8. Zoey
ZOEY
I felt a nudge and woke instantly to the dim light of the bedroom. Heather stood over me, yawning and rubbing her eyes.
“Mom’s on the phone.” She held her phone out to me, and I checked the time. No wonder Heather was yawning. It was two in the morning.
“Shit.” I scrambled to sit up, cursing under my breath for forgetting to send Mom my new number. I took the phone from Heather, my chest already tightening with the possibilities of why she’d be calling at this hour. “Hello?”
“Move over,” Heather whispered as she climbed onto my bed. She leaned against the mountain of pillows as I fumbled with the phone, pressing the speaker button.
“Zoey? Heather?” Mom’s voice crackled through, tinged with a tremor that set my nerves on edge.
“Mom, we’re here,” I said, forcing myself to sound calm. “What’s wrong?”
“It would have been nice if one of my daughters had thought to inform me you’d left George, Zoey,” she began. “At least then I could have been prepared,”
“Prepared?” I repeated. “What do you mean? What happened?” A jolt of adrenaline dumped into my system, banishing any remnants of sleep and filling me with terror.
“There was a… gentleman who came by tonight, asking for you and Roland,” my mom said. “If you were here.”
My heart skipped a beat, thudding erratically against my chest. I swallowed hard. “What did you say?”
“I told him that of course you weren’t here, and I made damn sure he knew it.
” Her words dripped with fury as she continued, her volume rising to match the intensity of her anger.
“But the nerve of him, showing up at my home unannounced, looking like a thug from one of those terrible gangster movies.”
“Heather, he found her,” I stammered to my sister, my whole body shaking. The phone was cold and slippery in my clammy hand.
“Relax,” Heather said, her brows furrowing with concern. “It’s not like we didn’t expect this.”
I tried to steady my breathing. This was part of the plan—evade George long enough to get our lives back on track. But he’d found my mom faster than we’d expected, and now that it was happening, it felt like a noose tightening around my neck.
Mom continued, “He had the cheek to tell me he was only doing his job because you took Roland. Kidnapping.” She scoffed.
“I told him if it were truly kidnapping, the police would be knocking at my door, not some hired muscle. He wasn’t happy, but I let him search the house.
Then, as he was on his way out, I told him that when I said I hadn’t seen you in years, it was because his piece-of-shit boss kept us apart and that if you have left George, I hope to hell he never finds you.
” She sighed, her tone softening. “I’m glad you’re out of his grasp, sweetheart.
I just wish you’d given me a heads-up, girls.
When I tried calling and it was disconnected, my imagination began concocting all kinds of scenarios, each worse than the last.”
I let out a heavy sigh, my hands still shaking. “I’m sorry, Mom. But you have to understand. George has connections that are hard to comprehend. His reach is?—”
“Zoey, I spent too many years being scared of men like him, and I’ll be damned if I go through that again,” my mom spat. “George feels powerful because he belittles others, but not this time. Not with me.”
I could almost picture her: chin up, eyes blazing with the same ferocity I remembered from my childhood.
“He’s nothing but an abuser and a bully,” she continued, doing nothing to hide her disdain.
“Mom, I didn’t even have control of my own phone until recently,” I said, the guilt gnawing at my insides. “But you’re right. Once Ro and I were safe, I should have found a way to warn you.”
“Should-haves aren’t going to help us now, Zoey.” I could hear the undercurrent of worry in her voice. “What’s your plan? I assume George doesn’t know where Sam and Heather are yet, but it’s only a matter of time before he starts looking. Are you planning to stay in Boldercrest or take off again?”
I chewed on my lip, weighing my options. Leaving would just give George more power over me. But staying... staying meant risking more than just my own safety. It meant putting Ro in danger, too.
“George probably doesn’t even know where Sam and Heather live,” I said, more to convince myself than them. “We’ve been estranged; he made sure of it. He probably thinks they wouldn’t hide me or Ro.”
“Even if he did find out where we lived, what’s he gonna do?” Heather was defiant. “March into town with his goons?”
I let out a slow breath, feeling the magnitude of the decision on my shoulders. “It’s not just about him finding out,” I said. “It’s about staying safe. But I’m not entirely defenseless here.”
“Zoey’s under pack protection,” Heather stated, her gaze meeting mine with an intensity that bolstered my resolve.
