"It's not much, but it's safe for now." He sets my bag on the bed nearest the door. "I'll take this one. You can have the other."
I stand awkwardly in the middle of the room, suddenly overwhelmed by the reality of what I've done. I've left my house. Run away from Devin. And now I'm hiding in a motel room with a man I haven't seen in two years, who's somehow transformed into someone I barely recognize.
"Tyler, are you finally going to tell me about that?" I gesture to his vest. "Outlaw Order? Are you in some kind of gang now?"
His jaw tightens. "It's a club, not a gang."
"What's the difference?" I challenge.
"Brotherhood. Purpose. Family." He shrugs off the cut, and lays it over the back of a chair. The T-shirt underneath stretches across broader shoulders than I remember, revealing new tattoos peeking out from under the sleeves.
"That doesn't really answer my question." I sit on the edge of my assigned bed, suddenly exhausted. "What exactly does the Outlaw Order do? You’re avoiding giving me a proper answer."
Tyler takes a seat opposite me, his forearms resting on his knees as he leans forward. "Look, I didn't come back to explain my life choices. I came back because you needed help."
"And I appreciate that. I do." I touch the bruise around my eye self-consciously. "But I called Tyler Jackson, my old friend. And you show up looking like..." I gesture vaguely at him, at the cut, at the visible knife sheath. "This. It's a lot to process."
He sighs, running a hand through his short-cropped hair. "After I left Hope Peak, things were rough. I was angry. Lost. The transition to civilian life wasn't going well." His eyes meet mine. "The club gave me structure. Purpose. People who understood what it's like to live with the things I've seen and done."
"So, they're other veterans?"
"Some. Not all." He shifts, and I notice him subtly stretching his bad leg. "They took me in when I was at my lowest. That's all that matters."
I want to press further, but the exhaustion of the past twenty-four hours is catching up to me. My body feels leaden, my thoughts foggy. Tyler must notice because his expression softens.
"You should rest," he says. "When's the last time you slept?"
I try to remember. Last night was spent crying and panicking. The night before, Devin had come home drunk. So..."Maybe two days ago? Really slept, I mean."
Tyler nods like this confirms something for him. "Lie down. I'll keep watch."
"Keep watch? Tyler, this is Hope Peak, not Afghanistan."
A shadow crosses his face. "Habit."
Something in his tone stops me from arguing further. I kick off my shoes and stretch out on the bed, not bothering to get under the covers. Despite my racing thoughts, exhaustion pulls at me immediately.
"What happens now?" I ask, my voice already slurring with approaching sleep.
"Now you rest," Tyler says, his voice low and steady. "I'll handle the rest."
"That's what I'm afraid of," I murmur, but sleep claims me before I can hear his response.
A few hours later
I wake disoriented, the unfamiliar ceiling above me causing a moment of panic before memory returns. Motel room. Tyler. Escape.
Sunlight filters through the closed curtains, casting the room in a muted glow. I turn my head to see Tyler sitting at the small table, cleaning a disassembled gun. The sight is so unexpected that I freeze, just watching him.
His movements are practiced and efficient. This isn't new to him. His focus is absolute, his face set in concentration, eyes sharp as they track each component. This is the soldier I never really saw. Tyler came home from his last deployment already discharged, already a civilian trying to forget his military life.
I must make some small sound because his head snaps up, eyes finding mine instantly. For a brief moment, I see something dangerous in his gaze before recognition softens it.
"Hey," he says, setting down the part he was cleaning. "Feel better?"
I push myself up to sitting, surprised to find a blanket draped over me. Tyler must have covered me while I slept.
"What time is it?" My voice comes out rough from sleep.
