Page 90 of Deacon

Once the last heavy piece was inside, Dad surveyed the living room with the expression of a man still searching for one practical excuse to remain.

“We can go get pizzas,” my father offered, not quite meeting my eyes. “Bring them back.”

I understood the offer for what it was. One more hour. One more reason not to drive away yet. I shook my head. “No, that’s okay. You two should get back to Wicker Falls. We’ll be alright for dinner.”

He hesitated, still searching for a reason to make staying sound necessary. “You sure?”

I softened because pushing him out didn’t erase what this move cost him. “Yes,” I said, gentler now. “I’m sure, Dad. We’re fine.”

Matty set down the box in his hands while Dad looked between Jade, me, and our half-unpacked home. None of it gave him the argument he wanted. Eventually, he accepted that.

He hugged Jade first, then me. Matty followed, mine briefer and stiffer than usual, apology tangled with irritation in the quick squeeze. A minute later their footsteps faded down the stairs.

I stayed in the doorway until Dad’s truck started. Without them, the apartment finally had room to breathe. The silence belonged to Jade and me now, and so did every half-open box and unfamiliar room. Whatever we built here would belong to us too.

Jade leaned against the frame beside me. “You good?”

She tried to make it casual. She had never been especially good at hiding when she was checking on me.

“Yeah,” I said. “You?”

She shrugged, the answer carrying more affection than complaint. “Uncle Matty gets weird.”

He did, especially when love convinced him he had jurisdiction. “That he does.”

Her mouth twitched before she offered a peace treaty disguised as neighborhood intelligence. “Cage says the vending machine in the laundry room eats dollars but works if you hit the side twice.”

I looked down at her. “That’s useful information,” I said.

She smiled, small and sly, and went back inside. My phone buzzed before I could follow.

Running a little late. Movers are slow and men are weak. Save me.

A laugh escaped me.

“Evan?” Jade asked from the kitchen.

There was only one person in my life who could turn moving delays into a personal betrayal. “Of course.”

“That man really thinks he’s the main character.”

For all his dramatics, he had shown up for us every time it mattered. “He’s not wrong.”

Her laugh followed her down the hall. I took an empty box downstairs, mostly because standing still gave me too much room to think.

The evening air had cooled. I dropped the empty into the rental truck and shifted a couple of manageable boxes closer to the edge for Jade. Dad’s truck was gone from the street.

Good. The relief came without guilt.

Then a motorcycle rolled into the complex. The engine caught me before the rider did.

Jackson.

He came through the lot and parked a few rows over, moving with the same easy control that had once been so familiar I could have picked him out from a block away. He looked stronger than he had in the hospital, color back in his face and none of the awful stillness of that bed. Better wasn’t healed. He had no business riding across town or hauling boxes.

That should have been my biggest problem. Jade was upstairs.

Jackson crossed the lot toward me with the stubborn purpose I remembered too well. He reached the truck, ignored my stare, and took hold of the nearest box as if helping had already been decided.