Chapter Twenty-Four
T he bus doors stayed open. The whole world moving like this was ordinary while his own had narrowed to the space between where he stood and where Miles stood a few feet away.
Savannah’s face was pressed into his neck again, her tears had soaked into his hoodie, and her rabbit was crushed between them. The bags were cutting into Tanner’s fingers hard enough that his hands had started to go numb.
Miles didn’t move closer and that should have helped more than it actually did.
Tanner kept looking at the bus doors because they were simple. The bus was motion. The bus was leaving. The bus was one decision and then another place. It was easier to stare at that than at Miles with his steady face and his quiet voice and the fact that he’d come alone.
“You don’t have to trust the system,” Miles had said. “You just have to trust me enough not to step onto that bus while Savannah is begging you to go home.”
Tanner hated how true that was, because he did trust Miles. Not all the way, but enough that the words got under his skin.
He kept his eyes on the bus. If he moved now, he could still do it. Two steps. Maybe three with the bags and Savannah clinging to him. Hand over the ticket, get onto the bus and sit down. Go somewhere else and work it out there.
But the panic that had gotten him this far had burned out.
What was left behind felt shaky. Savannah had cried herself out.
He’d scared her. No matter how he dressed it up in his own head, that was true.
He’d walked her out of the house with a fake smile and a lie about a little trip, and now she was exhausted and whispering “home” like she couldn’t understand why he wasn’t listening.
Miles watched him and didn’t fill the silence. He let Tanner know he was there.
“Tanner.” His name, low and even. He looked up before he meant to, seeing Miles hadn’t changed position.
Tanner’s grip tightened on Savannah. “Don’t.”
Miles nodded, like he understood what Tanner meant even though Tanner didn’t know if he did himself.
The driver stepped half down from the bus and looked over. “You boarding or not?”
The question cut straight through the moment and Tanner flinched.
Miles answered before he could. “Give us a minute.”
The driver looked between them, took in Savannah crying and Tanner white-knuckling the bags, and muttered something that sounded irritated. He stepped back up onto the bus and turned away.
Tanner let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.
“Look at me,” Miles said. Tanner almost said no on reflex, but he found himself doing it. Miles held his gaze. “I believe you.”
Tanner frowned. “What?”
“I believe you panicked.” Miles kept his voice low. “I believe you ran because you thought they were coming to take her. I’m not standing here thinking you’ve done something to Savannah. I’m not standing here thinking you’re dangerous to her.”
The station noise carried on around them, but Tanner barely heard it for a second. He’d been so sure an accusation was coming that the lack of it left him off balance. His mouth worked before anything useful formed. “That doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
Tanner looked away and the bus doors blurred and his eyes burned. “You read one letter and now you think you understand.”
“No,” Miles said. “I read the letter and the note you left, and I understood enough to know why you’d do this.”
That note. Heat rose in Tanner’s face. He hadn’t thought about Miles reading it. Not really. He’d only thought about leaving something behind so Mrs. Hemsworth didn’t think the worst about him.
“I shouldn’t have left that.”
Miles didn’t argue. “Maybe not.”
Tanner’s head snapped back around. “That’s helpful.”
“I’m not here to pretend everything you did tonight was a good idea.”
The bluntness of it had Tanner sucking in a breath and staring at Miles.
Miles held the stare. “You scared Savannah. You scared the people who care about you and if you get on that bus and keep running, this will be harder to fix. You know that.”
Savannah shifted in Tanner’s arms and made a tired little sound. Tanner looked down and rubbed her back. Her face was damp and hot against his neck. She was half-asleep now, crying less because she didn’t have much left in her.
He had done that to her.
Miles’ voice softened a fraction. “But I’m still here.”
Tanner’s chest clenched. He tightened his hold on Savannah and looked at the floor between them. The tiles were scuffed gray. Someone had dropped a sugar packet near the leg of the bench and not picked it up. Stupid details were the sort of thing his mind took in.
“If I go back,” he said, and his voice came out rougher than he meant it to, “then what?”
Miles didn’t answer too fast. “Then we deal with what’s actually in front of us.”
“That letter is in front of us.”
“Yeah.”
“It says assessment.”
“I know.”
“It says next steps.”
