Derby’s jaw tightens. “Then we keep lights on.”
It isn’t that simple.
It can’t be.
But the way he says we makes my chest ache.
The front door of the trailer waits.
I unlock it myself.
That matters.
The inside smells like fresh paint, lemon cleaner, and closed windows. Small living room. Tiny kitchen. Two bedrooms, one large enough for me, one perfect for August. A bathroom with baby blue tile. Bare floors. Empty walls.
Empty.
Mine.
I walk through slowly, touching counters, doorframes, windowsills. Derby follows but doesn’t crowd. When we reach August’s room, there is already a little bed frame leaning against the wall and a box of new dinosaur sheets on top of it.
I look at Derby.
He lifts one shoulder. “Sophie sent those.”
“Sophie?”
“Yeah.”
My throat tightens.
Even hurt, even away from Legend, Sophie thought about my son.
I will have to thank her.
We spend the afternoon moving what little I have.
Not everything from Derby’s house. Not yet. Just enough. Clothes. August’s backpack. The dinosaur sheets. The groceries that belonged to us. Blue Rex and Princess Chomp arrive in a box carried solemnly by August when Legend brings him over later. August inspects the trailer, asks if Derby will sleep there, then asks if the trailer has monsters.
Derby answers before I can.
“No monsters inside.”
August nods like that settles county law.
Then he picks his room.
He loves it because it’s his.
That helps me breathe.
It hurts too.
Then the whole club shows up, carrying furniture. By evening, the trailer looks less empty and more like the beginning of something. A blanket on a couch. A small kitchen table and chairs. Dishes in the cabinet. August’s dinosaurs lined along the windowsill. My mother’s box tucked in my bedroom closet. The keys on a hook by the door.
My keys.
Derby leaves before dinner.