I guess we haven’t been as secretive as we’ve thought.
“I’ll check on him,” I promise.
She hops out, gear bag bouncing against the backs of her legs, and doesn’t look back. For a long moment, I sit there, engineidling as I say a little prayer that, whatever happens, that little girl escapes the brunt of it.
Then I put the car in gear and drive.
The market is nearly empty when I pull in, thanks to most people being at work. A quick thumbs-up text to Silas is read immediately. The crutch feels lighter today. I may get brave at home, but I’m not stubborn enough to try making it through a full day without some kind of help.
A few familiar faces call out good-morning. Mrs. Callahan from the diner asks about my leg. Someone from the PTA waves from behind the bakery display.
For once, the attention doesn’t make me flinch.
I pick up coffee beans, milk, and the cinnamon Aubrey likes in her cocoa. It feels good to move through the aisles, to do something that doesn’t revolve around worry.
Near the checkout, I hear Thorn’s voice—steady, low, and instantly recognizable. He’s by the front window, scanning the parking lot like he’s expecting trouble.
When his eyes find me, they soften a fraction. “Hey, Oakley.”
“Morning.”
“How’s the leg?”
“Still attached,” I say, earning a laugh. “How’s Silas when he isn’t with us?”
Thorn’s mouth tightens. “Skated like he meant it last night. That’s an improvement.”
It is. It really is.
He nods toward my cart. “Need an escort to the car?”
I shake my head. “Think I’ve got it handled.”
“Still,” he says gently, “if anything feels off, call me or Silas. Sheriff’s got extra patrols near your street.”
The reminder sends a cold thread of worry through my spine. I force a smile anyway. “Thanks, Thorn.”
He tips his chin once. “Always.”
Outside, the wind bites harder than it did thirty minutes ago. I balance the grocery bag in one arm and my crutch in the other, heading toward my car.
Halfway there, I hear it—an engine idling two rows over. It sounds like an older truck, maybe. The rumble crawls under my skin before I even see it. Dark blue. A man with a ball cap is in the driver’s seat.
My pulse jumps.
Then the driver door opens, and Mr. O’Reilly from the hardware store climbs out, waving cheerfully before heading into the market.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Get a grip,” I mutter to myself, fumbling for the keys.
The thing about fear is that it doesn’t disappear when the threat does. It lingers, changing shape until you almost mistake it for instinct.
By the time I start the car, my hands have stopped shaking enough for me to let Silas know I’m heading his way.
When I pull into the driveway, Silas is outside fixing the porch light. Is that another new security camera? There is a smear of dirt across his cheekbone, and his sleeves are shoved to his elbows.
He looks up when he hears the tires crunch on gravel. Relief flickers across his face before he masks it. “Hey,” he says, coming down the steps. “You did it.”
I lift the grocery bag. “Even managed to not crash into anything.”
