Chapter Nine
DIDN’T SLEEP MUCH.
Somewhere between the half-empty bags and the look in that woman’s eyes, my head wouldn’t let it go. She hadn’t just broke down. Nah… she’d run. You could see it plain as day in her spine, stiff and straight like a steel rod, too proud to shake even when her hands were tremblin’.
And them kids? Hell.
That little girl barely let go of her leg.
The boy — Malik, she’d said — stood there like a damn soldier.
Nine years old, tops, already carryin’ more weight than most grown men.
Sable couldn’t be more than nineteen, maybe twenty.
Could be they were hers, could be her kin.
I’d seen young mothers before , came with the territory in the world I crawled out of when I was a kid.
Ain’t judgin’.
Damn it. There it was , the past diggin’ itself up where I’d buried it. Guess I didn’t bury it near deep enough. I shoved it back down with a mental shovel, packin’ the dirt tight ‘til it couldn’t breathe.
I decided to head to The Pit. Wouldn’t be much to do this early, but I felt a need to check on Sable and the kids.
Stopped off at the diner on my way. Had the cook box up scrambled eggs, toast, grits, few strips of bacon. Grabbed chocolate milk for the kids, black coffee for her.
Old house was still quiet when I pulled up. Climbed the back steps slow, balancin’ the takeout tray, and knocked with the side of my fist.
Nothin’.
Knocked again. “It’s just me — Zeke.”
Few seconds later, door cracked open. One dark eye peeked through, wide and wary.
Malik.
Kid didn’t say a word, just looked up at me like he was runnin’ a background check in his head, tryin’ to figure if I was trouble.
Smart kid.
“Brought y’all somethin’ to eat,” I said, holdin’ up the tray.
He hesitated, then swung the door wider, just enough for me to step inside.
Place was half-furnished, but they’d be comfortable enough, Zara was curled on the couch, bear clutched tight, half-asleep. Sable sat cross-legged on the floor beside her, hair a little wild, eyes red like she’d been fightin’ sleep same as me.
She looked up when she saw me. Not startled. Just plain worn out.
“Figured y’all could use breakfast,” I said, settin’ the tray on the little table by the window.
“Thank you,” she replied softly.
I Didn’t press her with questions burnin’ on my tongue. Just handed Malik a bottle of chocolate milk.
He didn’t take it right off. “You didn’t put anything weird in it, did you?” he asked, straight-faced.
I blinked. “What the hell?”
“Malik—” she started, sittin’ up straighter.
“No,” I cut in, before she could scold him. “Strange damn question, kid. You always ask stuff like that?”
He gave a small nod, no apology in it. Took the bottle and drank like he was still weighin’ me up.
“Zara still tired?” I asked, startin’ to figure there was a helluva lot more goin’ on than I knew.
Sable nodded. “Yes, she was exhausted.”
I was curious as all get out, but it wasn’t my business — least not yet — so I changed the subject.
“I got Gearhead on your car,” I told her. “Might take a bit of work, but I’ll make sure it’s runnin’. In the meantime, you can stay here as long as you need.”
Her eyes stayed on mine, like she was tryin’ to decide if I meant it or if I was just settin’ her up for somethin’.
“I don’t expect nothin’,” I added. “Not from you. Not from them. I’m not part of whatever you’re runnin’ from, and it ain’t my business. I’m just givin’ you a place to catch your breath ‘til you can move on. I ain’t some fuckin’ weirdo.”
Silence stretched long enough for me to hear Malik openin’ into the takeout box. Then she said it. “I didn’t think you were. Thank you.”
Kid looked up from the food. “Can I eat this now?”
I smirked. “It’s yours, man. Dig in.”
He plopped down on the floor beside his sister, nudged a box toward Sable. She took it with a whisper of thanks.
I turned to go.
“Zeke,” she said.
I looked back.
“Thank you,” she said again, and this time, it wasn’t quiet.
It was real.
***
BY THE TIME I left the house, the sun had burned off most of the morning haze, turnin’ the air sharp and bright. I swung a leg over my bike, let her rumble settle in my chest before hittin’ the road.
Didn’t point the front wheel toward the clubhouse.
Didn’t want to.
Instead, I cut south, away from town, toward the stretch of backroads that led out to where Momma kept her place. Wide, two-lane blacktop wound between pine stands and fields gone to seed, the smell of warm earth and salt from the marsh ridin’ the wind.
