August isn’t with her. Thank God for that. Sophie must have kept him upstairs or handed him off to one of the women. Amelia stands alone on the porch in borrowed clothes, but she is standing.
I respect the hell out of that.
Jeremy sees her and his whole face changes.
Not with love.
With relief that the object he misplaced has appeared.
“Amelia,” he says, and his voice goes warm enough to make the rain steam. “Come here, honey.”
She flinches.
Tiny.
I see it because I’m looking for it.
So does Legend.
So does Sophie.
So does every King worth the patch on his back.
Amelia takes one step down from the porch, then another. Sophie follows at her shoulder. Not touching. Just there.
Derby, I tell myself, this ain’t your wife. Not your kid. Not your mess.
My feet stay planted at the gate anyway.
Amelia stops beside me.
Not behind Legend.
Not behind Sophie.
Beside me.
Close enough that I can hear her breathing.
Too fast.
Jeremy notices that too.
His gaze slides from me to her and back again.
There we go.
His concern gets sharper.
“Amelia,” he says. “What are you doing?”
Her chin lifts. The motion is slight, but it’s pure stubborn pride. “Not going home with you.”
His sad smile returns. “This isn’t home.”
“No.”
“This is a motorcycle gang’s compound in a town literally named Hell. You have our son sleeping inside a building full of criminals.”