Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Adalynn
Three days have dragged by, and the tension in the house feels like a physical thing I can touch.
Dodge is pacing from the kitchen to the porch and back again like he’s a live wire.
Every time a bike engine revs out on the road or a door slams, he stops dead in his tracks, his muscles bunching up like he’s ready to fight.
I set my coffee mug down on the counter and walk over to him. He is staring out the window, his jaw locked so tight it looks painful.
“You're wearing a path into the rug,” I say, keeping my voice low.
He turns, but his eyes don't focus on me. He's somewhere else entirely. “I just don't like not knowing,” he mutters. “Rebel said they'd have info, but it's been radio silence since they caught the motherfucker.”
I reach out and put my hand on his arm. He's vibrating with pent-up energy. “You're killing yourself with the waiting. Come sit down.”
He looks at my hand like he's just now realizing I'm standing there. He lets out a long, suffering breath and nods, but he doesn't move toward the chairs. “I can't sit. If I sit, I'll start thinking about what they're dealing with out at that warehouse.”
I step into his space, forcing him to look at me instead of the perimeter. “You've got guys handling it. Good guys. You have to trust them.”
“I do trust them,” he says, frustration leaking into his tone. “It's the not being there that eats at me. I'm the one who's supposed to handle the threats.”
“You're the one who keeps this family together,” I counter. “And right now, that means staying here and being present. Not pacing around like you're expecting an attack.”
He finally lets out a shaky laugh and pulls me against his chest. His heart's hammering against my palms. "Even though you’ve been in my life for a short amount of time, you seem to always know what to say to pull me back, don't you?”
“Someone has to,” I tell him in a teasing tone, leaning my head against his shoulder. “You've been up for three days straight. Just let it go for an hour.”
He wraps his arms around me, holding on tight.
“An hour,” he agrees, though his eyes still flicker toward the front door.
“Just an hour.” I lead him to the recliner and push him into it, he’s so damn tired that his limbs go limp and he doesn’t fight me on it.
Once his head sinks into the cushion and his eyes close, I kick his legs back and lean the recliner down.
When a snore emits from his lips, I let out a breath of relief.
I watch his chest rise and fall, the deep, ragged breaths finally evening out into sleep.
It's the first real rest he's had in days.
I don't move, afraid that even a shift in the air might wake him.
Miranda walks into the living room, her footsteps silent on the hardwood. She stops beside the recliner, looking down at her son with an expression that's soft but weary. She holds a thick wool blanket in her arms.
“You’re good for him,” she says quietly, her voice barely a whisper in the dim room. She holds the blanket out to me.
I take it, and drape it over my arm, contemplating on putting it on him. What if the weight of it wakes him? He needs to catch some shut-eye because as of now, he’s running on fumes. “He's just exhausted, Miranda. He's been running on nothing but adrenaline.”
She shakes her head, her gaze drifting back to Dodge's face. “It's not just the exhaustion. I haven't seen him drop his guard like this in years. He’s been carrying the weight of his club on his shoulders since he took the mantle, and he’s forgotten how to put it down.”
I gently unfold the blanket and tuck it around Dodge's shoulders, careful not to disturb him. “I'm going to make sure he learns how to rest,” I promise, meeting her eyes. “He doesn't have to carry it all by himself anymore.”
Miranda offers a small, sad smile. She clears her throat and informs me of something I already know. “He’s stubborn. He thinks asking for help is a weakness.”
“Then I'll just have to be more stubborn than he is,” I say.
She rests a hand on my arm, her touch firm and warm. “I think you’re exactly what he needs, Adalynn. Just promise me you won't let him push you away when things get loud in his head again.”
I look back at Dodge. “I’m not going anywhere. He’s stuck with me.”
Seeming satisfied, Miranda nods and heads back to the kitchen, leaving me to watch over him. The front door swings open as Hulk steps inside. Pressing a finger to my lips, I shush him instantly, making sure he doesn't speak and wake Dodge up.
Hulk glances at his president and shakes his head. He waves me in his direction then steps outside. Once I’m standing beside him, he tells me, “He does this from time-to-time. Especially when shit hits the fan.”
“What, doesn’t sleep?” I ask.
“He won't sleep even for a second, and he expects everyone else to maintain his pace,” Hulk complains, pouting his bottom lip in a way that makes me chuckle.
“He’s worried that he hasn’t heard from Rebel,” I inform him.
“Some interrogations take longer than others,” he tells me.
“I know,” I concede, leaning against the porch railing. “But he thinks if he isn't breathing down their necks, everything is going to fall apart.”