It wasn’t far, maybe forty minutes if you didn’t get stuck behind a slow poke, but it always felt like crossin’ into another world. Out here, there weren’t any brothers to answer to, no club politics, no noise but the bike and the birds.
The house came into view just past a long curve, sittin’ back off the road behind a row of crepe myrtles that exploded pink every summer. Two stories, wraparound porch, white paint kept clean enough to blind you in July. Momma’s pride and joy.
I cut the engine at the end of the drive, just listenin’ a second to the way the quiet settled. Then I rolled up slow, kickstand down before my boots hit gravel.
Door swung open before I could knock.
“Well, if it’s not my boy,” she said, standin’ there with one hand on her hip, the other still holdin’ a dishtowel. Same sharp blue eyes I’d been born with, same silver hair that should’ve aged her, but didn’t, momma was still a pretty lady.
“Hey, Momma,” I said, and it came out softer than I meant it to.
She stepped aside, and I leaned in for a hug that smelled like cornbread and laundry soap. She was small enough I could’ve picked her up, but she held on like she could still ground me to the earth if she wanted to.
“Come on in,” she said. “I got lunch on. I’ll fix you a plate.”
Kitchen was warm, sun slantin’ through lace curtains onto the big oak table that had seen more meals and arguments than I could count. She slid a mug of coffee toward me, then set about slicin’ a loaf of fresh bread, butter softening in a dish beside it.
“You look tired,” she said, glancin’ at me over her shoulder. “Been runnin’ too hard?”
“Somethin’ like that.”
She didn’t push, not right away. Momma knew the value of lettin’ a man talk when he was ready.
“Things goin’ okay?” she asked, casual as anything.
“Smooth,” I said. Then, after a beat, “Brought someone up to the old house last night. Woman and two kids. Car’s busted.”
That got her attention. She didn’t turn all the way, but I saw her face grow curious. “You know her?”
“Not yet,” I said. “But she’s runnin’ from somethin’. You can see it plain.”
Momma nodded like she’d already known that. “Sometimes people need a place to land. Lord knows when to help and when to not.”
I frowned. “Guess so.”
She slid the bread in front of me, warm and perfect, like she always did. “Eat. Then you tell me what you’re really thinkin’.”
I didn’t say it out loud, but I was thinkin’ about gold eyes, a spine like steel, and the way her boy guarded her like he’d been born to it. And how for the first time in a while, I wasn’t sure if bringin’ someone into our world was helpin’ them or puttin’ them in the line of fire.
I tore into the bread like I hadn’t eaten since yesterday, the butter melting into soft pockets. Momma watched from across the table, hands folded, the kind of patient look that meant she’d let me put off talkin’… but not forever.
“You’re thinkin’ too loud,” she said finally.
I raised a brow. “Am I?”
She leaned back, eyes narrowing just enough to let me know she was cutting past whatever surface answer I’d give.
“You brought a woman and two children into that house. Don’t matter if you’ve known ‘em a day or a decade, that means you’ve already decided you’re responsible for ‘em. You can lie to yourself about that if you want, but don’t try to lie to me. ”
I took a slow sip of coffee, not arguing.
“You know what happens,” she went on, “when you take in a soul that’s been hunted?”
I shook my head.
“They stop runnin’… but the hunt don’t stop. You better be ready to have it come knockin’ on your door.”
Her words landed heavier than I wanted to admit.
“She’s skittish,” I said, my voice low. “Keeps her back to the wall. The boy—Malik—he don’t blink unless he’s watchin’ an exit. Girl’s young enough she don’t understand yet, but she’s already learnin’ from them.”
“Then you already know they’ve been livin’ in a cage,” Momma said. “And a cage leaves marks you can’t see.”
I glanced at her. “Ain’t my business.”
She smirked, slow and knowing. “That what you told yourself on the ride over here?”
I didn’t answer.
“Zeke,” she said, using the name like only she did, “you’ve always been the type to reach into a fire if you thought you could pull somebody out. Just remember, burns don’t care what your intentions were.”
I sat with that for a minute, the ticking of the kitchen clock loud in the space between us.
Finally, she stood and topped off my coffee. “Now. You gonna sit here broodin’ or help me fix that screen on my back porch?”
A corner of my mouth lifted. “What if I don’t want too?”
“I’ll take a switch to you,” she said. “Grown or not I’m not takin’ lip from you.”
I stayed through the afternoon, helping her fix that screen and then for supper. My mind was a little lighter when finally straddled my bike to head to The Pit. Momma had that way about her.