A laugh bursts from me—short, wrong. “Safe?You’re sending me with a fucking stalker?”
She picks up the suitcase, testing its weight, her lips a thin line. Refusing to acknowledge my statement.
“You could say no,” I plead, standing. “Tell Papa to find another way. You’ve said no to him before.”
Her knuckles whiten on the handle, eyes flickering toward the window. “And if refusing brings those men out of the shadows? If they come for you…?” She shakes her head. “I can’t say no. Not this time.”
I swallow. “Jacob isn’t the answer,” I whisper. “He’s another problem.”
Footsteps sound in the hall. Soft at first, but then become harder, more deliberate.
Papa appears in the doorway, keys in one hand, expression stony. “He’s on his way.”
I spring up. “No. I can hide… stay in the attic—get an officer at the door?—”
Papa’s jaw clenches. “This isn’t up for debate, Summer. You’re going with him, and that’s final.”
Papa’s decision reverberates in the air. Mama’s mouth is a parchment-sealed envelope; nothing more will escape her tonight. My heart, frantic and traitorous, beats against the tight skin beneath my collarbones.
A low, hard knock sounds at the front door—three precise raps, each one sending vibrations into my molars. Mama flinches. Papa juts out his chin while he lifts my luggage, and marches through the narrow hall, heading to let the monster lurking outside in.
I smell him before I see him—cedar and oil and something metallic, masked under a crisp cologne. I reluctantly make my way downstairs, aware there’s no way out of this situation. The hallway door creaks open, and the sound of heavy boots echoes on the wooden floor. Papa presents my bag, as if making a transaction. My breath catches in my throat as I watch.
Jacob steps into the light, posture rigid, embodying the role of a lawman. His uniform is immaculate, and the badge on his chestshines brightly. His beard is short, tapered, and groomed. He scans the room before his dark eyes settle on me, lingering with a cool, assessing gaze.
“Everything ready?” Jacob’s voice is smooth and composed, like he rehearsed it.
Papa gives a firm nod, eyes gleaming with regret. “You’ll take care of her.”
Jacob’s lips twist into something resembling a smile, but his gaze remains distant and cold. “I’ll take good care of her. You have my word.”
Mama moves to me and cups my cheeks in her trembling, warm hands. She brushes a kiss across my forehead. “You’ll be okay, baby.”
Jacob snatches the suitcase from Papa with a cold indifference, eyes locked onto mine. “We need to go.”
I dig my heels into the ground defiantly. “Not until you explain why I have to go with you. Why can’t you just post an officer at our door until you catch these guys?”
He lets out a long breath, as if the answer should be seared into my mind. “Because they’re already hunting you, and a badge on your porch won’t deter them.” His gaze pierces through me, unwaveringly heavy. “With me, you stand a chance. Alone… who knows how long you’ll last.”
The words take a moment to fully register, settling in my stomach with a queasy, unsettling churn, like spoiled milk. “So what?” I ask, tone tinged with disbelief. “I’m supposed to climb into your truck and act like everything is perfectly normal?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“This isn’t up for discussion, Summer,” he commands, voice low and even. It carries a weight that feels heavier than any shout. “One way or another, you are leaving this house tonight. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
Before I can protest further, his hand gently touches the small of my back. It’s a light, calculated touch—not forceful or restrictive—just a quiet reminder that he now dictates my movements.
Mama’s tears glisten on her cheeks, and Papa’s eyes are bright and wet. “We love you,” he murmurs, trembling slightly. “This is only temporary.”
The truck waits outside, looming with its imposing black frame. The porch light casts a distorted glow over the hood, adding an eerie shimmer. Jacob swings open the passenger door, and the metal creaks in protest, as if even it knows I shouldn’t step inside.
“Climb in,” he instructs.
Reluctantly, I do. The leather seat is icy against my skin, carrying the faint scent of oil and smoke—so unmistakably him.
The door slams with a resolute, echoing thud that seals my fate. In the side mirror, the warmth of the porch light dwindles, swallowed by the night. The darkness outside is impenetrable, devouring the outlines of the trees.
