Page 14 of King of the Weld
By the time we check out, we've accumulated a reasonable wardrobe for her. Enough to get by for a couple of weeks without raising eyebrows about why she doesn't have more clothes. Helen chatters as she rings up our purchases, fishing for information that Sophia deflects with ease.
"Seattle must be quite different from our little town," Helen remarks, folding a t-shirt.
"It is," Sophia agrees without elaborating.
"How long are you staying with your uncle?"
"We're not sure yet," I interject before Sophia can answer. "Depends on a few things back home."
Helen nods, clearly hoping for more details that aren't forthcoming. She finishes ringing us up, the total coming to more than I'd normally spend in a month on myself. I pay without comment, aware of Sophia's discomfort at the expense.
"Don't worry about it," I murmur as we gather the bags. "Consider it a loan."
She nods, though I can tell the idea of being indebted bothers her. Another thing to add to the growing list of complications between us.
Chapter 5 - Sophia
As we load the bags into Ethan's truck, I can't stop thinking about the blue dress hidden among my new practical clothes. I noticed him adding it when he thought I wasn't looking, a small kindness that feels larger than the gesture itself.
"You didn't have to do that," I say quietly as he starts the engine. "Especially the dress. I saw you grab it."
Ethan keeps his eyes on the road, his profile stoic as always. "It's fine."
"It's not necessary," I insist. "The jeans and t-shirts are more than enough."
He glances at me briefly, "Brave people deserve to be rewarded."
"I'm not brave," I protest. "I just ran away."
"Running from a life of abuse and control takes courage," he says. "Most people stay, tell themselves it's not that bad, that they can endure it. You didn't."
His words settle over me like a warm blanket. I've never thought of my escape as brave, desperate, perhaps, or foolish, but not brave. Coming from Ethan, with his military background and obvious personal strength, the compliment means more than he could know.
"Thank you," I say softly. "Not just for the clothes. For everything."
He nods once, accepting my gratitude without making me elaborate. It's one of the things I'm coming to appreciate about Ethan Morrison. He doesn't need every emotion explained, doesn't require the kind of verbal processing my mother always demanded. He simply understands or at least accepts.
We make one more stop at a small grocery store to stock up on food, since Ethan's cabin was barely provisioned for one person, let alone two. I stay in the truck this time, not wanting to push our luck with more public appearances. Through the window, I watch Ethan move through the store, his tall frame making him easy to track as he fills a cart with essentials.
When he returns, the truck bed is loaded with enough food for at least a week. Neither of us mentions the implication, that I'll be staying with him for the foreseeable future – an unspoken arrangement born of necessity rather than choice.
The drive back to the cabin feels longer somehow, the tension building on my shoulders as we get closer to our temporary sanctuary. I've spent my entire life being hunted in one way or another: by my parents' expectations, by society's judgment, by Harrison's possessive gaze. The brief taste of freedom I've experienced with Ethan has only sharpened my fear of recapture.
"You're safe," Ethan says suddenly, as if reading my thoughts. "No one knows where you are."
I wish I could believe him completely. "My father has resources you can't imagine. Private investigators, former FBI agents on his payroll, connections with local law enforcement everywhere in the region."
"Your father hasn't met me," Ethan replies.
The certainty in his tone should be comforting, but it only intensifies my worry. Ethan doesn't understand what he's up against. The Valentines don't play fair, don't follow rules, don't accept defeat. I've seen what happens to people who cross my father. The careers ruined, reputations destroyed, lives systematically dismantled.
"I don't want you hurt because of me," I admit.
Ethan's hands tighten slightly on the steering wheel, the only indication that my words have affected him. "I can take care of myself, Sophia. Have been for a long time."
We fall into silence for the remainder of the drive, each lost in our own thoughts. As we turn onto the gravel road leading to Ethan's property, I feel myself relaxing slightly. Just a few more minutes and we'll be back in the safety of his isolated cabin.
But as we round the final bend, my blood turns to ice in my veins.
