I’m too busy noticing Amelia looking at her truck like it ain’t a piece of junk but a lifeline. It’s more than transportation to her. It’s proof she can leave. It’s hers in a life where too many things got controlled by someone else.
I understand that.
Maybe more than I want to.
I lift my chin toward the house. “Come on. Let’s get y’all inside before the neighbors start thinking I joined society.”
August looks around. “Where are the neighbors?”
“Far enough to mind their business if they like living.”
“Derby,” Amelia says.
I glance at her. “What?”
“Maybe fewer threats before breakfast.”
“It’s almost lunch.”
“Still.”
I open my mouth, then close it.
Sophie smiles.
I point at her. “Don’t look pleased.”
“I’m extremely pleased.”
“Your face is annoying.”
“And yet my almost-husband loves it.”
“Legend has questionable taste.”
“Legend can still hear,” Oaks calls.
I turn and see the front door open. Legend stands in my doorway like he owns the place, because apparently being president means no house is sacred. He has a phone in one hand, his cut on, and the expression of a man who has already found three reasons to kill someone before noon.
I sigh. “Everybody just make yourselves at home, I guess.”
Legend steps onto the porch. “Already did. Your coffee is terrible.”
“That coffee is for emergencies.”
“It tastes like one.”
Amelia’s eyes move between us, and there it is again. That strange, careful curiosity. She is watching how men talk when fear ain’t the thing underneath it. We sound like assholes because we are assholes, but no one is flinching. No one is measuring volume against consequence.
August runs toward the porch before Amelia can stop him.
“August,” she calls.
He halts halfway up the steps, not because she yelled, because she did not. Because that kid listens to her voice like it’s the only rope he trusts.
“Ask before running into someone’s house,” she says.
He turns to me. “Can I run into your house?”