Chapter 30 Mom to the Rescue
THIRTY
MOM TO THE RESCUE
JACOB
It’s been one day since Lyla left, and I feel like shit.
Camp’s quieter than usual.
Not in a peaceful way—more in a don’t poke the bear kind of way.
Yeah, I guess I’m the bear.
Everyone’s going through the motions tonight—stringing up cans, checking weapons, patrolling the perimeter, but they do it in silence. No jokes. No “you good?” Not even from Joanie. She’s been avoiding my eyes since the moment Lyla drove off.
I don’t blame her. Hell, I wouldn’t look at me either.
I’ve been sitting on the edge of my bed in the camper, elbows braced on my knees, staring at a rust stain in the corner.
It’s been there since before the outbreak, water damage from a leak I didn’t notice fast enough.
I focus on it like maybe if I stare long enough, I can burn out the image in my head.
The image of her face when I told her to leave.
That flare of hurt she tried to swallow down.
The way her eyes shone, not because she was crying, but because she refused to.
I told myself I was protecting the group. And maybe that’s still true. But the knot in my chest hasn’t loosened once since her taillights vanished into the dark.
The door slams open so hard the hinges scream.
Mom barrels in like a storm front, shoulders squared, eyes locked. “All right, Jacob Anthony Armor, you’re going to tell me what the hell is going on—now.”
I don’t even look up. “It’s handled.”
“Like hell it is.” The door snaps shut behind her with a sharp crack, rattling the frame.
She plants herself in the middle of the room, hands on her hips, shoulders squared like she’s ready to go a round with me.
“Half the camp is walking on eggshells, Joanie’s in the van crying into Trish’s shoulder, and I watched Lyla tear out of here like the devil himself was snapping at her heels.
So you’re going to start talking before I wring it out of you. ”
I drag a hand through my hair, the muscles in my jaw working overtime. “You wouldn’t understand.”
Her eyes narrow. “Try me.”
That’s the look. The one that says there’s no dodging her, no ducking out. Chin tilted, eyes sharp enough to skin me alive. I blow out a slow breath and start from the beginning.
I tell her everything. Da Vinci. His sick, twisted history. Lyla’s obsession with hunting him down. The “artists.” Da Vinci’s part in Sheila’s death. Mark. Every bloody, gut-churning detail. I don’t spare the ugly parts.
By the time I’m done, her arms are crossed, but her eyes are burning in a way that makes me uneasy.
“Let me get this straight,” she says, her voice low but cutting.
“Lyla’s been tracking a man responsible for the deaths of God knows how many people, including her partner.
She swore to their families she’d bring them justice.
She finds him, tries to end him, fails, and then decides the only way to protect us and finish him at the same time is to join our group. To keep us close.”
“She used us as bait, Mom.” My voice spikes as I shake my head, the heat flaring again in my chest. “She admitted it. I even interrogated Joanie after she left to be sure. She deliberately put every single one of us in his sights. No discussion. No warning. Just her choice, and we get to live, or die, with it.”
“I’m aware of that, and I’ll deal with that when I see her again.” Mom’s eyes lock on mine, searching, sharp. Then she asks, “But wouldn’t you do the same thing?”
My brow furrows. “Wouldn’t I what?”
“Wouldn’t you do anything for the ones you love?”
“That’s not the same,” I bite out, but even I hear the thinness in my voice.
She steps in, her tone dropping low but hitting harder with each word.
“Isn’t it? You’ve thrown yourself into danger more times than I can count for this group.
For me. For people you barely knew at first. You’d rather take the hit than watch someone else bleed.
That’s exactly what she was doing, Jacob.
She just didn’t tell you because she knew you’d chain her to a tree before you’d let her go through with it. ”
A tight ache blooms in my chest, squeezing hard. “She lied to me. She put everyone in danger. I kicked Pete out for doing the same damn thing. Why should I allow her back in?” What I don’t ask is why should I let her back into my heart?
“Oh please.” Mom throws her hands in the air.
“Pete did what he did because he was a selfish asshole and a coward. He tried to kill you all. Lyla may have led a dangerous man to us, but she did it chasing justice, for people she swore to protect. She didn’t leave us to fend for ourselves against that maniac.
She stayed with us and was willing to die for us.
I bet everything I have in Earl’s truck that she would have told us to go and save ourselves while she fought him alone.
Died alone. That is not even in the same realm as what Pete did. ”
She takes a deep breath, hands on her hips, before continuing, “And you’ve never lied by omission? Never kept something to yourself because you thought it was the best way to protect someone?” Her brow arches, sharp as a blade, finger pointing in my face. “Don’t you dare lie to me, Jacob.”
I glance away, jaw locking until my teeth ache. Damn it, she’s right. She’s so damn right. I’ve always been reactive—jump first, think later. And when Lyla said she’d led him to us, I didn’t stop to think at all. The anger came like a flood. The hurt? That came even faster.
A hard smack lands at the back of my head.
“Fuck, Mom!”
“And now I’m pissed that I had to knock sense into you!”
Beneath the anger, beneath the justifications I keep feeding myself, there’s guilt. Heavy. Sour. It sits in my gut like rusted metal, corroding everything it touches. Because now she’s out there alone, and I might’ve just made damn sure she stays that way.
“I don’t even know where she’s headed,” I admit, my voice low, rough. “She’s not going to make it easy for me to find her. And if he’s still out there—”
Mom reaches into her jacket pocket without breaking eye contact and flicks something at me. Reflex kicks in—I catch it. Leon’s truck keys.
I look up at her, confused, but she’s already folding her arms, planting herself like a wall I’m not getting around. “Stop sitting here feeling sorry for yourself and go look. Bring her back. I have a feeling Lyla is closer than you think.”
The keys are cold in my palm, the weight of them pulling at my chest. I stare at the jagged teeth, then lift my gaze to hers. “She might not want to come back.”
She opened her wounds to me, told me about her partner, about the guilt eating her alive, and I threw it all back at her. Took her pain and weaponized it. Mark’s death, her biggest regret, and I acted like it was her fault. Like she was the monster.
God, I want to punch myself in the dick.
Her mouth tightens into something unyielding. “Then make her want to. You’re stubborn, Jacob—hell, it’s your defining trait. Time to use it for something that matters instead of driving people away.”
My throat feels tight, but I nod once. “All right.”
I’m halfway to the door when she calls after me, her voice sharp enough to hook between my shoulder blades. “And when you do find her? Maybe lead with something other than ‘get out.’ ”
A humorless huff escapes me—half laugh, half self-loathing. “Yeah. I’ll work on that.”
The door swings shut behind me. The keys clink in my grip like a promise. And for the first time since she drove off, I’ve got a direction.
And I’m not stopping until I find her.