“I know.”
Tanner laughed but there was no humor in it. “You keep saying that.”
“I do.”
Tanner shook his head hard. “No. You know what the words say. That isn’t the same thing.”
Miles nodded. “Then tell me the difference.”
Tanner looked up at him properly then, anger flashing back to life because he couldn’t believe Miles was asking. “The difference is I’ve heard words like that before.”
He could feel the heat in his own face, the tightness in his throat. The bus, the people, the whole station could have disappeared and it would have made no difference. He was back in another room with adults talking over him in soft, careful voices that made everything worse.
“Follow-up means they already think something’s wrong,” he said. “Assessment means they come in and look around and decide what kind of home this is. Next steps means they’ve already got steps in mind. They don’t send extra people because things are fine.”
Tanner kept going because now it was out and he couldn’t seem to stop it.
“And child to be present.” His voice cracked on the last word and he swallowed hard.
“Why does she need to be there if not so they can see her and decide? Why does some stranger need to stand in my house and look at her room and her clothes and ask me questions that all sound normal until the wrong answer means something?”
The last few words came too fast. He heard them and hated that he sounded near panic again. He dragged in a breath and tried to get control back.
Miles nodded again. “That’s what you saw.”
“That’s what it says.”
“That’s what it felt like.”
Tanner’s mouth flattened. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make it sound like something it isn’t.”
Miles shook his head. “I’m not making it something it isn’t. I’m separating what scared you from what’s actually happened so we can deal with both.”
Tanner laughed again, quieter this time. “That sounds like the sort of thing someone says right before everything goes to shit.”
For the first time, something sharper moved through Miles’ face. Not anger. Frustration, maybe. The kind he was trying hard not to show.
“Alright,” he said. “Then let me say it a different way.” Miles kept his voice steady.
“I’m not asking you to pretend that letter didn’t hit every bad place in you.
It did. I can see that. I’m asking you to stop long enough to let me help with what comes next instead of making choices from the worst moment in your head. ”
Tanner looked at the bus again because it was easier than standing with what Miles had just said.
The doors were still open, but only just. The driver was watching now with the strained patience of someone deciding how much longer he was willing to wait.
Savannah stirred and lifted her head a little.
Her lashes were clumped with tears. She looked from Tanner to Miles and back again.
“Home?” she whispered.
That one word broke something in Tanner. He had left because he thought he was protecting her. Now she was exhausted, and frightened, and asking for the place he’d carried her away from.
His fingers loosened a fraction on the bags.
Miles saw it but he didn’t react. He just stayed still and let Tanner have the time he needed.
Savannah made a reaching motion then. Not fully toward Miles. Just enough that her hand lifted off Tanner’s chest and hovered for a second in his direction before she gave up and curled it back into the fabric of Tanner’s hoodie.
Tanner shut his eyes for one second and when he opened them, he looked at Miles. “I can’t lose her,” Tanner said, and hated how weak he sounded.
“You’re not losing her tonight.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’m standing here telling you we’re going home, not handing her over to anyone.”
That wasn’t enough. Tanner knew it wasn’t enough. It didn’t solve the letter. It didn’t cancel the assessment. It didn’t make him legally anything. But it was enough to stop the next step toward the bus.
His hands were shaking badly now, he couldn’t hide it anymore. The adrenaline that had kept him going had burned out.
Miles’ gaze dropped to the bags and came back up. “Lower them.”
Tanner frowned. “What?”
“Just a little.”
The instruction was calm and practical and that was probably why he listened so he let the bags drop an inch.
The relief in his hands was immediate and it made him realize how hard he’d been gripping.
He didn’t let go completely. He only lowered them enough that the straps weren’t cutting into his fingers.
Miles nodded. “Good.” The simple approval hit harder than it should have.
The driver stepped down from the bus again. “You boarding or not?”
This time Tanner answered. “No.”
The driver gave them one last look, then turned and went back up. A second later the doors shut and the bus pulled away.
He stood there watching it go, every part of him waiting for the regret to hit, or for panic to rush back, but it didn’t.
Miles took one careful step closer. “Can I take the bags?” Tanner hesitated, blinking at him. “Yes or no,” Miles said. “Your call.”