Hulk chuckles, a low, rumbling sound. “He's the president, not the guy holding the knife. But try telling him that when he's got a bug up his ass about security.”
I sigh, watching the sunrise paint the sky in shades of bruised purple and orange. “He needs to trust you guys. And he needs to eat. He hasn't touched a thing since yesterday.”
Hulk crosses his arms over his massive chest. “Good luck with that. He's got a mental map of every threat within fifty miles, and until he clears the board, food's just noise to him.”
“Maybe I'll try anyway,” I offer, pushing off the railing. “If I can get him to take a bite, maybe it'll take the edge off.”
“You're a brave woman,” Hulk remarks, giving me a rare, genuine grin. “Let me know how that goes.”
“I'm gonna have to trick him and make him believe eating is his idea,” I muse.
Hulk shakes his head, his eyes tracking a hawk circling high above the trees. “Man's stubborn as a mule. You've got your work cut out for you, Adalynn.”
“I've handled stubborn before,” I quip, turning to look at him. “He's just a man. He isn't made of iron, even if he acts like it.”
Hulk chuckles, a low vibration that makes his chest heave. “Yeah, but try telling him that. He'll treat a sandwich like it's a tactical threat.”
I laugh, feeling a little lighter despite the heaviness hanging over the house. “Then I'll just have to be the tactical genius. I'll make something that smells so good he can't ignore it.”
“Good luck with that,” Hulk grunts, pushing off the railing to scan the tree line once more. “I'm going to take a walk around the barn. Keep your eyes peeled while I'm gone.”
“Always,” I reply. I turn and step back inside.
The kitchen is still and quiet. I pull the fridge open, scanning the shelves until I find the leftovers.
It's not much, just a plate of bacon and eggs from this morning, but it's protein.
I slide it onto a clean dish and pop it into the microwave.
The hum of the machine is the only sound in the house, a steady, hypnotic buzz that feels almost peaceful.
I hope waking him is worth it. He needs the fuel if he's going to lead these men through whatever is coming next.
Peering out through the tiny, postage-stamp-sized window, I spot Carter pacing the backyard.
He holds the gun Dodge handed him, scanning the area intently for any signs of trouble.
Watching him, I let my head drop in defeat—this is entirely different from the kind of life I envisioned for him.
I am completely exhausted from constantly thinking and repeating those exact words, but it remains the absolute truth.
The microwave alerts me with a beep that the food is ready.
I grab the plate and carry it over to the living room, setting it down on the side table so it's waiting for him as soon as he opens his eyes.
I just hope it doesn't end up cold. Re-heating this stuff is never a good plan, and I really should've considered that before I even turned the machine on.
The screen door whines on its hinges as I step into the back yard. Carter doesn't turn around immediately, his shoulders locked in a rigid line. He holds the pistol Dodge handed him like it is an extension of his own arm.
“Carter,” I call out, my voice tight.
He spins around, the weapon dipping slightly but not enough for my liking. “You shouldn't be out here,” he warns, his eyes scanning the tree line.
“And you shouldn't be playing soldier,” I counter, crossing my arms to hide how much I am shaking. “Put it down.”
“Dodge told me to stay sharp,” he says, his jaw set in a hard line.
I walk toward him, not stopping until I am just a few feet away. “Dodge shouldn't have given you that. You are just a kid.”
He scoffs, a bitter sound that doesn't belong in his young throat. “I am not a kid anymore. Look around us, Adalynn. This is the reality now.”
I reach out, my fingers brushing the cold metal of the gun before I firmly push his hand down. “This isn't reality. It is a nightmare. I didn't spend all this time hoping for a better future just to see you holding a gun in the dirt.”
He stares at me, his eyes old and tired, and it breaks me all over again. “Someone has to do it,” he mutters.
“Not you,” I insist, grabbing the weapon from his loose grip. “Not today.”
He shoots me a side-eyed glare before crossing his arms. He copies the exact possessive posture Dodge takes right before he tears into someone.
“Where are Amelia and Noah?” I demand, remembering he's supposed to be watching over them right now.
He jerks his chin toward the house. “They're in the den watching a movie.”
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. “Good. Keep them there. And Carter?”
He stops with his hand on the screen door handle, looking back over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Leave the guard duty to the guys who've been doing it for years. You're not supposed to be out here handling this.”
He doesn't respond, just slips inside with a huff.
I stand in the grass for a second, the quiet of the country breeze wrapping around me.
I look at the pistol in my hand, feeling the cold steel—it feels wrong in my palm.
I walk to the porch and head inside, hoping I can keep the fear from taking root in any of us.