Chapter 8 #2
“I used to think I didn’t deserve that kind of love.
Not after everything I did. Everything I couldn’t stop.
” Patch looked out at the water, and even though he didn’t want to bring things back to himself, he couldn’t help it.
“I was a medic,” Patch said after a moment, his voice rough.
“I was supposed to save people. I did. A lot of them. But the ones I lost…” He trailed off, eyes darkening. “They’re the ones I see at night.”
“You did your job, Patch.”
“I tried. And then, when it mattered most—my sister, her baby—” His voice cracked and he stopped, eyes locked on the far bank. “I was right there. And I still couldn’t save them.”
McGuire exhaled slowly. “That’s not on you.”
“I know that in my head. But my chest still hasn’t caught up.”
They sat with it a while longer.
“I look at Savvy, and I see someone carrying too much and pretending it’s fine. And I want to take some of it from her. Even if she won’t let me,” Patch said.
McGuire nodded. “Then stay close. Let her figure out how to hand it over in her own time.”
“Yeah.”
McGuire leaned back, resting the beer on his knee. “This life… it’s not what we planned. But maybe it’s what we needed.”
“You ever think we’re still in free fall, just waiting to hit bottom?” Patch’s voice dropped.
McGuire looked up through the branches. “I used to. Now I think maybe we already hit it. And we’re just learning how to stand again.”
Behind them, the warm hum of voices filtered through the cracked cabin door—laughter, light, something almost normal.
Patch closed his eyes for a second, and that’s when he heard it.
A low, steady hum. Subtle. Mechanical. Familiar.
He sat upright, beer instantly forgotten.
McGuire shifted without a word, hearing it too.
Boat motor.
Patch stood in a smooth, silent motion and moved to the edge of the porch. The sound was growing—not loud, but close. He narrowed his eyes, trying to pierce the dark along the river bend. There were no lights. No voices. Just the thrum of a small outboard engine moving slowly and deliberately.
He turned toward McGuire, who already had his weapon drawn.
Patch slipped down the steps and crossed the short, marshy stretch of grass to where he’d left his rifle leaning near the edge of the dock. The air was thicker now, the kind of humid that made sweat cling to your skin like a second layer.
“Savvy and Riven?” McGuire asked quietly, coming up beside him.
Patch nodded toward the cabin. “Keep them inside. I’ll hold position here.”
McGuire didn’t argue. He disappeared inside without a sound.
Patch crouched behind a thick post at the edge of the dock, rifle in hand, eyes trained on the bend in the river. His pulse ticked up—not panic, just readiness. He counted the seconds with each inhale.
Then he saw it.
A small aluminum skiff, creeping slowly along the edge of the channel. Still no lights. No splash. No sound but the hum of the engine. Whoever was piloting it knew what they were doing.
Patch raised the rifle halfway, finger just outside the trigger guard.
Then a beam of light clicked on—dim, angled toward the trees, not the shore.
“Patch?” a raspy voice called out. “That you, boy?”
Patch blinked and lowered the rifle a few inches.
McGuire reappeared in the doorway. “Friend or problem?”
Patch exhaled, tension bleeding from his shoulders. “Neither. It’s just Rodney.”
McGuire stepped outside fully now, gun lowered. “Seriously?”
Patch rose from his crouch and stepped onto the dock as the boat drifted in closer. “Rodney, what the hell are you doing creeping around in the dark like that?”
The old man cut the engine and coasted the rest of the way in.
He wore a battered fishing hat and overalls that looked older than the boat.
His beard was thick, white, and tangled like river moss.
“Didn’t mean to spook you boys,” Rodney said with a grin that showed two good teeth and a world of attitude.
“Figured I’d drop off a sack of crawfish since I saw you make camp a little bit ago.
Didn’t think you’d be jumpier than a cat in a gator pit. ”
Patch set his rifle aside with a quiet sigh. “Appreciate it, but next time, maybe honk or yell before you float in like a damn ghost.”
Rodney chuckled, pulling a burlap sack from the bottom of his boat and tossing it toward the dock. “Fair enough. Y’all keeping quiet up here, and I haven’t seen you spend much time in this old place in a while.”
“Been busy with work,” Patch said. “Have you seen anything out of the ordinary around these parts lately? People who don’t belong? Or just something that got your hackles up?”
“That’s an odd question.” Rodney waved them off and turned the boat with a practiced hand.
“But yeah. I saw two fellas earlier today, up by Miller's Bend. Out-of-towners by the look of 'em. Had a flat-bottom boat but didn’t handle it like they knew what the hell they were doing. Kept drifting too close to the tree line, like they were more interested in the shore than the water. Got too close to a gator hiding in the tall grass. Scared the hell out of those boys. I haven’t laughed so hard in a long while. It was funnier than watching Patch wrestle his first alligator… which was all of four feet long. My grandbaby could’ve done that in her sleep. ”
Patch narrowed his eyes, ignoring the jab. He’d heard it a million times. “You get a look at those strangers?”
Rodney shrugged. “Ball caps, dark clothes, didn’t wave back. Saw a tarp covering something, but don’t know what. Just didn’t sit right with me. Of course, I don’t like strangers, but these men didn’t fit in the bayou. Not one bit.”
McGuire shot Patch a look.
“Appreciate the heads-up,” Patch said, jaw tightening.
“Well, don’t let me interrupt whatever you two boys are doing tonight.” Rodney nodded.
Patch watched the boat disappear into the mist again, the hum fading into the buzz of crickets.
He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
McGuire stepped back onto the porch, half smiling. “Rodney’s one interesting fella.”
Patch shook his head. “That man’s going to get himself shot one of these days.”
“Not by you.”
Patch’s gaze lingered on the river. “No. But one of these days he’s gonna sneak up on the wrong man.”
“Speaking of wrong men, what do you make of what he said?” McGuire asked.
“I’m thinking whoever ransacked my place, came upriver looking for me and Savvy.” Patch rolled his neck. “That means they’ll come back down the river eventually.” He turned toward McGuire. “I guess you and Riven will be houseguests for the night.”
“That cabin has a couch and a bed.” McGuire sighed.
“Well, you and I ain’t sleeping inside.”
“I didn’t think so.” McGuire picked up his beer and downed it. “So, the girls get to snuggle inside, and we’re stuck out leaning up against trees, hoping a gator or a snake bigger than us doesn’t eat us for breakfast.”
“Sounds like the good old days.”