Chapter Nine
~ Quiad ~
I woke up before the sun, same as always.
Old habits never die—they just dig in and call themselves virtue.
The room was cold, not from the weather but from the way the shadows hung heavy along the seams of the walls.
In the far corner, the little electric heater grumbled, spitting out just enough warmth to keep the frost off the inside of the windows.
I lay still, taking stock: the soreness in my left shoulder, the throb behind my right knee, the familiar click in my jaw when I flexed it.
Inventory complete.
Beside me, Levi slept in the tangle of sheets, a fist curled near his chin and the other arm thrown across my waist like a claim. His breath made little plumes in the air every time he exhaled, rising and falling in a rhythm that was steadier than it had any right to be after the week we’d had.
I watched the way his lashes cut shadows on his cheek, the way his mouth went slack with every deep inhale, the freckles across his nose catching the spill of dim light from the parking lot outside.
I could smell him—soap, the citrus tang of whatever Ma stocked in the upstairs bath, and beneath it all, something sharp and alive that I’d come to crave.
He looked peaceful now, but even asleep, the old terror rode shotgun on his face. I could see the tension in his jaw, the ghost of a frown in the space between his brows.
I wondered if he was dreaming about her, about the woman who’d tried to claim him by accident of birth and nearly ruined the best thing that ever happened to either of us. Or maybe he just dreamed about running—he always twitched in his sleep, a dog in pursuit of something faster.
The nightstand next to the bed looked like an evidence locker. On top sat my battered Timex, a half-used tube of cortisone for his tattoo, and the manila envelope I’d retrieved from the courthouse after the world went quiet again last night.
The papers inside were crisp, the marriage license already filled out in my blunt block letters, ready for the final signatures.
I’d left it where he could see it first thing when he woke up.
Not a hint, not a test, just a fact. This was real, and it was happening, and I’d fight anybody who tried to strip that away.
The rest of the room was a wreck. Clothes draped over the ancient steamer trunk that doubled as a dresser, boots kicked off by the door, two empty mugs on the counter from the midnight coffee I’d brewed when he couldn’t settle down.
The only thing that looked untouched was the bed Levi slept in now, the sheets holding the ghost of both our bodies, the space between us closed so tight I could barely tell where I ended and he began.
I lay on my back, eyes open to the gray ceiling, and listened. The building below creaked as it settled; the water pipes clanged in the walls as the farm started to wake up.
Far off, I heard the low hum of Pa’s truck as he headed out for the early chores. Nobody knew we’d slept here instead of at the main house. Nobody except Ma, probably, but she kept her own counsel when she had to.
I reached over and touched the bracelet on Levi’s wrist, tracing the edge with a thumb.
The ink was still swollen, but the scab had flaked off, and in the new light the black letters—my name, bold and permanent—looked healed, settled.
He didn’t even flinch when I touched it anymore. It was a part of him, now. Like I was.
He woke just as the horizon started to go gold.
It was slow—a twitch of the eyelids, a hitch in his breath, then a whole-body stretch that ended with him curling tighter around my side.
He buried his face in my t-shirt, breathing deep, then cracked one eye open and glared at the alarm clock like it owed him money.
“Why do you always wake up before me?” he said, voice ruined with sleep.
“Habit,” I said. “You talk in your sleep.”
He flushed, a bloom of color from cheek to collarbone, and burrowed deeper into the sheets. “If I said anything embarrassing, just kill me now.”
“Nothing I didn’t already know,” I said, and let my hand rest on the small of his back.
He rolled over, propped himself on an elbow, and blinked at me. His eyes were still dark with sleep, the lashes clumped and wet, but the blue of them was so pure it hurt. He scanned my face, as if looking for cracks, then found the envelope on the nightstand.
He didn’t reach for it. Just watched it like a bomb ticking down.
“I don’t even know if I’m good at this,” he said, voice lower than before.
“Good at what?” I said, even though I already knew.
He gestured vaguely at the bed, the room, the thing between us. “Being a real person. Doing the normal stuff.”
“You’re better at it than most,” I said. “You just don’t know it yet.”
He made a noise in his throat, half-laugh, half-sigh. “You’re really sure about this?”
I turned and faced him, the sheets creaking. “I’ve been sure since the day you turned eighteen. Just been waiting for the right time.”
