Chapter Twelve
Ender
The sound of the shower had been steady for a long time.
I kept picturing what that hot water was washing off her skin.
Dirt. Blood. Fear.
Hands that weren’t supposed to touch her. Rope marks that shouldn’t exist on her wrists.
The thought tightened something in my chest until it felt like metal.
I stayed where I was, leaning against the doorway with my arms crossed, my eyes fixed on the open bathroom door. Turned just enough that I couldn’t see inside. Close enough that if she made a sound, if she slipped, if she cried, if she called my name, I’d be there in half a second.
That was the deal I’d made in my head.
The only deal that mattered.
The water shut off. A beat later, the soft sound of movement. A drawer sliding. Fabric rustling.
Then she stepped out.
Cowprint shorts. Oversized white shirt that swallowed her frame.
Her hair was damp and tucked behind one ear, like she’d done a quick towel dry and called it good.
Of course, Alice had given her cowprint.
I swallowed the stupid, out-of-place laugh that tried to rise in my throat. It didn’t belong next to everything else I was thinking.
Clove’s eyes found mine, and something in my chest eased, just a fraction.
“Better?” I asked.
She nodded, fingers drifting up to tuck her hair behind her ear again. Like the movement soothed her. Like it reminded her she was in control of her body.
“Cleaner,” she said.
Before I could respond, a voice came from behind me.
“Beep beep.”
Carnie.
I shifted instantly, stepping into the room and watching her. She walked in carrying a tray like she belonged there, because she did. A large bowl of soup sat in the center, steam curling up. Half a loaf of bread on the side. The smell hit me immediately.
She set the tray on the edge of the bed carefully, like even the mattress was fragile.
“I made your favorite,” Carnie told Clove, her voice soft but practical, like she was trying to keep herself together by doing something normal. “White chicken chili. Something told me this morning to make it.”
Her gaze flicked toward me. “Probably the same feeling that Ender had to go look for you today.”
Clove let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, almost sounded like a sob. “Thank goodness for weird feelings,” she murmured.
Carnie moved in and hugged her again.
Clove’s arms came up automatically, returning it, but I could see the way her shoulders tightened at first, like her body still didn’t trust closeness, even when it was love.
“I’m okay, Mom,” she said gently.
Carnie pulled away, eyes wet, and sniffled hard. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, like she was annoyed at her own tears. “I know, honey,” she whispered. “I was just so worried about you.”
“I got away,” Clove said, like she needed to remind herself as much as her mom.
Carnie’s mouth trembled into a smile. “That’s because you’ve got your father’s fight in you. All I gave you was good taste in food.”
Clove huffed a small laugh.
Carnie glanced between us and cleared her throat. “Uh… I guess we’ll just let you eat.”
She started to turn, then paused and reached for my arm, clearly intending to herd me right out of the room.
I didn’t move.
Not until Clove’s voice cut through.
“He needs to stay.”
Carnie froze.
So did I.
Clove’s cheeks went a shade darker, and she tucked her hair behind her ear again, like she could hide behind the motion.
“I, uh, just…” she started.
Carnie’s whole face softened. “It’s okay, honey,” she said quietly. “Whatever you want.”
She moved toward the door, then stopped and looked up at me, her voice dropping to a whisper that was meant only for my ears. “Keep her safe.”
I nodded once. Not because I wanted to reassure Carnie, but because it was the closest thing to a vow.
“I’ll bring you a tray too,” Carnie added, already turning away like she needed to keep moving or she’d break down again.
She left the door open.
The hallway light spilled in, soft and yellow.
For a second, the room was still.
Clove stood near the bed, soup steaming in front of her, looking like she wasn’t sure if she deserved it. Like comfort felt suspicious.
“I don’t mean to make you do something you don’t want,” she said quietly, eyes flicking to me. “I just…”
“You don’t need to explain,” I told her. My voice came out low, steady, the same tone I’d used in the woods when she’d been shaking in my arms. “I’d much rather be right here, too.”
That was the truth. There was nowhere else in this building I wanted to be.
We stood there for a beat, both of us caught in the strange quiet that comes after chaos. When your body still expects danger but the room refuses to give it.
Then I nodded toward the tray. “You should eat. I’m sure they weren’t feeding you anything as good as what your mom makes.”
Clove’s mouth twisted. “Yeah.” She moved to sit on the bed, then paused like her muscles remembered the floor of that camper and didn’t trust the softness yet. “Warm cheese sandwiches were not at all what I’m used to,” she added, voice dry.
I blinked. “Like… grilled cheese or—”
Clove let out a short laugh that was more exhausted than amused. “Warm from the sun,” she clarified. “Though I think one of them was grilled cheese.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Jesus Christ.”
Carnie walked in balancing another tray. She gave me a tight smile and set it on the dresser.
“You didn’t need to wait on me,” I said automatically.
Carnie shook her head. “It’s the least I can do after you saved Clove.”
Her words landed heavier than she probably meant them to.
Saved. Like I’d done something heroic. Like I hadn’t been driven by something that felt closer to possession than bravery.
She gave Clove one more silent check, then walked out again, leaving the door open behind her.
Clove sat on the edge of the bed with the soup bowl in her lap, bread beside it. She turned the TV on, more for noise than entertainment. Some show was playing.
I grabbed my tray and sat on the couch.
We ate without talking much.
The clink of spoon against ceramic. The rustle of bread tearing. The low murmur of the TV. The quiet was thick, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
It was healing.
Clove ate slowly at first, like she expected the food to disappear, but after a few bites, her shoulders loosened. Color came back into her face. She kept glancing toward the open door like she needed to reassure herself she wasn’t trapped.
Every time she did, my jaw tightened.
I wanted to close the door for privacy.
But I knew better.
Closed doors were different to her right now.
Clove finished her bowl and set it aside, covering a yawn with her hand.
“I did a lot of sleeping the past three days,” she said softly, “but somehow I am exhausted.”
I stood and took her tray from her hands, setting it on the dresser with mine.
“Lay down and rest,” I told her.
I turned the TV volume down. Killed the lights. The room fell into a softer darkness, lit only by the hallway glow spilling through the open door.
I turned to go back to the couch.
Clove shifted like she thought I was leaving the room entirely. “Don’t go!” she blurted.
I didn’t stop walking. I just sat down on the couch like I’d planned, leaning back and keeping my voice calm. “Wasn’t planning on it, baby.”
Clove hesitated, then slowly lay down on the bed. I heard the mattress creak, heard her breathe out like the act of resting was a risk. In the dark, her voice came again, smaller now. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
My hands curled into fists at my sides.
She didn’t have anything to be sorry for.
Not for needing me there. Not for being scared. Not for being human after hell.
And I was going to make the three guys who made her think she had to apologize for surviving pay for it.
I stayed on the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling, listening to her breathing even out.
And inside my head, I made a promise I didn’t say out loud.
Nobody will ever touch her again.