Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dodge
They’re about to tip over. I study the lot of them and see the exact moment the adrenaline finally runs dry.
Noah’s head keeps dipping toward his chest before he jerks it back, his eyes unfocused and hazy.
Amelia is already gone, slumped sideways like a ragdoll.
Even Carter, who’s been treating this dinner like a standoff, is finally giving up the fight.
His shoulders sag and his grip on his spoon slackens.
Adalynn is fighting the hardest, clutching her spoon as if it’s the only thing keeping her upright, but her eyes keep drifting shut.
It’s a painful sight. They’ve been running on pure nerves for days, and now that the danger’s faded into the background, the crash is claiming them.
I tap the table, the sharp sound slicing through the quiet to snap Adalynn’s head up.
She blinks at me, looking dazed, and I know she’s got nothing left to give.
“I figure you’d all feel better staying together in one room,” I comment.
It’s an easy call. I already know the answer, but I want to give them some sense of control.
They’re a tight pack, and separating them right now would only invite more panic.
Adalynn looks up at me, her eyes struggling to stay focused, and she gives a slow nod.
That’s all I need. She’s too drained to even manage a thank you, and I don't expect one.
Getting them off these chairs and into a bed is the only thing that matters.
Mom nods, catching on fast. “They can use Travis’s room,” she says, her voice bright and helpful. “It’s got the biggest bed. It’ll be a tight squeeze for four, but I’m sure they can make it work.”
“That's settled. Follow me.” I push back my chair, the legs scraping harshly against the floor, and start toward the hallway. I don't wait to see if they're trailing me.
Adalynn scrambles to her feet immediately, though she looks like she’s about to tip over.
She catches my arm, her hand light but urgent.
“Wait,” she says, her voice strained. “We can’t just leave this mess.
It’s only right that we help your mom tidy up and wash the dishes.
” She sounds like she’s arguing over something vital, clutching her dignity like a lifeline.
I just shake my head at how stubborn she is.
They’re running on absolute empty, and I won't have them acting like house help when they are a blink away from passing out.
I block her path to the sink, giving her a look that says the conversation is closed.
“Forget the kitchen, Adalynn. Mom gets the meal ready, and I take care of the cleanup.
We don't let anyone visiting us scrub a single plate.
That is how we run things. Isn't that right, Mom?”
Mom nods, her smile warm as she waves them toward the hall. “He speaks the truth. You all need to sleep more than you need to scrub a pan. Go on, get some rest.”
I keep my hand light on her arm as we shuffle down the hallway.
She is tilting to one side, her sense of balance completely gone.
She’s on the verge of fading out entirely.
I nudge the bedroom door open with the toe of my boot and gesture for her to go in.
It’s dark—a rare bit of peace. The siblings follow, stumbling in like they are walking in their sleep.
They don’t even look at the bed before they flop onto it, shoes and all.
Seeing them cluster together on the mattress makes my chest tight.
I back out of the room and pull the door shut, granting them the one thing they have been craving since their eyes started fluttering—quiet.
I sit outside, rocking back and forth. The night air feels heavy and still, smelling of dry earth and the coming rain.
It’s a major change from the constant thrum of the road, a stillness that usually puts me to sleep, but my mind’s racing.
The door behind me squeaks on its hinges, a thin, contrasting noise in the dark.
I don’t look around right away. I know the rhythm of her footsteps, light and hesitant.
Adalynn walks to the railing and leans her shoulder against the siding.
She looks frayed, her hair messy and her clothes rumpled from the little sleep she got and the long drive that led us here.
I watch her out of the corner of my eye.
She is staring out at the plains, her hands gripping her elbows.
She’s still wound tight. I guess sleep is not coming for her either.
“Couldn't sleep?” I ask. My voice sounds rough, too loud in the stillness of the night.
She doesn’t turn her head, just keeps looking out into the void. “Too quiet,” she whispers. “Back in the car, I was used to the engine noise and the constant panic. Now that it is silent, my brain refuses to shut off.”
I nod, understanding that better than I’d like to admit. Silence is where the ghosts live. I point toward the horizon with my bottle. “It gets easier. Or maybe you just get used to the noise inside your head.”
She finally glances at me. Her eyes are dark, guarded, and still full of questions. “You seem like you’ve had a lot of practice at it.”
I take a slow sip of the cold beer, feeling the bite of the condensation on my palm. A mirthless chuckle escapes me as I confess, “Practice is all I’ve got.”
“Why’d you do it?” she asks, taking a step closer to me.
“Do what?” I probe, keeping my eyes glued to the outcrop of land.
“Help us,” she says, her voice low as if she's worried about waking the house. “We’re complete strangers, Dodge. None of this makes sense. A man like you doesn't just give favors to people you don't even know. There’s always a catch.”
“Hearing the boys in the restroom and the fear in their voices pulled the rug right out from under me. I’ve spent my life convinced the world’s a cold place where you only look out for your own, but when those kids spoke, the emotional barriers I’ve kept up for years just fractured.
I didn’t help you because I wanted a reward or expected you to fall at my feet.
I did it because I saw myself in that desperation.
I know what it’s like to be chased with no safe place left to land.
Sometimes, a man just needs to step up and do the right thing.
