. "Tony's put a lot of money toward repairs, but it's just going to take time. They want me there to be the face of the Avengers to the public, I guess, but I've done just about all I can for now." She paused as they all trooped into the elevator again, Jake holding the doors open for them. When they stepped out onto the top floor again, she said slowly, "I've been keeping my eyes open, by the way. Seeing what I can find out on my own time. About what really happened."
Steve's heart skipped a beat. "What did you find?"
Natasha set down her box in the living room and turned to face them with a grim expression. "It doesn't look good. We've got nothing—no hairs, no fibers, no DNA, no eyewitnesses. Nothing but that one picture."
"We already knew they didn't have anything on Bucky," Sam said.
Steve sighed, leaning against the back of the couch. "But they don't have anything on the real bomber either."
Natasha shook her head. "The CIA's got a team working on reconstructing the bomb from the fragments, of course, but...there's no suspect to compare it to. It's not Bucky's area of expertise, but that still leaves everyone with those kind of skills who was in Vienna then."
"Like searching for a needle in a haystack," Steve sighed.
"A haystack that might explode at any minute," Sam added.
"As much as I hate to admit it," Natasha said, "we kind of have to wait for this guy to give us something more to go on before we can track him down."
And even if a lead did pop up, Steve wouldn't be able to do anything about it. Even if they found out exactly who had done it and where he would strike next, Steve would have to sit back and watch.
He met Natasha's eyes. As much as he disagreed with the Accords and wished he and Natasha saw eye-to-eye on them, he was glad that she was still on the front lines. He didn't trust Ross or any committee as far as he could throw them, but he knew he could trust Natasha. "Thank you for telling us," he said, hoping his words conveyed some of that.
Conversation died out as they all contemplated the bleak prospect of bringing the true culprit to justice. On their last trip up the elevator, though, Natasha turned to Steve with a smirk and said, "By the way, I got to meet your girlfriend while I was in Vienna. I can see why you like her; she seems nice."
Steve's stomach lurched—or maybe that was just the elevator. "My what?"
Natasha rolled her eyes at Sam, who didn't even try to hide his laughter. "Okay, play dumb if you want. But you better make it official pretty soon—you never know when she'll meet some handsome guy in Berlin..."
"Ha ha, very funny..." Steve marched out of the elevator when it got to the top, pretending that his cheeks weren't burning.
Natasha hung around to help them unpack a few of the essentials. Steve focused on the bedrooms, making sure he and Jake would have a place to sleep that night, while Sam and Natasha took care of the kitchen.
Despite how much time and thought had gone into every aspect of the move, Steve still found it hard to get used to the idea that they would be living here now. There was plenty of space for all of them, and it was furnished with brand-new, comfortable furniture. Soon, Steve knew that they would get all the boxes unpacked and fill the space with familiar objects. And yet...
Could it really be home without Bucky?
Steve found himself standing in the room that was supposed to be Bucky's, holding Bucky's ring with one hand and clutching the bandanna in his pocket with the other. Bucky should have been there, unpacking his own boxes and setting up his picture frames on the chest of drawers or something. He should be the one deciding how he wanted his room arranged.
"Hey, Cap!" came a call from the living room. "How's pizza sound for lunch?"
Drawing a deep breath, Steve forced himself to turn away from the daunting prospect of unpacking all of the boxes it had been so hard to pack up in the first place. When he did, he found Jake lurking in the shadows by the door, watching him. He looked so small and vulnerable, trying to get his bearings in this unfamiliar location.
With a smile, Steve beckoned Jake to follow him as he headed back to the kitchen. "That sounds great," he said in answer to Sam's question.
"Just nothing weird like anchovies or broccoli," Natasha called out, from where she was sorting silverware and putting it in a drawer.
"Whaddya say, kiddo?" Sam asked, holding his phone out for Jake to see two tantalizing pictures of pizza. "Cheese or pepperoni?"
Jake timidly peered up at them all, glancing from one to the other as if looking for a clue.
"Go ahead, buddy. Which one do you want?"
Jake looked down at the pictures again, then slowly extended his finger, pointing at the pepperoni pizza. He peeked up at them again, nervously sticking the finger in his mouth.
"Pepperoni it is!" Sam said, pulling his phone back to make the order.
Steve patted Jake on the back, choosing to ignore the slight flinch his motion elicited. "C'mon, buddy, let's see which of these boxes has the paper plates."
But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal.
- Philippians 3:13-14