Chapter Twenty-Three
M iles saw them before Tanner saw him. That gave him maybe three seconds to read the scene and understand how bad it was.
Tanner stood near the boarding lane with one bag in each hand and Savannah on his hip.
She was crying into his neck, her cheeks wet and red and little hands fisted in the front of his hoodie.
Tanner looked like he hadn’t slept in a couple of days.
His eyes kept looking over the room. Threats, real or imagined, all getting logged.
His jaw was tight enough to hurt just looking at it.
Even from a distance Miles could see the twitch in his leg and the way he kept shifting his grip on the bags as if he expected somebody to try and take one from him.
This wasn’t Tanner making a scene. This was Tanner cornered, and seeing it hit Miles hard.
Miles stopped just inside the station doors and forced himself not to move too fast. The wrong speed would blow this before he got close enough to speak.
He took the room in first. Bus at bay three.
Line forming. Driver already on edge and trying to keep people moving.
No visible uniforms. Good. No one from the station staff looking interested in Tanner and Savannah beyond the crying.
A couple of passengers glancing over because children crying in public always drew eyes.
Tanner still hadn’t looked his way, so Miles started walking.
Not straight on. From the side, and slow enough that Tanner could track him the whole way if he turned his head. He kept his hands where they could be seen and his shoulders loose on purpose even though every muscle in his body was tight.
Halfway across the room, Tanner looked up and spotted him, and his reaction was instant.
Every line in Tanner’s body changed. Shoulders up, his weight shifting and his grip tightening on Savannah and the bags tightening. Eyes going hard in that way Miles had seen before in people who had decided the room was no longer safe and they needed to get out.
So Miles stopped, and he knew Tanner needed to see him stop.
The bus driver called boarding. People began moving forward in a loose line, ticket stubs and phones in hand.
Savannah said, “Home,” in a tired voice.
Tanner’s hand went to the back of her head at once.
Miles stayed where he was. He wanted to close the distance. Every instinct he had was pushing him to move. Take the bags. Calm Savannah. Put a hand on Tanner’s shoulder and say I’ve got this. But none of that would help just then. Not when Tanner was ready to run.
Miles murmured, “Hey.”
Tanner didn’t answer. His eyes flicked to the bus, then to the doors, then back to Miles. Then over Miles’ shoulder toward the entrance.
Miles watched, knowing Tanner needed room more than he needed words right then.
“Last call for bay three,” the driver shouted.
Savannah made another small, broken sound and pressed her face harder into Tanner’s neck.
Miles took in Tanner’s hands. The white grip on the bag straps.
The tremor there. The way he was holding Savannah too tightly and still somehow with care.
He could see the conflict plain as day even from where he stood.
Tanner had gotten this far on momentum. Momentum had brought him all the way to the bus.
But now Savannah was crying for home and Tanner stood frozen.
Miles moved closer and Tanner’s whole body tensed so he immediately stopped again. “I’m not here to trap you,” he said.
Tanner’s mouth flattened. “Then leave.” The answer came fast. Too fast.
Miles kept his tone even. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
Because I found your note on the counter and it hasn’t left my head since. Because Savannah is falling apart and so are you. Because I care about what happens to both of you a lot more than I should.
He didn’t say any of it. He said, “Because you don’t need to do this on your own.”
Something flickered in Tanner’s face. Anger first and then fear followed by a flash of hurt that was gone so fast Miles almost thought he’d imagined it.
Tanner looked away first. At the floor. At the bus. At Savannah. Anywhere but him.
“She needs home,” Miles said quietly.
That hit. He saw it in the way Tanner swallowed. “She needs me,” Tanner shot back.
“I know.”
“You don’t know anything.”
Miles nodded. “I know you panicked.”
Tanner’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t.”
“I’m not saying it to use it against you.”
“Then don’t say it at all.”
People kept moving past to board and now the line was almost gone. The driver was watching the room more than the tickets.
Miles lowered his voice further. “I read the letter.”
Tanner froze.
Savannah sniffed and whispered, “Miles.”
That was the first time she’d lifted her head enough to see him properly. Her lashes were stuck together with tears. Her lower lip trembled when she reached one hand out a little and then curled it back into Tanner’s hoodie instead.
He wanted to move closer for Savannah, but he didn’t. He kept his boots planted where they were.
“Tanner.” He waited until Tanner looked at him again. “No uniform. No radio. No one else. That was on purpose.”
Tanner’s fingers flexed on the bag handles. “How’d you find us?”
“The house was empty and Mrs. Hemsworth had the spare key. Cody said public place first if you had her with you.” He held Tanner’s gaze. “TJ knows enough not to put this over the radio.” The mention of TJ made Tanner flinch. Miles saw it and added, “Nothing official. Not yet.”
“Yet,” Tanner repeated.
“I’m not going to bullshit you. If you disappear with Savannah and keep disappearing, I can’t hold that line forever.”
Tanner’s breathing turned ragged. “So this is still a threat.”
“No. It’s me telling you the truth before somebody else gets the chance to be involved.”
The driver called out again, impatient now. “Last boarding.”
The bus door stayed open and Tanner looked at it.
Miles watched the conflict on Tanner’s face. Get on. Run. Don’t get on. Savannah crying. Miles in front of him. The old panic and the new life grinding against each other.
“You think they’ll take her,” Miles said. It wasn’t a question. It didn’t need to be.
Tanner’s laugh came out wrong. Thin and wrecked. “You think they won’t?”
Miles chose every word carefully. “I think this letter scared the hell out of you. I think you read it and heard the worst thing that ever happened to you all over again.” He held Tanner’s gaze. “And I think getting on that bus with her while you’re in this state won’t fix what you’re scared of.”
Tanner’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t get to tell me what fixes it.”
“No.” Miles kept his tone calm. “I get to tell you I’m standing here and I’m not judging you for being scared.”
For one second Tanner looked young. Too young for the weight in his arms and the decision in front of him.
Savannah’s crying had dropped to soft, worn-down sniffles. She was limp with tiredness now, her rabbit crushed between them.
Miles glanced at her and then back at Tanner. “She’s done.”
Tanner’s mouth tightened but he said nothing.
“Take one breath,” Miles said. Tanner stared at him. “Just one,” Miles repeated.
The driver stepped down from the bus and looked toward them, clearly deciding whether he had a boarding issue or just a crying child and an indecisive parent. Miles clocked it immediately.
“Tanner,” he said quietly. “Look at me.”
After a second, Tanner did.
Miles held eye contact and kept his voice low. “You don’t have to trust the system. You just have to trust me enough not to step onto that bus while Savannah is begging you to go home.”
Tanner’s eyes flickered with panic, anger, and fear. His grip tightened and loosened on the bags. Savannah sagged against him, worn out after all the crying.
Miles knew the next words mattered. He drew a breath, ready to say them.
And Tanner stood there on the edge of either getting on that bus or letting himself be talked back from it, with the doors still open and waiting.