Chapter 13 First Steps
THIRTEEN
FIRST STEPS
JACOB
The clearing outside the cabin thrums with movement.
The group loads supplies, secures weapons, and checks vehicles—spurred into action the second Trish got Lyla’s go-ahead.
Every sound bleeds into the rhythm of departure: truck doors creaking open, crates thudding against dirt, voices overlapping in a chorus of urgency to make sure nothing vital gets left behind.
I’m at the back of the ambulance with Leon, sorting through a crate of canned goods. The sunlight filters through the trees, dappling the ground in shifting patches of light and shadow.
I still can’t believe Lyla’s actually coming with us.
After a week of dodging, deflecting, and pretending I didn’t exist every time I checked on her, she’s chosen to stay.
I try not to grin at the image of her face, red, horrified, absolutely wrecked with secondhand embarrassment at the mention of what she really said to me at the prison.
But damn, it’s there , bubbling up anyway.
She looked like she wanted to melt into the mattress.
This road trip just got a hell of a lot more interesting.
Leon glances toward the cabin, where Joanie’s voice drifts through the open window, sharp with irritation. His fingers move quickly. “I like that kid.”
Shaking my head. “You’ve always had a soft spot for troubled kids.”
He gives me a deadpan look, his expression unreadable except for the slight arch of his brow. Then signs, “Weren’t you a troubled kid when we first met?”
The faint twitch at the corner of his mouth betrays him. Smug bastard.
I was thirteen when Mom brought Leon home, introducing him as my new older brother. I was already pissed off at the world—at Dad for walking out and Mom for pretending we were fine.
I spent that first week being a complete dick. But it wasn’t until the cops dumped me on our doorstep one night after catching me spray-painting the brand-new windows of Watkins’ Grocery Store that everything shifted.
Mom dragged my ass to the store, made me apologize, then handed me a bucket and a sponge.
An hour in, I was dying—sweat dripping down my back, arms aching, my punishment baking me alive on the sidewalk. That’s when I heard footsteps and the quiet thud of another bucket hitting the ground.
Leon crouched down, grabbed a sponge, and started scrubbing, never even glancing my way. His stitches were still fresh against his throat, dark against his pale skin.
“You didn’t do shit. Just go home,” I muttered, irritated.
He rolled his eyes and pulled out the small notebook, scribbled something, and turned it toward me.
We’re brothers now, whether you like it or not. So when one of us screws up, the other helps them fix it. End of story.
“We’re not brothers.”
He wrote again. Not by blood, but since I have no one left, you’ll have to do. Then added one last word, underlining it twice. Shithead.
Then, like it was nothing, he went back to scrubbing.
I shake off the memory, rolling my shoulders. “Yeah, well, if I remember right, you weren’t exactly a great influence once you got to high school.”
The ladies loved Leon. Strong, silent type, built like a damn tank, always jumping in to help people like some brooding superhero. Plus that ridiculous red hair of his made him stand out. Not exactly fair competition for the rest of us mere mortals. All of them noticed Leon.
Well, except one particular girl.
The corner of Leon’s mouth quirks up as his hands move. “Do as I say, not as I do.”
The van eventually fills with supplies from the cabin, each item a testament to the scavenging efforts of Joanie and Lyla.
The stuff they managed to pack in this place is impressive—canned food, cheesecloth, electrical tape, whistles, blankets, deodorant, matches, and more I wouldn’t have thought to grab. No wonder the nearby houses came up empty when we searched.
Leon lifts the last box into the van and slams the back doors shut. My eyes drift to the cabin and linger. How is she feeling today?
A tap on my shoulder. Leon’s questioning gaze hits me as he signs, “Are you having second thoughts about them joining us?”
“No. I just think there’s more to her,” I say finally. “She went into that compound like she had a death wish. And maybe she did. But . . .” My mind turns over the memory of Lyla lying on the office floor, bleeding out. “There’s something else driving her.”
Leon’s gaze bores into the side of my face, waiting.
I exhale, my voice dropping. “I don’t think she’s done fighting yet.” And I don’t want our people to get hurt on her crusade.
Leon’s expression is unreadable, his eyes scanning the clearing before flicking briefly to Clair, who’s talking to Mom by Earl’s truck. Her gaze cuts over Mom’s shoulder to Leon, a small smile spreading across her face.
His hands are fluid but weighted. “None of us are ever done fighting.”