“Pack protection?” my mother asked.
“Let’s just say George would be stirring up a lot more trouble than he bargained for if he tried anything here,” I said, and for a moment, I believed it. “The pack won’t stand for any threats against their own.”
“Good.” The relief was evident in her tone. “Stay protected, Zoey. That man... he’s not going to stop easily.”
She was right. George was relentless. But for now, I had something he didn’t: allies, and a sanctuary he’d think twice about challenging.
I shivered involuntarily, Noah’s face flashing through my mind. I’d watched a video of him boxing. The strength in his arms and the quiet assurance in his stance had left me with no doubt that he could handle George. But the thought of bringing more trouble to his doorstep made me uneasy.
“Maybe…,” I said. “Maybe it would be best if Ro and I disappear for a while.”
Heather turned sharply toward me, eyes blazing with a fierceness that shocked me. “You can’t seriously be considering running away again, Zoey. George has been pulling the strings for far too long.”
I bit my lip, feeling cornered by my own fears and Heather’s intensity. George had kept me under his thumb for years, dictating every move until I didn’t know where his will ended and mine began.
“Running won’t change anything,” Heather continued, softening as she saw my inner conflict. “You’ve got to stand your ground this time. Take back control.”
“Zoey, listen to me,” our mother said, a note of steel underlying her words. “You need more than just a locked door between you and that man. I’m talking about protection. Real protection.”
Heather squeezed my hand in silent agreement.
“Like what?” I asked, though in some corner of my mind, I already knew what she was hinting at.
“Something that can give you a fighting chance if it ever came to that. A gun, Zoey.” There was no mistaking the gravity in her tone.
My heart pounded at the thought. It was one thing to run, to hide, to seek shelter. But to confront... to possibly fight back?
I let out a big sigh. “Mom, I don’t know if I can?—”
“Can or can’t isn’t the question here,” she cut in firmly. “It’s about whether your life—Ro’s life—is worth defending. And when you’re ready, we’ll talk. Really talk. I’ve got my own story that might help you understand. Help you heal.”
I clutched Heather’s phone, feeling the gravity of my mother’s offer. Her strength, even from thousands of miles away, seemed to lend me a sliver of courage. I needed to heal, yes, but maybe part of that process was learning to stand up not just for my son, but for myself, too.
I just wasn’t sure I’d be able to live with myself when—not if—I brought trouble to a town that had welcomed me with open arms.
After giving Mom my new number and a promise to call when she could talk to her grandson, we said our goodbyes.
Heather knew exactly what I was thinking, and she gave my hand another reassuring squeeze. “Don’t do it, Zo. I’m begging you not to leave. You are so much safer here with the pack to protect you.”
Thoughts freewheeling, I anxiously bit the skin around my thumb, torn between staying or running. Finally, I nodded. After getting my assurance that I’d still be here in the morning, Heather hugged me and returned to her own bed.
I tossed and turned the rest of the night, replaying my mother’s words in my head, unable to find peace and sleep.
Grateful for the alarm, I left my bed and sought refuge in the shower, using strong-scented body products in the hopes that it would mask the scent of my fear from Ro.
I schooled my features into a calm mask, determined to compose myself before I went to the self-defense class.
Thanks to George’s abuse, I was accomplished at that.
These weeks away from him had been incredible.
I had witnessed Ro transform into a more carefree boy, and I was experiencing a newfound sense of fulfillment.
I couldn’t allow George to ruin that for us. I wouldn’t allow that bastard to win.
When class started, the release I had hoped for failed to materialize.
The mats felt harder beneath my feet, the texture grating against my palms with every attempted block and strike.
I knew the moves—or at least I thought I did—but today they slipped through my grasp like water.
My mind was a carousel of worries, spinning too fast to grab hold of anything solid.
“Zoey, remember to pivot your foot on the kick,” Carla called out for the third time.
I mentally rehearsed the moves and tried again, but my limbs moved slowly and with great effort, as if I was wading through molasses.
“Okay, that’s it for today,” Noah said to the class as the clock signaled the end of our misery.
Well, my misery. Everyone else seemed invigorated, empowered.
As they filtered out, they chatted among themselves while I remained rooted in place, unable to shake off the anxiety.
How long would it be before George found me?
“Zoey?” Noah’s presence beside me was a steady warmth. “You okay?”