Inside, the store was warm and dry, lit by banks of dusty fluorescent tubes that hummed like trapped insects. The aisles were narrow and crowded with every tool, bolt, and wire you could imagine. Two old-timers in matching camo hats leaned on the counter, jawing with the clerk about last year’s grain prices.
The second we walked in, every head turned. I felt the attention sweep over me, then settle, hot and heavy, on the side of my neck. I tried to shrink, but Rawley just clapped a hand on the small of my back and steered me up the nearest aisle.
He kept his palm there, thumb moving in slow circles, until I loosened up enough to breathe again.
He didn’t hesitate, didn’t duck his head or try to hide. If anything, he moved bigger—shoulders wide, stride confident, as if to warn the world that anyone with a problem could take it up with him.
I let myself be guided, enjoying the simple certainty of following orders. Rawley knew this place inside out. He rattled off the shopping list as we went: two spools of fourteen-gauge wire, baling twine, another pair of work gloves.
I juggled a clipboard and my notebook, checking off items as we dropped them into the cart.
A Beta in a green apron appeared at the end of the aisle, smile wide and just shy of nervous. “You need a hand finding anything, Mr. Steele?”
Rawley grunted a no, but the man’s eyes drifted to me. Then to the mark. He tried to keep his face blank, but a tick started in his cheek.
Rawley’s grip tightened on my back. The Beta cleared his throat, then melted away.
We finished the run in record time, only pausing once so Rawley could inspect a display of chainsaws. I watched the way he picked up each one, weighing it in his hand, judging the balance like a predator testing the heft of new teeth.
“You want the big one,” I said, before I could stop myself.
He looked at me, one eyebrow raised. “Think I can’t handle a lighter model?”
I grinned. “You just like the noise.”
He laughed, a low, rough sound that made my skin flush. “Fair enough.” He tossed the biggest saw in the cart and ruffled my hair.
As we turned down the next aisle, I caught a glimpse of myself reflected in a row of metal trash cans. The mark on my neck looked even darker than before, almost purple.
For a second, I felt like a dog with its collar on. But then Rawley leaned down and whispered, “Looks good,” and suddenly it wasn’t a collar—it was a medal.
We wound up at the checkout, the cart heaped high. Rawley started loading items onto the belt with mechanical precision.
I fumbled with my notebook, looking for the payment form I’d filled out for the local tax exemption. The pages stuck together and I dropped the pen twice. When I finally got it open, my hand was shaking.
Rawley caught it, steadying my fingers. “Hey,” he said, voice soft. “Take your time.”
The clerk, a sharp-eyed woman in her fifties, gave me a once-over. I braced for the usual look, the one that said “omega, charity case, can you even lift a shovel,” but instead she said, “He’s got a good head for numbers, that one.”
Rawley glanced at me, then nodded. “That’s why I keep him around.”
I blushed, but the praise felt good. Like I was more than just a body to keep the bed warm.
When we finished, Rawley paid in cash. The woman counted it out slow, eyes darting from him to me and back again. I realized she was searching for something, maybe a crack in the story, maybe just a way to place us in the town’s hierarchy.
She slid the receipt across the counter. “You’ll need help getting this all to the truck.”
“We got it,” Rawley said, already moving to grab the biggest boxes.
I loaded my arms with bags of nails and seed packets, following him outside. The cold air hit like a slap, but I kept pace, refusing to let the bags dig into my hands or show how much they weighed.
When we got to the truck, Rawley loaded the heavy stuff himself, then turned to me.
“You all right?” he asked, voice low.
I nodded. “Yeah. Just not used to people watching.”
“They’ll get used to it,” he said.
