Chapter 21
Moe
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Moe stepped through the automatic doors, forcing himself to breathe through his mouth.
The overpowering smell of disinfectant and something floral failed to cover up the scent of death.
He'd never been inside a nursing home until he came with Jillian.
Never had a reason. His own childhood had been a revolving door of neglect, fists, and silence.
Nobody in his life had ever lived long enough or loved hard enough to end up somewhere like this.
But Jillian worked here. And Jillian's mother lived here. And that meant he was walking in because he wanted to be with her.
He carried the two motorcycle helmets in one hand, the bag rustling against his leg as he moved down the hallway.
He'd picked them up from Finn earlier, using the cash Jillian had pressed into his palm before she left for work.
She'd smiled when she gave it to him, like she already knew he'd do something with it. Something good.
He wanted to surprise her. Take her home on the Harley.
Show her he'd learned the laws had changed since he lived here.
Helmets were required now. Finn had explained it all to him, shaking his head at Moe's story about the cops chasing him.
Apparently, he wasn't allowed to ride bare-headed anymore.
If the cops caught him without a helmet, they'd chase him.
Moe had grunted, embarrassed. He'd thought they were after him for the murders he committed years ago. Thought he was on the run again. Turned out he was just breaking a law he didn't know existed.
But all of that could wait.
Right now, he needed to find Jillian. The woman at the desk recognized him and waved him through. He followed the sound of soft voices down the hall until he reached a doorway. He didn't step inside, but he stood in the frame, quiet, unseen.
Jillian sat beside her mother's bed, holding her mother's hand gently between both of hers. Her mother stared at her with wide, confused eyes, like she was trying to place Jillian's face but couldn't find the memory it belonged to.
"Mom," Jillian whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her mother's forehead. "It's me. It's Jillian."
Her mother blinked. "You're... very kind."
Jillian's smile trembled. "Thank you."
A hard, sharp ache twisted in Moe's chest. He'd never seen Jillian look fragile. She was strong, resilient, and stubborn. But here, sitting beside a woman who didn't know her own daughter, she looked like she was breaking quietly, piece by piece.
Her mother touched Jillian's cheek with trembling fingers. "You remind me of someone."
Jillian swallowed. "Who?"
"My daughter," her mother whispered. "She used to visit me."
Jillian's breath hitched, and she held her mother's hand tighter, like she could hold them both inside a memory that wasn't there anymore.
Moe's throat burned.
He didn't know what it was like to have a mother who loved you. He didn't know what it was like to lose one slowly. But watching Jillian sit there, giving her mother every ounce of tenderness she had, hurt him in a way he couldn't explain.
Her mother smiled faintly. "You're a good girl."
Jillian leaned forward and kissed her mother's knuckles. "I learned from the best."
Moe had to look away for a second, the feelings too overwhelming. In Everstill, he had no experience with emotions. He wasn't built for this kind of softness. He didn't know how to hold it without breaking it.
When he looked back, Jillian was wiping her eyes, her mother already drifting into sleep. Jillian stood slowly, smoothing the blanket over her mother's legs, and turned toward the door.
She froze when she saw him.
"Moe," she whispered, surprised. "What are you doing here?"
He lifted the bag with the helmets, suddenly unsure if the surprise mattered anymore. "Got somethin' for you."
Her eyes softened instantly, but she stepped toward him quietly, like she didn't want to disturb the moment behind her. When she reached him, she rested her hand on his chest. It was a small touch, but it hit him like a punch.
"You saw her," Jillian said softly.
He swallowed hard. "Don't know what to do with that."
She leaned her forehead against his chest, and he wrapped an arm around her without thinking. He wanted to take the hurt away.
"It's times like this that she doesn't remember me," Jillian whispered. "Not really."
Moe held her tighter. "Somewhere in her head, she remembers you."
She breathed out shakily and smiled against him.
"Come on," he murmured, brushing his thumb along her shoulder. "Let's get you home."
She looked up at him, eyes still wet but steady. "On the Harley?"
He lifted the helmets. "Yeah. Got these so the cops don't chase us again."
