Chapter 15 #2
“He’s always taken responsibility for the family,” she says, voice steady but laced with something heavier. “Protects us at all costs.”
Her shoulders drop with the sigh that follows. “He blames himself when things go sideways. When someone gets hurt. Carries it all like it’s his cross to bear—never asks for help, never lets anyone carry the weight with him.”
She pauses, eyes on the flames. “When his father walked out, Jacob convinced himself it was because of him. Thought maybe if he’d loved harder, been better, his father would’ve stayed.”
She shakes her head, frustration flickering beneath the surface. “I’ve told him a thousand times it wasn’t his fault, but he still won’t believe it.”
The words hang between us.
I don’t have a response. What could I possibly say to that?
Before I can pin it down, her eyes land on me. My pulse jumps.
Oh no.
“He might just need someone else to make him see differently,” she says, going back to organizing supplies like she didn’t just drop a grenade in my lap.
Did Barbara just encourage me to go after her son?
Cool. Now my face is on fire.
I pretend not to notice the heat crawling up my neck and steer the conversation toward safer ground.
We talk logistics—where we might head next, how to stretch what little we’ve got.
She jokes about teaching Joanie some manners, and I snort, picturing Joanie trying to sip tea while stabbing an infected through the eye.
It’s moments like these—easy laughter, quiet companionship—that make something in my chest shift.
Is this what it feels like to belong again?
The idea is reckless. I should know better. Comfort gets you killed. Attachment gets you gutted.
And yet, sitting here with knees pulled in, firelight dancing across familiar faces, I feel it—those invisible threads weaving between us. Fragile. Tentative. Real.
Something close to family.
Then his face flashes in my mind.
Mark.
That crooked smile. The teasing glint in his eye. The way his body fell—
No.
I shut the door on the memory before it can crash down like a wave I’ll never swim out of.
My fingers curl into my palms, nails biting into skin. The laughter, the warmth—it all feels stolen. Like something I don’t deserve.
Before Barbara can clock the shift in my face, I shove to my feet and brush the dirt from my hands.
She studies me. Clearly, I’m not as good at hiding my emotions as I think because her face softens with concern.
Luckily, she takes pity on me.
“Get some rest,” she says, voice gentle.
Joanie’s laugh rings out, bright and reckless. In the firelight, she looks like a kid again—soft edges, unguarded. For once, she isn’t carrying the weight of the world on her spine. The apocalypse stole a lot from her, but not this. Not completely.
Leon hangs at the edge of the light, half-shadowed. His attention drifts toward Clair and Poppy’s vehicle, gaze lingering a second too long before flicking away.
Then there’s Jessica.
Standing near the camper, her figure a dark silhouette against the trees. Eyes locked on Jacob.
I tense, hackles rising.
She senses it. Her gaze slices toward me, sharp and territorial.
Seriously?
She turns back to Jacob—who, of course, is completely oblivious to her admiring gaze.
Nope.
I don’t have the bandwidth for this adolescent power play, Jessica.
I exhale sharply, the warm night air sticking against my skin, and turn back toward Barbara—who is very clearly trying not to laugh.
Guess she caught my eye roll.
“Night, Barbara,” I mutter, already walking.
She lifts a hand in parting, voice filled with barely concealed amusement. “Night, Lyla.”
I nod and turn toward Lucy, ready to shut out the world. I’ll deal with the others later. Right now, my social battery is shot, and my body’s screaming for rest.
I reach for the SUV door, already dreaming of the quiet inside, when a voice slices through the camp noise.
“Hey, uh—Lyla?”
Damn it.
I turn, slow, already bracing.
Pete.
Of course.
Tall, lanky, twitchy as hell. His greasy hair’s been slicked back like that helps, but it only makes him look more like someone you wouldn’t want near a school zone. His shoulders hunch like he’s trying to disappear into himself, eyes flicking around like he’s prepping for an escape.
My internal alarms start howling.
Warning. Warning.
“Yeah?” I cross my arms.
“Pete Clarks,” he says with faux casualness. “Just wanted to, uh, officially introduce myself. Figured we’ll be seeing a lot of each other now that we’re, y’know, traveling buddies and all.”
He shuffles his feet, hands twitching like they don’t know where to land.
“I was gonna say hi earlier, but I didn’t wanna, like, overwhelm you or anything. Figured you needed space.”
He adds a halfhearted chuckle, trying to read as shy and thoughtful. But it’s all bullshit. I’ve seen better performances from decapitated walkers.
I let the silence stretch. Let it work on him.
One of the oldest tactics in the book.
His Adam’s apple bobs. He scratches the back of his neck. “I’m a friend of Earl’s. He’s always tried to help me out, give me a place, some purpose.” Then, like it’s the grand finale of his pity parade, he mutters, “Anyway, uh . . . thanks. For saving me. By saving everyone else, I guess.”
I stare at him. “I didn’t do it for you. I did what was right.”
Pete’s eyes dart. His hand now starts to pick the back of his neck, fingers twitching, like they can’t find a place to land.
He starts again, quieter, more conspiratorial. “Jacob, though? He’s been on my ass ever since we got out. Acting like I could’ve done something. Like I let those guys take everyone. But what was I supposed to do? Get killed trying to be a hero? That would’ve helped no one.”
My jaw clenches, a sharp grind of teeth.
Pete watches me carefully, then sighs, his expression taking on a pitiful slant. “He doesn’t know how it really went down.”
There it is.
The real reason he’s here.
He wants me to vouch for him. Tell Jacob he’s not so bad.
I step in, slow and steady.
“You want sympathy?” My voice slices clean. “Wrong person.”
He swallows hard.
“I would’ve died for those people.” I jab a finger toward Clair and Poppy’s car. “I would’ve ripped out every throat to save that little girl.”
Poppy’s terrified cries ring through my head like an echo I can’t shake.
The way she clung to her mother, tiny hands wrapped around Clair like she could hold her together.
The way she whimpered, tied to a chair, too small, too innocent for the nightmare she was forced into—while this pathetic excuse of a man stood by and did nothing.
The rage inside me is white-hot, desperate to get out and burn the man in front of me.
“Forgive me if I don’t want to hear how unfair Jacob’s being,” I say, venom lacing every word. “He sees you for what you are.”
I step even closer.
“A coward.”
Pete’s eyes blaze—something dark, something defensive—but he doesn’t argue.
Maybe he knows there’s nothing he can say to change what he is.
Or maybe he’s just too weak to defend himself.
He lets out a breath through his nose. “Guess I shouldn’t have wasted my time. You’ve already made up your mind. Just like the rest of them.”
I shrug. “Guess so.”
He turns and disappears into the dark, shoulders tight with frustration.
As soon as he’s gone, I let out the breath I’ve been holding.
My talking meter? Officially tapped out.
I climb into Lucy and slam the door, letting the quiet press in.
My body hums with residual rage, nerves buzzing under my skin and I can tell sleep isn’t coming anytime soon.
Damn it.
Fine. If I can’t rest, I might as well make the insomnia useful.
I reach for the notepad and pen I snagged earlier and flip it open. The words pour out in jagged ink, bleeding anger across every page. Each line is a weapon. A breadcrumb. A challenge.
This time, I’m not chasing him.
I’m leading him.
Every detail I leave behind is bait. A map. A way to lure da Vinci straight to me—on my terms.
For once, I get to be ready.
And I’m going to make it count.