Leon glances back at me, his expression softening just enough to remind me why I trust him—his instincts, his way of seeing people for who they really are. He’s always been my compass when my own gut starts to falter.
Jessica rounds the corner of the ambulance, her face set in that familiar hard expression, like she’s already bracing for a fight. She stops beside me, her gaze flicking to Leon.
“Can we talk?” she asks, her voice low but urgent.
Leon meets my eyes for a moment, then shrugs, pushing off the side and stuffing his hands into his pockets as he heads toward the others.
Jessica waits until Leon is out of earshot before stepping in, her fingers curling around my arm, pressing just a little too tightly.
“You can’t be serious about taking them with us,” she hisses, her eyes locking with mine, sharp and insistent. “We don’t know them. You saw what she’s capable of. Do you really think she’s the kind of person who will put the group first?”
I drag a hand through my hair as irritation tightens my chest. Jessica’s quickness to judge has always rubbed me the wrong way.
“She saved all of you, Jessica. I don’t know why you’re so dead set against them joining us.
She’s a fighter. A damn good one, from what I heard.
And yeah, maybe she’s got her own reasons, but that doesn’t mean she’s a threat. ”
Jessica scoffs, her grip tightening. “You think she’s not a threat.”
I shoot her a look, my jaw ticking. “I know she’s not the enemy.”
Her lips press into a thin line, but the fire in her eyes dims for just a second. “I just don’t want you to get hurt again.”
It’s not the words themselves that catch me off guard—it’s the way she says them. Soft. Raw. I stiffen.
“I know what happened with Sheila hurt you—”
The name lands like a punch to the gut, hollowing out my ribs. My teeth clench so hard my jaw aches. “Stop.”
Jessica flinches and releases my arm. I won’t drag this into the light—not here, not now.
Her lips part like she wants to argue, but after a beat, she exhales, stepping back, tension coiling in her shoulders. I don’t give her a chance to say anything else. I turn away, my fists clenching at my sides, shoving down the past before it can sink its claws into me.
The creak of the cabin door is the only thing that keeps the anxiety from closing in completely.
Joanie and Trish step onto the porch, half carrying, half supporting Lyla between them.
She looks like hell—her face pale, her movements sluggish, and the bruise around her eye has deepened into an ugly smear of green and yellow.
But even in this state, her jaw is set, her expression edged with determination.
Stubborn ass.
They move carefully down the steps, and I’m already striding toward them, my eyes narrowing.
“What do you think you’re doing?” My words cut through the murmurs of the others.
Lyla’s head snaps up, her gaze colliding with mine.
A defiant smirk curls at the edges of her lips.
“Oh, you know, just going for a lovely stroll on this nice summer day, which I can do on my own.” She casts a pointed look at Trish and Joanie before shifting her attention back to me. “What about you?”
I drag a hand down my face, forcing down the immediate urge to roll my eyes.
Can she make anything easy?
I close the space between us, my irritation simmering beneath the surface. “You’re not funny.”
“Debatable. People tell me I’m hilarious.”
I arch a brow, crossing my arms. “Oh really? And who says that?” She opens her mouth, but I cut in before she can speak. “Besides these two.” I nod toward Trish and Joanie, who both shrug, clearly enjoying the show.
Lyla presses her lips together, honestly pondering her answer, then her face lights up with an idea. “I bet your mom thinks I’m a delight.”
I tilt my head. “Oh, I bet. She did have a front-row seat to your romantic ways.”
Lyla freezes. The horror on her face is priceless.
Joanie’s head snaps so fast toward her that I hear a pop. “Oh my God. Lyla, noooooooo.”
Before she can retaliate, I step in, ignoring Joanie’s squawk of protest as I reach out and take Lyla from their hold.
My arms curve around her, cradling her effortlessly against my chest. She stiffens slightly, her breath catching as the warmth of her body presses into mine.
Her wide blue eyes lock on to mine, the quick rise and fall of her chest brushing against me.
There’s a subtle hitch in her breath, and her fingers twitch against my shoulder like she’s resisting the urge to grab on.
Oh yeah. She feels it too.
“I told them to let me know when they were moving you,” I say, voice low, my gaze on her.
She scowls, a look that could probably scare off a weaker man. “I can walk on my own.”
I shake my head, adjusting my hold on her. “I’d rather not have you bust open a stitch and bleed all over people again. Supplies aren’t exactly easy to come by these days.”
Her scowl slips, and the shift in her expression sends an unexpected pang of regret through me. Maybe I didn’t need to say it like that.