I didn’t know what kind of father I was going to be. Maybe the worst. Maybe the best. But I knew this, I wasn’t my old man, and I wasn’t going to abandon anyone who counted on me.
Not in this life. Not ever.
***
I found Melissa hunched over the toilet in my bathroom, head pressed against the tank like it was the only thing holding her up. The overhead fluorescent buzzed, flickering in and out, turning her skin from white to green and back again with every pulse. She looked up at me through strands of hair stuck to her cheek, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Her knuckles were scraped, maybe from the wall, maybe from hitting something harder. She didn’t say anything, but I could hear her breathing—a staccato, wet hiccup that didn’t match the hard-edged girl who’d run half the southwest with a bounty on her head.
I grabbed a hand towel, ran it under cold water, and offered it to her. She pressed it to her face, sucked in a shaky breath, and then forced herself to her feet, using the edge of the sink for leverage. In the mirror, her eyes looked huge and ancient, rimmed with red. She glanced down, running her palm over her stomach, still flat as an ironing board, then let her hand linger there.
“Was it bad?” she asked, voice shot from the acid and the crying.
“The meeting?” I leaned against the doorframe, watching her like I was trying to memorize every line. “Could’ve been worse. Damron didn’t shoot me.”
She gave a bark of laughter, the kind that sounded like it hurt, then spat into the sink and rinsed her mouth out. “Would’ve been quicker, probably.”
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
She let the towel drop and turned to face me, arms folded across her chest, hugging herself like she was freezing. She wore my t-shirt, sleeves hanging past her elbows, the hem just skimming the curve of her ass. The look on her face was somewhere between embarrassed and defiant.
“You want me to take care of it?” she asked. “I can figure something out. I mean—”
“No,” I said, too loud. Then, softer: “No. That’snot what I want.”
She closed her eyes, shook her head once, then pressed the heel of her hand into her eye socket like she could scrub the whole memory out. “I don’t even know what I want,” she said. “I just don’t want to end up like them.”
She didn’t have to say who them was.
I stepped into the bathroom, crowding the little space, and took her hands in mine. They were cold and damp, but she didn’t pull away. “You won’t. I won’t let you.”
She looked up, and for a second, the blue in her eyes was almost hopeful. “You can’t promise that.”
“I can try.” I squeezed her fingers, felt her pulse against my thumb.
She sniffled, then laughed again, softer this time. “You sound like a fucking Hallmark card.”
I grinned, even though it felt like a bad joke. “Yeah, but with better hair.”
She smiled, and for the first time all morning, it looked real.
We went back to the bedroom. She dropped onto the edge of the mattress, hands twisting together in her lap, and stared at the wall like she was expecting it to hit back. I stood over her, at a loss, until she patted the bed next to her.
I sat. The springs groaned, and the sheet smelled like sweat and gun oil and her perfume, which I couldn’t name but already missed when she wasn’t around.
She took a deep breath. “When I was a kid, I used to imagine running away. Not for real, just… leaving. Like in a cartoon, you know? Pack a bag, hop a train, end up somewhere people don’t know your name.” Her voice dropped, barely a whisper. “I think that’s the only reason I’m still alive.”
I waited. I knew better than to fill the silence.
She kept going. “My dad—Cutler—he used to tell people I was his favorite. But it was only because I did what I was told. When I started talking back, he’d…” She touched her throat, traced an old scar I’d never noticed. “He’d remind me whose I was. I saw him put a guy in the hospital for looking at me wrong. When I was eight, he beat a dog to death because it bit me.”
“Jesus,” I said, not even realizing it.
She shrugged. “The Leatherbacks aren’t a family. They’re a zoo. If you’re not eating, you’re getting eaten. And I was always supposed to be the bait.” Her hands pressed harder together, the bones popping under the strain. “So I swore I’d never—never—raise a kid in that world. I’d sooner shootmyself.”
I let her talk. I knew the rules: you can’t save someone unless they want saving. But I also knew that, left alone, she’d spiral herself into a hole nobody could reach.
She looked at me, eyes wet but steady. “But I keep thinking about it. Like, this thing inside me. It’s not even a thing yet, but it’s…” She made a helpless motion, then laughed, bitter. “It’s fucking ridiculous, but I want to protect it. Even now. Especially now.”
I slid off the bed and knelt in front of her, my hands covering hers. “It’s not ridiculous.”