Her face don’t change much, but her eyes do. They fill with the kind of suspicion that breaks my heart. Not because she thinks we’re cruel. Because she is trying to figure out what kindness costs here.
“It’s just for tonight,” I say gently, though I already know I’m lying. “No one will come in unless you ask.”
Her gaze drops to the lock. “It works?”
“I checked it.”
She swallows.
August squirms in her arms. “I wanna lie down.”
That breaks the spell.
Amelia hurries in, all mother now, no pride in the way of her child’s exhaustion. She lowers him onto the bed, pulls off his shoes, and tucks the dinosaur under his arm. He kicks once at the blanket, whining low in his throat, then curls toward her before his eyes are even closed.
I leave them to join the men, talk some sense into Legend. Then once Amelia’s safety is settled, I return with Derby. Amelia didn’t lock the door. It’s ajar. August’s eyelids flutter when I crack it more to check on them, but he doesn’t fully wake. Not until Derby’s boot hits the top stair behind us and the old wood gives a low groan.
August lifts his head.
“Mama?”
“I’m here,” Amelia whispers immediately. “I’m right here, baby.”
Her voice changes for him. It goes softer, but not weaker. That is the thing about mothers who are running. They can be falling apart inside and still make their voices into shelter.
I look over my shoulder at Derby, who is coming up with two boxes stacked in his arms and a garbage bag hooked around his wrist. One of the boxes is bent in at the corner. The bag is stretched thin enough for me to see bright plastic dinosaurs, a pair of little shoes, and a pajama sleeve printed with cartoon trucks.
Derby looks like a man on his way to war. The fact that the war is against a child’s belongings don’t soften him much.
“You found my dinosaurs,” August mumbles.
Derby stops like the child has pulled a gun on him. “They were in the bag.”
“You carried them?”
“Looks that way.”
“Why?”
Derby glances at me like he expects rescue.
I don’t give it to him.
His jaw shifts. “Because if a prospect lost one, your mama would cry again, and I already reached my crying-woman quota for the night.”
Amelia goes still.
I turn my head slowly.
Derby realizes what he said a heartbeat after he says it. His face hardens, not at her, but at himself.
“I mean,” he says, rougher and quieter, “kids need their stuff.”
August nods as if this is the most reasonable thing a giant biker has ever said. “Blue Rex bites.”
“Good to know.”
“He only bites bad guys.”