Chapter 28 Dalton
DALTON
The sign for Treasure Hollow looked exactly the same as the last time I’d seen it—weather-beaten, peeling paint, and bullet-riddled from bored teenagers taking potshots at the welcoming committee. It should have felt like coming home. Instead, it felt like crossing enemy lines.
The silence in the car was heavy. Peyton drove with a grim precision, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, his eyes constantly flicking to the rearview mirror.
In the back seat, Theo curled into a miserable ball, his forehead pressed against the cool glass.
He hadn’t spoken in two hours, just let out the occasional whimper when the road got particularly rough.
“Almost there,” I said, twisting in my seat to look at him. My heart gave a painful squeeze. He looked grey, drained of all the vibrant color that usually seemed to radiate from him. “Just a few more miles to the shop.”
Theo just nodded, not opening his eyes.
When we pulled up to The Ink Well, the air left my lungs in a rush.
I knew it was bad. Gabe had said it was bad. But seeing it…
Plywood replaced the front window, already tagged with spray paint.
Flames had scorched the brick facade black, tongues of soot licking up towards the second floor where Gabe’s apartment used to be.
The smell hit me the second I opened the car door.
Wet ash. Burnt plastic. The sour, chemical stench of chemicals.
“Jesus,” I whispered.
Peyton was out of the car in a second, moving to my side. He didn’t touch me, but his presence was a shield, a wall of heat and anger at my back. “Stay close.”
Gabe was waiting for us by the yellow caution tape. He looked ten years older than when I’d last seen him. Soot smudged his face, his shoulders slumped.
“Dalton,” he croaked, stepping over the tape to pull me into a bone-crushing hug. He smelled like campfire smoke and stale coffee. “Man, I’m so sorry. I tried to… I got there as fast as I could.”
“It’s not your fault, Gabe,” I said, forcing my voice to be steady even though my hands were shaking. I pulled back to look at the shop. My life’s work. My escape plan. Gone. “Everyone got out?”
“Yeah. No one was inside. Whatever bastard did this waited until closing. Luckily, I had gone over to Fairmont to visit my sister and her family. It was my niece’s birthday.
” Gabe spat on the ground within the caution tape boundaries.
“Fire chief just released the scene an hour ago. Took ’em all night and most of the day to make sure it was fully out and safe to stand near.
They found accelerant, Dalton. Burned so hot it melted the chairs. ”
I walked closer, my boots crunching on broken glass. I peered through a gap in the plywood. Inside, it was a tomb. Intense heat had twisted the tattoo chairs into metal skeletons. The flash art on the walls—years of drawing, of collecting—was just ash.
“Dalton,” Peyton’s voice was tight.
I turned. A silver truck was idling across the street, the window rolled down just enough to show a silhouette.
“Is that…?”
“Mr. Henderson,” Peyton said, his voice dripping with disdain. “Dad’s foreman. Just checking if we showed up, I bet.”
He didn’t look away from the truck. He stood taller, rolling his shoulders back, not like a soldier, but like a son who had finally had enough. “Get in the car. We’re leaving.”
“But—”
“Now, Dalton. I’m not doing this right here. Not with them watching.”
I looked back at the shop one last time. It was just a building. Just stuff. But it felt like they’d burned a piece of me.
“Gabe,” I said, ignoring Peyton’s impatient engine rev. I turned to my friend, grabbing his shoulder. “Where are you staying? You can’t… the fire took the apartment.”
Gabe wiped a smudge of soot from his forehead, leaving a streak of grey. “I’m crashing at my sister’s place over in Fairmont. She’s got the guest room set up. I’m okay, D. Seriously.”
“I don’t like leaving you here with this mess,” I insisted, my throat tight. “With Henderson watching.”
“Henderson is just a watchdog,” Gabe said, forcing a weak smile. He looked toward our car where Theo sat, his head pressed against the cool glass. “I’m safe at Sarah’s. You guys just get out of here. Take care of your omega. He’s cute, by the way.”
He squeezed my shoulder, a silent promise that he’d be alright, even if his eyes still held the reflection of the ruin behind him.
I climbed back into the passenger seat. As if satisfied, the truck slowly pulled away, disappearing down the main drag.
“Where are we going?” I asked as Peyton peeled out, taking the turn for the valley road a little too fast.
“Home,” Peyton said. “Our house.”
The drive up the mountain was winding and steep. By the time we pulled up to the cabin—a sprawling A-frame tucked deep in the pines—Theo was making sounds of distress that tore me apart.
“We’re here,” I said, unbuckling my seatbelt before the engine even cut out. “Theo, babe, we’re here.”
I opened the back door. Theo stumbled a little as he got out, leaning heavily on me. He looked pale and utterly exhausted, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool mountain air.
“I think,” Theo mumbled, rubbing his stomach, “that was one curvy road too many.”
“Let’s get you inside,” I said gently, wrapping an arm around his waist. “We’ll get you some water and a real bed.”
We walked him into the house. It smelled of dust and pine needles, but it was cool. We helped him to the big leather couch in the living room, and he practically melted into the cushions, letting out a long, weary sigh.
“Water,” Peyton said, heading for the kitchen. “And maybe a cold cloth for his head.”
While Peyton wetted a washcloth, I crouched next to Theo, checking his temperature with the back of my hand. warm, but not feverish. Just drained.
“Sorry,” Theo whispered, eyes closed. “Great first impression of the homestead, huh?”
“Don’t apologize,” I said, smoothing his hair back. “You’ve been in a car for thirteen hours. I’m surprised we aren’t all puking.”
Peyton returned, handing Theo a glass of water and gently placing a damp cloth on his forehead. “Drink slowly.”
He stood up, looking out the window at the darkening treeline, his expression shifting from caregiver back to problem-solver. “We’ll wait until morning to deal with the rest. But Dalton, you’ll need to call your insurance carrier first thing.”
I groaned, leaning back against the coffee table. “Yeah. I know. I need to file a claim so they can start the assessment.”
“We should also call the fire chief,” Peyton added, his voice practical. “Get a copy of the official report. You’ll need that for the claim. And be ready… the insurance company is going to want to investigate.”
“To make sure I didn’t torch my own shop?” I asked bitterly.
“Standard procedure,” Peyton said, turning back to us. “Especially with arson. They have to rule out the owner. It’s going to be a process, Dalton. It won’t be a quick fix.”
“I know,” I said, looking at Theo, who had already drifted into a doze. “Nothing about this is going to be quick.”
“We’ll handle it,” Peyton said, the promise heavy in the quiet room. “Right now, we just rest. Welcome home.”
I took Theo’s hand, lacing our fingers together. The shop lay in ruins. We had a long fight ahead of us with insurance and claims and whatever else Elias had planned. But we were here. We were safe for the night.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “Welcome home.”