Stranger on the Bus - Part 1

Everyone in this story is 18+

Re-releasing so its available to free members as well.

I noticed him the second I stepped on the bus.

Late night. Route 73. Middle of nowhere. The kind of bus ride where no one makes eye contact, and the driver doesn’t bother mumbling the stops. Just asphalt and dim lights humming through tinted glass.

He was curled up in the window seat halfway down, already out cold. Blonde, lean, probably barely scraping twenty. His knees hugged a big, beat-up briefcase, like it might float him if the bus sank. His head rested on the window, lips parted, a little trail of drool catching the edge of his mouth. And every few minutes—light snoring. Barely there, but kind of… sweet.

I sat a few rows back, tried not to stare. Not that there was anyone else to look at.

I figured he had an alarm set. Most people did, especially kids like that—probably used to rideshares and digital reminders. But stop after stop went by. Small towns. Country roads. Then long stretches of nothing.

Still out.

His head lolled, chin dipping, and he jolted a little before settling again. Same soft snore. I should’ve said something sooner, maybe. But I didn’t. Just watched him sleep through it all.

When the driver finally barked, “End of the line,” I grabbed my bag and stood up. Then I hesitated.

He was still asleep.

I walked over, leaned down, and gave his shoulder a light shake. “Hey.”

Nothing.

I tapped again, firmer this time. “Hey—kid. Last stop.”

He startled awake with a small, choked breath. Sat up too fast and blinked at me, disoriented. Then, without thinking, he dragged the crook of his elbow across his cheek to wipe the drool, still blinking hard like his brain was buffering.

“What?” he said, voice raw. “Wait. Last stop?”

I nodded, backing off just a little. “Yeah. You missed yours, I think.”

He looked out the window, squinted, then let out a soft “fuck,” under his breath. “I was supposed to get off in Glensbury. Like, two towns ago.”

I shrugged. “Sorry. I figured you had it handled.”

He winced. “Nah. My phone died somewhere around Seaford. I just… passed out, I guess.”

He stood up, still shaky, and dragged his heavy briefcase down the aisle. I followed him off, the gravel crunching under our boots. The cold hit both of us in the face—rural air, clear and sharp, stars visible above.

He looked around, lost.

I cleared my throat. “Got anyone you can call?”

He gave a little half-laugh that didn’t sound amused. “Not really. My dad’s asleep by now, and he keeps his phone on silent like it’s a religion. And even if I could wake him, he’d just bitch me out.”

“No taxi?”

“I’m eighteen. I’ve got about four dollars and three breath mints in my wallet.” He exhaled hard, looking up the empty road. “There a motel or anything?”

“Closed this time of year,” I said. “This place barely runs in summer.”

He rubbed his face with both hands and muttered something like, “Of course,” to himself.

He looked small under the streetlight. A little embarrassed. A lot stranded.

And I don’t know why I said it, but I did.

“You can crash at my place,” I told him. “Just up the road. Couch isn’t fancy, but it beats a bench.”

He blinked at me like I’d offered him gold. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean—I don’t wanna put you out or anything—”

“You’re not. It’s just me out there anyway.”

He stared a second longer, then nodded. “Okay. Thank you. Really.”

We started walking, his boots scuffing beside mine.

“I’m Max, by the way,” he said, shifting the briefcase to his other hand. “Max Hanley.”

“Jones.”

“Just Jones?”

“Just Jones,” I said.

He smiled. “Cool. Very lone-wolf energy. You a lumberjack or something?”

“Something like that.”

We trudged through the dirt trail. The woods were dark, but I knew the path like the back of my hand. Every creak of branches, every stretch of silence felt normal. But now with Max beside me, it felt different. Like the quiet wasn’t empty anymore.

“I’m home for the week,” he said after a while. “School starts again soon. Thought I’d visit my dad. Kind of regretting it already.”

“School?”

“Yeah. First year at university. Art and design. My dad thinks it’s useless.” He made a face. “He’s kind of a… rough dude.”

I nodded. I knew the type.

We reached the house a few minutes later—old, wooden, half-wrapped in ivy. My grandfather’s place. Left it to me when he passed. I’d patched it up since, but it still had that time-worn look. Porch light glowed faintly, like it was waiting for us.

Max looked around as I let us in. “This is really nice. Like, cabin-in-the-woods horror movie nice.”

“It hasn’t killed me yet,” I said. “Couch is yours. I’ll grab you a blanket.”

He dropped his briefcase and turned in a slow circle, taking everything in—the old wood stove, the boots lined up by the door.

“You really live out here alone?”

“Been back a couple years. Town’s not much, but I like the quiet.”

He gave me a look. Curious. Like I was some wildlife sighting.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Twenty-five.”

His eyes flicked down, then back up. “You seem older.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s good or bad?”

“Neither. Just… kinda hot, actually.”

He said it so casually that it caught me off guard. I didn’t answer. Just handed him the folded blanket.

“Thanks again, Jones,” he said, settling into the couch. “You really saved my ass.”

I was halfway down the hall when I heard him add, softer, “Seriously. You didn’t have to do this.”

I turned, caught him watching me, eyes half-lidded and sleepy again.

“Would’ve felt wrong leaving you there,” I said.

He smiled.

I disappeared into my room, but I lay awake for a while, listening. His soft movements. The rustle of the blanket.

And for some reason… it made me smile too.