Chapter 7 - Tom #2
She pulls back slightly, looking up at me with those tired brown eyes. "He said he was going to hurt you. That you'd regret helping me."
"Let him try." The words come out harder than I intend. "Claire, I need you to listen to me. That man is never getting near you or Jackson again. I'm going to make sure of it. Do you understand?"
She nods, but I can see the doubt in her eyes. She's been running for so long, been afraid for so long, that my promises probably sound hollow. Like things people say but can't actually deliver.
I'll prove it to her. Whatever it takes, I'll prove that she's safe here.
Jackson lifts his head from Claire's shoulder, his face streaked with tears. "Is Daddy in jail?"
How do you answer that? How do you explain to a four-year-old that his father is a bad man who hurts people?
"Your daddy made some bad choices," I say. "Some friends of mine are teaching him why those choices were wrong. But you and your mom are safe now. That's what's important."
"I don't want to see him," Jackson whispers. "He's mean."
Claire makes a sound like her heart is breaking, and I tighten my arms around both of them.
"You don't have to see him," I promise. "Not unless you want to. And I don't think he'll be coming around anymore. Not after tonight."
We stand there for a long moment, the three of us tangled together in my hallway. I can feel Claire's heart racing against my chest, gradually slowing as she realizes the danger has passed.
This. This is what I was protecting. Not just abstract concepts of justice and law, but this woman and this child. This family.
But… They're not my family. I need to remember that. But God help me, holding them feels right in a way nothing has felt right in years.
"Come on," I say eventually, gently pulling back. "Let's sit down. You've both had a shock."
I guide them to the couch, and only then do I notice the smell. Something delicious coming from the kitchen. Garlic and butter and seafood.
Claire follows my gaze and tries to smile. "I made dinner. I hope that's okay. I used your shrimp and some of your pasta, and if you didn't want me to use them, I'll pay you back—"
"Claire." I stop her rambling. "You made dinner?"
"I wanted to do something. To thank you. To feel useful." She's crying again, silent tears tracking down her face. "It's probably cold and ruined and—"
"I'm sure it's perfect." And I mean it. This woman, terrified and shaking, being pursued by her abuser, still found the strength to cook a meal. To do something kind. To give something back.
"There's enough for you," she says. "If you're hungry. If you want it."
I'm not particularly hungry, but I nod anyway. Because I can see that she needs this. Needs to know that her gesture mattered, that she contributed something, that she's not just taking up space.
"I'd love some. Let me just make one quick call, and then we'll eat together."
She nods, and I step into the kitchen to reheat the food while I pull out my phone. Beast answers on the first ring.
"Sheriff."
"How's our guest?"
"Learning some valuable lessons about respecting women. Don't worry. He'll be alive and mostly functional when we're done. But he won't forget tonight anytime soon."
"Good. Make sure he understands that if he comes back, if he tries to contact her, if he even thinks about Blackwater Falls, the consequences will be worse."
"Consider it done. We'll drop him at the county line in a few hours. Let him find his own way back to whatever hole he crawled out of."
"Appreciate it, Beast."
"Anytime, Sheriff. That's what we do. We protect our own. And that woman and her kid? They're ours now. Anyone messes with them messes with the Riders."
I hang up feeling better than I have all day. The MC might have a rough reputation, but they're men of their word. And they understand justice in ways the legal system sometimes can't.
Claire has Jackson settled on the couch with a blanket, some dinosaur documentary playing on the TV. She's in the kitchen, plating the reheated pasta.
"You didn't have to do this," I say, watching her move through my kitchen like she belongs there.
"I wanted to." She sets a plate in front of me, her hands steadier now. "It's the least I could do after everything you've done for us."
The pasta looks incredible—shrimp and garlic and butter, simple but perfect. I take a bite, and it's the best thing I've tasted in years.
"Claire." I look up at her. "This is amazing."
She actually smiles. It's small and fragile, but it's real. "My mom taught me to cook. Before I… before everything."
Before Derek. Before the isolation and the abuse and the years of being told she was worthless.
"Well, she taught you well."
We eat in silence, the sound of the documentary drifting in from the living room. Jackson's voice occasionally chimes in with facts about whatever dinosaur is on screen. Claire keeps glancing toward him, making sure he's okay, that he's processing everything as well as a four-year-old can.
"What happens now?" she finally asks.
"Now you stay here. Both of you. For as long as you need."
"Tom, I can't—"
"Yes, you can. And you will." I set down my fork.
"Derek knows you're in Blackwater Falls now.
But after tonight, he also knows what happens if he comes back.
My friends made sure of that. Still, the motel isn't safe.
He could send people. Could try something stupid.
But here?" I gesture around us. "Here, I can protect you.
And the whole town knows the situation now. Everyone's watching."
"But your house—"
"Is big enough for three people. And honestly?" I pause, trying to figure out how to say this without sounding like a creep. "It's been empty too long. Having you both here... it feels right."
She stares at me, and I can see her trying to understand. Trying to figure out my angle, what I want, why I'm doing this.
I don't have a good answer. Just that seeing her and Jackson safe, in my home, eating food she made, feels like the most important thing I've ever done.
"Okay," she whispers finally. "Okay. We'll stay. At least until I figure out what's next."
"Thank you."
She laughs, the sound watery. "I should be thanking you. You just... you saved us. You saved our lives."
"Anyone would have done the same."
"No," she says firmly. "They wouldn't. But you did. And I'll never forget that."
We finish dinner while Jackson falls asleep on the couch, Rex clutched in his small hands. Claire carries him to the bedroom, tucking him in with a mother’s tenderness.
And when she comes back out, settling into the chair across from me with a cup of tea, I realize something that should terrify me but doesn't.
I don't want them to leave.
Not in a few days. Not in a few weeks. Maybe not ever.
I'm forty-three years old, and I've just met a woman and her son who've somehow become the most important people in my world.
God help me. What am I getting myself into?