I don't look for thanks, and I surely don't want the chaos you’re bringing with you, but I couldn't walk away and live with myself knowing what would happen to the lot of you.”
“You say all the right words, but I don’t know you, Dodge, and that makes it hard to trust you.
Tell me something about you that’ll make that easier,” she demands.
I turn the bottle in my hand, staring at the label as the quiet stretches between us.
Talking about myself isn't exactly a hobby of mine.
Most days, I prefer silence because words usually complicate things.
But she is looking at me like she is determined to solve a puzzle, and for some reason, I do not want to keep her guessing.
“My mother wasn't always just a baker in a quiet town,” I start, my voice low.
“She had big plans once. She wanted to paint, travel, make a name for herself. But life had a funny way of narrowing her options. Bills piled up and my father was never around to help. So she put her brushes away and focused on raising three boys who mostly gave her trouble. Watching her let go of those dreams is why I fight so hard for my own space. I vowed a long time ago that I would never let anyone dictate my path or force me to quit on the things that matter.”
She shifts her weight, her eyes locked on mine, waiting for me to continue. She seems to be weighing my words, checking if they are genuine. “And the woman you were meant to marry?” she asks, her tone softer now.
I stiffen. How the hell does she even know about that? Even hearing the question brings back the hollow ache I have worked so hard to numb. “That is a story for another night,” I say, taking a long pull from my beer to hide the fact that her question hit close to home.
“Bet you’re wondering how I know about her, huh?
” she asks, sounding proud that she knows something about me that I haven’t shared with her, and didn’t plan on doing.
“I didn't mean to pry,” she says, her voice dipping low as she looks down at her sock covered feet.
“I couldn't settle after I got the kids down, so I crept into the hallway looking for some water.
You and your mom were in the kitchen talking.
I didn't want to intrude, so I stayed quiet and out of the way. I heard her mention the failed wedding plans. She sounded so sad when she spoke about it.”
I stare at her, the beer in my hand, picking at the label.
I should be angry that she was eavesdropping, but the way she says it, without any judgment, takes the wind out of my sails.
My mother has always been a soft spot I can't protect, and hearing that she's still grieving my lost future stings worse than anything Adalynn could've accused me of.
“She worries,” I utter, turning the bottle over in my grip. “She thinks that day ruined me. Maybe she's right.”
“It didn't ruin you,” Adalynn counters, her eyes locking onto mine with a steady intensity that catches me off guard.
“It just changed how you see the world. I know what that's like.
You think you're protecting yourself by keeping everyone at a distance, but all you're really doing is making sure nobody can ever get close enough to see the cracks.”
Her observation lands with force, and it hits home harder than I want to admit.
I look away, focusing on the dark fields beyond what the naked eye can see.
I don't need a lecture on my own mess, especially not from someone who's got enough problems of her own, but for the first time in years, the words don't make me want to walk away. They just make me want to listen. She stands there, exhausted and frayed, talking like she’s got the blueprint to my soul. It’s infuriating and entirely too accurate. I feel like she’s peeling back a layer of calloused skin I’ve grown over my heart.
“You’re brave,” I say, and it’s not a compliment.
It’s a warning. “Most people would be terrified to look this closely at me.” I watch her face.
She doesn't flinch. She just stands there, holding the space between us like it's a battlefield. She’s seen enough horror that I don’t scare her, and that fact alone makes me curious.
“I’m not brave, I’m surviving,” she counters.
“Tell me about your parents’ murder and why you think these people are after you, Adalynn,” I command.
She flinches as if I’ve struck her. The night's silence feels sudden and fragile.
She stares at the slats of the floor for a long time, her chest rising and falling in erratic bursts.
I don't push her. I just wait for the words to come.
“My folks weren't involved in anything illegal,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over the crickets. “The kids don’t know what I’m about to tell you and I’d like to keep it that way, Dodge.
I want to keep them innocent for as long as I can.
” She sighs, the weight she’s been carrying has finally dragged her down and she needs to tell someone before it destroys her.
“Dad was a lead accountant at a firm downtown.
He was just doing his job. He found a ledger that didn't balance.
At first, he thought it was a simple error.
But he kept digging. He found names in those records that didn't belong.
Powerful people. People who don't like being noticed.”
She looks up, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
“He made a mistake by taking a copy of those files.
He thought he was doing the right thing, that he could go to the authorities once he had enough proof.
He didn't know he was signing our death warrants. They didn't just want him quiet. They wanted that data back. They’ve been tearing our lives apart trying to find where he hid it.”
The air feels thin in my lungs. She isn't just running from a tragedy.
She's sitting on a ticking bomb. It explains the desperation, the aliases, and why she looks at every shadow like it's a threat. This is no random act of violence. It’s a clean-up job.
I reach for my beer, but I don't drink. I just hold the bottle, staring at her, trying to figure out how the hell I'm supposed to keep them safe when they're carrying the kind of leverage that gets people erased.
“Did he leave it with you?” I ask, my voice dropping to a low rumble.
She shakes her head, her movements slow and weary.
“He left it with someone he trusted, but I don’t know who that is.
A friend. Someone he thought was safe. Whoever he is, he hasn’t reached out to us, and I'm terrified they got to him, too.” I don’t voice this out loud, but they probably did and it’ll be on her to figure out where those files are.