Chapter 3
Swag
I must be out of my goddamn mind.
Having this kid follow me out of town, toward Baton Rouge, like this isn’t the most reckless decision I’ve made in years. And that’s saying something.
I’m still not even sure what happened. One minute, I was fixing her piece-of-shit car.
The next, I realized she was living in it.
Clothes shoved in bags, a half-empty water bottle, that damn sleeping bag balled up like she’s used to curling up wherever she can.
I'd suspected it the other day but seeing it with my own eyes… yeah. That sealed it.
And then the weather report came in.
Storms overnight. Cold front. Flash flood warnings.
I couldn’t get her face out of my head after that.
It’s because she reminds me of Ellie. That’s what it is. The same quiet pain behind the eyes. The same flinch when someone gets too close. Like a kicked puppy that still wants to believe people can be kind.
I glance in the mirror. Her headlights are still behind me. Good girl.
Hell, the only reason I even know her name is because I found an old school ID card buried under fast food wrappers in her floorboard. Jo-Leigh Lewis.
Didn’t think I’d be the guy pulling a stray in off the street. But here I am.
I press the button on my dash screen, calling the only person who gets to hear my soft voice anymore.
“Hello?” Ellie answers, warm and tired.
“How’s the baby?”
I can hear the smile in her voice. “Good. Kicking like crazy.”
“Good.” There’s a comfortable pause. “I need to run an errand before I come home. You need anything?”
“Mmm… ice cream?”
I smirk. “You got it, princess. See you in a few.”
I end the call, and I’m still smiling when I drop my hand. I’m still unsure what this is between us, but I fucking love it. And even though that baby isn’t mine, I think of him as my own. Now, to get Ellie to see how serious I am.
My thoughts shift as I exit the interstate, heading down the winding backroads that lead to my place. Not the clubhouse. My place. The one no one really knows about.
The tires crunch over gravel as I pull into the driveway of the single-story house. Even in the fading light, it’s obvious how rough it looks. Peeling paint, sagging porch, a front step that’s threatening to give out. And that’s just the outside.
But the locks work. The heat runs. It’s safe. It’s mine. And for tonight, it’s hers.
Jo-Leigh pulls in behind me, parking next to my truck. She climbs out, her hoodie pulled tight around her, backpack slung over one shoulder. She glances around, taking it in.
“This is your place?” she asks.
“Born and raised here,” I say. “Why? Not good enough for you?”
She shrugs. “I’ve stayed in worse.”
She says it like it’s nothing and I can tell she’s telling the truth. My jaw tightens. That’s the fucking problem.
She shouldn’t have worse.
I motion for her to follow me inside and unlock the front door. It sticks a little, but it opens. The scent of dust and wood hits me as I reach left and flip on the light.
The furniture’s all covered in white sheets. Ghosts of what the place used to be. I haven’t really lived here in a while, but I keep it clean. Just in case.
“Bedroom’s that way,” I say, pointing down the hall. “Bathroom’s on the other side. You might have to let the water run a bit. It comes out brown at first, but it’ll clear up.”
She lingers by the door, like she’s not sure if this is a test or a trick.
“It’s warm,” I add. “And the lock works. Bedroom door closes from the inside.”
Her shoulders drop slightly but I see it. A fraction of the weight slipping off.
She steps farther inside, toeing off her shoes carefully like she’s afraid of messing something up.
“I’ll grab you some blankets,” I say. “I’ve got extra. Sheets, too.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“I know,” I cut in. “I’m doing it anyway.”
She nods once. Doesn't say thank you. Doesn’t need to.
She’s still standing in the living room when I come back, arms crossed like she’s holding herself together. I toss the bedding onto the couch, and a small cloud of dust puffs into the air.
“You good?” I ask.
“Yeah. Thanks.” She moistens her lips, eyes darting to mine then away. “I really do appreciate it.”
“Just make sure to lock up when you leave.”
I turn to leave, but her voice stops me.
“Wait.”
I glance back.
“How do I get in contact with you? Like, if there’s an emergency?”
“Do you have a phone?”
She nods and pulls out a prehistoric-looking flip phone from the front pocket of her hoodie. It looks like it barely works.
I rattle off my number. “Text me so I have yours.”
She hesitates after she types. Her cheeks go pink as she stares down at a spot on her shoe like it’s the most interesting thing she’s seen all day.
“I don’t have many text messages left.”
I blink. “What?”
“On my plan,” she says quietly. “I only have like twenty left on my plan.”
And I snap before I can stop myself. “Then call me.”
The words come out sharper than I meant, and I immediately feel like an asshole. Her blush deepens, climbing up her neck like a tide. She still won’t meet my eyes.
“’Kay,” she says softly.
And damn it if I don’t want to hit something.
She shouldn't have to be this careful just asking for help. She shouldn’t be calculating her safety around text message limits.
This world’s chewed her up. I can see it in how she moves, in how she flinches at kindness like it’s a trick.
And maybe I’m not much better but tonight, at least, she’s got a roof over her head.
And I’m gonna make damn sure she keeps it.
“See you around,” I call over my shoulder.
I don’t look back, even though she follows me to the door.
Not until I’m in the truck, pulling away from the house. Even then, I only catch a flicker of her in the rearview. Small and still, standing just inside the doorway like she’s afraid to breathe too loud. Like even now she’s not sure she’s allowed to stay.
I grip the steering wheel tighter.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about her.
I try to focus on the road, on the hum of the engine, on anything except the image of her blinking too fast, like she was trying to hold in tears. On how her voice went small when she said “‘kay,” like she’s used to people getting irritated just because she exists.
I try not to think about how scared she looked.
How familiar that look is.
How Ellie once looked.
I try not to think about the way Jo-Leigh didn’t argue, didn’t whine, didn’t ask for more than what I gave. Just said thanks, like a stray being handed half a sandwich and a blanket was a goddamn miracle.
I try not to think about her at all.
And I fail.
Fucking miserably.