“Thanks,” I managed, and tried to sit up straighter.
Rawley’s voice was gruff, but the sharp edges had softened. “What the hell are you doing, driving all this way alone?”
“I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble,” I said. “Didn’t want Dad to find out.”
He scoffed. “He’s going to find out, Carter. That’s what he does.”
I sipped the water, and the room steadied a bit. “Maybe. But at least I got here first.”
Rawley nodded, then looked at Macon. “You staying tonight?”
“If he wants me to,” Macon said, never taking his eyes off me.
I did want it, but I couldn’t say it. Not out loud. I just nodded, and Macon’s hand settled on top of mine, thumb tracing the back of my knuckles.
Rawley’s shoulders slumped, and I could almost see the fight drain out of him. “Okay. Just—let me know if you need anything.” He hesitated, then ruffled my hair like I was twelve. “Get some rest, Little Brother.”
He closed the door behind him, and Macon exhaled, long and slow.
We sat in the silence, just breathing. I munched a cracker, then another, crumbs dusting my shirt. Macon watched, an amused glint in his eyes, and I realized how ridiculous I must look.
“What,” I said, mouth full.
He grinned. “Never thought I’d see the day you’d take orders from a cracker.”
I swallowed. “Yeah, well. Never thought I’d see the day you’d carry me like a damsel.”
His smile faded, and he looked down at our hands, fingers tangled together.
“I meant what I said,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not letting you do this alone. Even if you want to hate me for it.”
I didn’t want to hate him. I wanted to memorize every line of his face, every scar, every story he never told. But the words felt too big, too much, so I just squeezed his hand tighter.
“Okay,” I said. “Stay.”
He did. He stayed through the crackers, through the water, through the long dark that settled outside the window. When I started to doze, he pulled the quilt up over my shoulders and smoothed the hair from my forehead.
I felt stupid for liking it so much.
I drifted in and out, the world blurry and soft, but every time I surfaced, he was still there, thumb stroking my hand, gaze never leaving my face.
Sometime in the middle of the night, I woke up to find him still beside me, sitting in the old desk chair, head bowed and hands folded like he was praying. Maybe he was. Maybe we both were, in our own broken ways.
I shifted under the blanket, and his eyes snapped open, instantly alert.
“Did I wake you?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Just—wanted to make sure you were still here.”
He smiled, and it was the softest thing I’d ever seen. “Not going anywhere.”
I let myself believe it, just for tonight.
When sleep dragged me back under, I felt safe for the first time in years.
And in the dark, with Macon’s hand in mine and the sound of his breathing anchoring me to the world, I dreamed of something I never thought I’d have—a future.