Her laugh was soft, broken, and beautiful. "You're learning."
He grunted. "I'm trying. For you."
Jillian climbed onto the back of the Harley like she'd been doing it her whole life. She settled behind him, her hands sliding around his waist, her helmet brushing his shoulder. The simple contact hit him harder than anything else had today.
He started the bike. The engine rumbled under them. He eased out of the parking lot, more careful with her on the back, because she mattered.
The wind picked up speed. She leaned into him, her arms tightening, her body warm against his back. He could feel her breathing. He could feel her trust.
This time, he appreciated having her right behind him. He'd never carried anything this precious.
The road curved through town, the sky dimming into early evening. Jillian's body settled behind him. She rested her head between his shoulder blades, and he swore he could feel her heartbeat through his jacket.
He rode slower than usual. He wanted the moment to last.
When they reached her street, she squeezed him gently, a silent signal that she recognized the turn. He pulled into her driveway, killed the engine, and the world went quiet except for the ticking of cooling metal.
She didn't let go right away.
Her arms stayed around him, her cheek still against his back. He didn't move either. He didn't want to break the soft quietness growing between them.
Finally, she slid off the bike, her hand trailing along his arm as she stepped back. "Thank you," she said softly.
In Everstill, life was different. Ideas on how to please Jillian never occurred to him. But living with her here, he thought about her constantly.
Instead of explaining what was going on in his head, he simply nodded and followed her inside.
Her house was warmer tonight. The mood was softer, more vulnerable. Like she'd carried the weight of her mother's fading memory home with her, and he wanted to take care of her.
She set her bag down and turned toward him. "What made you come to the nursing home?"
"I wanted to see you," he said.
"It meant a lot." She stepped closer. "You're getting more comfortable navigating around by yourself since finding Finn."
"It helps knowing he's here." He inhaled deeply. "That he understands."
Her gaze dropped. He lifted her chin, making her look at him.
He didn't know how to explain his emotions over watching her with her mother. The tenderness, the patience, the heartbreak she carried without complaint. He'd never seen anything like it. Never had anything like it.
"I want to understand you," he whispered.
Jillian reached up and touched his cheek, her thumb brushing lightly along his jaw. It wasn't sexual. It wasn't rushed. It was gentle, loving, intimate in a way he didn't know how to handle.
He leaned into her touch without meaning to.
"I don't see the person you were in the past." She smiled softly. "You're a good man, Moe."
He swallowed hard. "Don't know about that."
"I do."
She stepped closer, resting her forehead against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her like she was something fragile and fierce all at once. She fit against him perfectly, like she belonged there.
They stood there, breathing the same quiet air, letting the moment settle around them.
And that was when he felt it.
A cold ripple slid across the back of his neck. Not wind. Not temperature. Something else. Something wrong.
Jillian stiffened in his arms. "Moe... did you feel that?"
He turned slowly, scanning the room. The shadows in the corners looked deeper than they should've. The air was heavier. The silence was listening.
A faint flicker moved along the wall. It wasn't a light nor a shadow. It was darkness itself, shifting and moving.
"Moe." Jillian grabbed his arm, panic evident in her voice.
He stepped in front of her instinctively, shielding her with his body.
The flicker pulsed again. Then again. Like it was searching for a way out or looking for them.
His heart hammered. "Finn said it'd show up."
Jillian's voice trembled. "Is that it?"
He didn't know how to answer. The darkness wasn't a shape. It wasn't a creature. It was a presence. A wrongness, pressing against the world like it wanted in.
The flicker stretched upward, thin and tall, then snapped back into the corner like it had been pulled away.
The air lightened. The shadows softened. The room returned to normal.
Jillian exhaled shakily. "Oh, my God. It was watching us."
Moe didn't take his eyes off the corner. "Yeah."
"What do we do?" She slid her hand into his, gripping tight.
He squeezed back, fierce and protective. "We don't let it take you."
She looked up at him, eyes wide and trusting. "Or you."
He swallowed hard. "Or me."
The darkness had found them. Moe wasn't going to let it take them back to Everstill. Not now. Not ever.