He smiled, small and crooked. “Most people date longer than a month before getting married, you know.”
“Most people aren’t us,” I said, and I reached up, brushed a stray curl from his forehead. “We’ve been circling each other for two years, Sunshine. I know exactly who you are and what I want.”
He made a sound, soft and feral, then collapsed on top of me. His breath was warm on my neck, his hands cold where they slid under the hem of my shirt.
“If you ever change your mind,” he said, “just give me some warning.”
“I won’t,” I said, and felt the words lock into place. “You’re stuck.”
He snorted, then kissed me, clumsy but insistent.
I let him, let him climb all over me, let him use my body as a shield against the world, against the past, against the things that still wanted to eat him alive.
I held him there, not because he needed it, but because I needed to be the thing that held him.
The sun rose, a slow wash of yellow against the wall, and I lay there in the warmth, Levi pressed to my chest, both of us alive and whole.
When he finally looked up, I saw that the fear was still there, but it was smaller. Manageable.
He grinned, real this time, and said, “Okay. Let’s do it.”
I grinned back, the weight of the world suddenly feather-light. “Yeah,” I said, pulling him close. “Let’s.”
We made it another hour before the world came knocking.
Not literally—a knock would’ve been easier, something I could answer with a door and a deadbolt.
This was the insistent, invasive kind of knocking that comes in as a phone buzz, cutting through the peace of the morning like a razor through fabric.
Levi’s phone vibrated against the metal frame of the nightstand, the noise sharp enough to make both of us jump. He reached for it, squinting at the screen with sleep-blurred eyes. I watched the color drain from his face before he even unlocked it.
“Ma,” he muttered, holding up the phone so I could see the string of texts.
WHERE ARE YOU?
ARE YOU OKAY?
brEAKFAST IS COLD BUT I’LL KEEP IT WARM
We both exhaled, tension leaking out in a rush. “She probably thinks we died,” Levi said, thumb hovering over the keypad. “Or ran away to Canada. She keeps saying I’m too pretty to survive in federal prison.”
I snorted. “She’s right about that.”
He started typing a reply—sorry, spent the night at shop, promise I’m not dead—when another message popped up, this one from a number he didn’t recognize.
I saw the change in him before I saw the text: the way his whole body went still, the fingers clamped white around the phone.
For a second, he just stared at the screen, like maybe the letters would rearrange themselves into something safer.
He read the message, then passed the phone to me with a hand that shook hard enough to rattle the glass of water on the nightstand.
It read: Levi, it’s your mother. I’m staying at the River Pines Motel. Room 12. We need to talk about your father’s estate. Please come alone.
The air in the room went cold. I felt it, a drop in pressure behind my eyes, the kind of threat you could smell before it even crossed the threshold. I looked up at Levi, at the way he’d curled himself into the sheets again, small and tight, shoulders up around his ears.
“Money,” he said, the word flat and lifeless. “It’s always about money with her.” He didn’t cry. He just looked like he’d been shoved off a cliff and only now realized how far the bottom was.
I stared at the phone, read the message three times, then set it on the nightstand, screen up. I didn’t have to ask if he wanted to go. That wasn’t how this worked. I just put my hand over his and waited until the tremors faded.
“You want me to handle it?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No. I need to go. She’ll just keep coming until she gets what she wants.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugged it until his scalp went white. “She always does.”
I watched him, did the mental math. There was nothing she could do to hurt him, not really.
Not with me and half the county between her and the boy she’d let rot for years.
But I knew how easy it was to fall back into old wounds.
How quickly you could be unmade by the people who claimed to love you.
I picked up the phone, opened the text, and typed out a reply before he could stop me. He’ll meet you at Rosie’s Bakery at noon. Public place. He won’t be alone.
I sent it, then put the phone down and looked at Levi.
He stared at me, wide-eyed, lips parted in protest. “You didn’t have to—”
“I know,” I said, cutting him off. “But I’m not letting her get in your head. If she wants to talk, she does it on our terms.”
He swallowed, throat working, then managed a weak laugh. “You think she’ll show?”
“She’ll come,” I said. “They always do, if the money’s good enough.”
He flopped back onto the bed, covering his face with both hands. “God, I hate this,” he said. “Why can’t she just—” The rest of the sentence died, but I knew what he meant.