Chapter 14 #2
“I didn’t have a choice. He was in a coma, and I didn’t want to run out on him.” I swallow thickly, alarmed at how easily I’m shaking. “The doctors said when he woke up, he might have a traumatic brain injury. They warned me he could be violent, unpredictable, and not himself.”
Jeremiah’s lips press together. I can see the calculation in his eyes, even if his face remains calm.
“And this… club,” he continues. “What manner of people surround him?”
My chest tightens, but I keep my tone measured.
“Outlaws. One-percenters. The kind of men who think rules don’t apply to them.
They call themselves the Savage Legion.” I pause, letting a little disdain color my voice.
“They kept club whores at their clubhouse. They expected me to play along just because I was Rick’s sister. ”
He inhales slowly, as if savoring the information.
“I told them no,” I add quickly. “I told Rick no. But he kept pushing. He also wanted me to work for him delivering drugs, be part of his world, pretend that kind of life was normal.”
Jeremiah nods, as if this confirms something he’s believed all along. “Men without moral grounding will always test boundaries. He tried to take advantage of you.”
“I felt trapped,” I say softly. “I was scared he wouldn’t let me leave once he woke up.”
His eyes linger on me now, with cold satisfaction.
“So naturally, you ran back to the only home you’ve ever known, Is that correct?”
“Yes. This is the only place I ever felt needed and like my life had purpose.”
Jeremiah leans back against the door frame, folding his arms over his chest. “You stepped out of order and into chaos,” he says calmly. “And you found it wanting.”
“That’s true.” My voice trembles just enough to be believable. “I thought I could make it on my own. I thought I was stronger than I was.”
He watches me closely. “And now? Do you still believe that?”
I look down at my hands and let my shoulders sag in defeat. “Of course not. I didn’t understand how big and unforgiving the world was.”
He studies me a moment longer, then shifts, crossing one ankle over the other. “Your brother’s world is no place for a woman raised in a good Christian home.”
“I understand that now,” I murmur.
For a long moment he simply watches me, as if waiting for me to say something more. When I don’t speak, he nods slowly.
“It is a blessing,” he says at last, “that you found your way home.”
I lower my gaze as respectfully as I can.
“You should unpack and get some rest,” he says. “But understand this, you’re not free to come and go as you please. While you remain under this roof, you’ll respect the order of this household. That means telling us where you’re going, who you’ll be with, and when you intend to return.”
I nod, careful not to challenge him. “Yes, sir. And thank you for taking me back.”
He turns to leave, believing I failed at living on my own. He believes I came crawling back and that I’m dependent again. And that is exactly what I need him to think.
After he leaves, I explore my old room. It looks exactly like it did when I left a couple of months ago. Nothing has changed. The bed is made up just the way I left it with the hospital corners my foster mother always insisted on.
I set my bag on the floor and stand there for a second, remembering what it was like to get up early, make breakfast and wake up the other kids.
How it felt to do chores all day long and fall into bed exhausted at night.
I have very few good memories of this room, this house and the people living here.
I kneel beside the wall and slide my fingers along the dusty return vent until I feel the two loose screws.
My hand is steady when I turn them. The metal cover lifts with a soft scrape.
Inside is a packet wrapped in thick plastic.
It’s tucked deep into the ductwork, where only I can find it.
I reach in and pull the small pouch I’ve kept hidden since I was twelve.
That’s when my social worker gave it to me.
I draw it out slowly and carry it to the bed. The plastic makes a noise when I peel it back. Inside are a hospital wrist tag, a tiny pink blanket edged in yellow crochet, and a faded photograph of my mother with a note on the back in shaky letters.
I sit on the edge of the mattress with the blanket in my hands.
Tears come and spill down my cheeks before I can stop them.
I’ve always believed my mother was more than her addiction.
I keep picturing in my mind’s eye the woman she must have been before everything went wrong and her life got derailed by drugs.
She’d already had one child taken away from her.
She’d walked into that hospital believing she’d walk back out with a baby in her arms. I hold the blanket to my chest and think about how different all three of our lives might have been if she’d gotten help, support, and the treatment she needed instead of falling into a crack in the system.
I wipe my face with the back of my hand before tucking my baby things back into the plastic and sliding the pouch carefully into my duffel bag rather than back into the vent. I’m not leaving these precious heirlooms behind a second time.
I begin unpacking my things. At the bottom of my bag, beneath clothes and toiletries, is the burner phone Bear gave me. It’s a small, plain, inexpensive model. I power it on and wait for the signal to settle before texting him.
Me: In. They bought it.
His reply comes almost instantly. This lets me know he’s been on pins and needles waiting for me to contact him.
Bear: You good?
Me: As good as I can be. My foster parents are panicking about money. Jeremiah is calm. Too calm if you know what I mean.
Three dots blink. Then stop. Then blink again.
Bear: That tracks. We know he’s focused on the inheritance. Where are you now?
Me: I’m in my old room.
Bear: You alone?
Me: Yes. I’d call you, but they might hear me talking.
Bear: I miss you.
Me: I miss you too.
Three dots appear, disappear, then appear again.
Bear: Rick woke up.
The words stop my breath cold.
Me: What? When? Why didn’t you tell me?
Bear: This morning. I wanted to tell you, I knew it might make you stay. But I know how important it is for you to do this.
Bear’s right. I think if he’d said something before I left then I’d have put off the visit to Sacramento. But I also know if I did that, and the Elliots found out that Rick had recovered, then they might hurt someone else to make me return.
Me: So how is he?
Bear: Not fully lucid yet. Talking nonsense, drifting in and out. But he’s awake. Doctors say it’s a good sign.
Relief surges through my brain. This is the news we’ve been waiting for.
Me: That’s… that’s great news, right?
Bear: Yeah. It is. Long road ahead, but he’s moving in the right direction.
I press my forehead to my free hand, letting the news settle.
Me: If you talk to him, tell him I’m glad he’s still here, even if he can’t understand you.
Bear: I will.
I swallow hard, then force lightness into my reply.
Me: We’ll be together again before you know it. I promise.
I type one last line.
Me: I’d better put the phone away. I’ll text you before I go to sleep.
Bear: Be sure to turn the phone off, so it doesn’t ring. Be careful. Every step.
Me: Will do, handsome.
Bear: And be careful. Don’t turn your back on those assholes.
Me: Got it. XOXO
I quickly power the phone down and slide it into my bag.
After finishing unpacking, I zip the suitcase halfway, tuck the baby blanket on top where I can reach it, and straighten the room just enough that it looks like I’m settling in for the long haul.
I jump when there is an unexpected knock at the door.
“Natalie!” my foster mother calls from the hall, her voice tight with irritation. “Come help with dinner.”
My chest tightens because it didn’t take them a hot minute to start assigning me chores.
Though if I’m cooking, at least I know they haven’t poisoned the food.
I push up off the floor and rush to open the door, even though I can hear her footsteps receding.
When I step out of my room, I feel myself slipping back into my compliant, helpful old self.