Page 88 of Thunder's Reckoning
“You’ll like it here,” I said, watchin’ her close. “The clubhouse ain’t no place for kids. Out here they can breathe, run a little, just… be kids.” That was the reason I gave. The only one I let her hear.
She nodded slow, but her eyes slid away, lingerin’ on the window like the fields outside might tell her what I wouldn’t. I figured she knew there was more behind it. Sable was too damn smart not to. But she didn’t ask. Maybe she was afraid of bein’ right.
Instead, she reached for me. Fingers slid across the bench seat, slid into mine, lacin’ together tight like she wanted to believe what I said. Like she needed to.
I squeezed back, keepin’ my eyes on the wall. Lying to her twisted in my gut, but some truths would only put that fear back in her eyes. And I couldn’t stand to see that.
And together, we stepped deeper into the house.
***
THE HALL OPENEDwide, the kind of space that carried every creak of the floorboards like it remembered every footstep that ever passed through. I set the bags down, and Momma’s voice drifted from the kitchen, pots clatterin’, cupboard doors swingin’ open like she hadn’t lost a step since I was a boy.
Zara tugged on Sable’s hand, eyes wide as she took in the hallway lined with faded photographs. She stopped at one, me, gap-toothed and scowlin’ in front of a rust-red bike.
“That you?” she asked.
I grunted. “Yeah. Don’t laugh.”
Too late. She giggled, bunny tucked under her arm like it was in on the joke. Sable’s lips curved too, the smallest smile, but real enough to ease that tightness ‘round her eyes.
Malik didn’t laugh. He hung back, watchin’ the walls, the ceiling, every doorway. He wasn’t expectin’ trouble, but he sure as hell wasn’t trustin’ peace either. I knew that look. Lived it most my childhood till I learned to block the bad shit.
“C’mon,” I said, pickin’ up the bags again. “I’ll show y’all the rooms.”
The blue room was on the far side of the hall, sunlight spillin’ in wide through the windows. It wasn’t mine growin’ up, but Momma had made it theirs, two twin beds side by side, quilts folded neat, shelves crowded with the toys I hadn’t seen in years. Board games, a box of plastic soldiers, movies, and books. She’d pulled my past into their present, like she’d been waitin’ on them to arrive.
Zara gasped like she’d just stepped into some kinda palace. She ran straight for the shelves, fingers trailin’ over the toy cars before bouncin’ onto one of the beds, bunny flyin’ through the air like a flag. “I love it!” she declared, wrigglin’ under the quilt.
Malik stayed in the doorway, hand grippin’ the frame. His eyes roamed the room slow, landin’ on the shelf. He picked up one of the cars, turned it over in his hand, then put it back careful. Almost reverent.
“This is yours too,” I told him. “Plenty of space.”
He gave a single nod, slid inside, and sat ginger on the edge of the second bed. Didn’t smile. But the tightness in his shoulders eased, just enough.
Sable stood beside me, watchin’ both of ‘em. Her eyes shone, and for the first time in a long damn while, there wasn’t sorrow in them, there was somethin’ else. Hope.
Next, I pushed open the door to the quilt room.
Sable stepped in first, and sunlight painted the old quilt laid across the bed, patches from dresses and shirts, stitched tight in colors that didn’t match but still worked together. Momma’s hands were all over that quilt, steady and stubborn, sewin’ things that were meant to last.
Sable touched it with her fingertips, light, like it might tear if she pressed too hard. Her breath caught, shoulders liftin’ with the weight of it.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
“Momma’s hands are somethin’ special,” I said, and did somethin’ I know Momma would want. “It’s yours.”
Her head snapped toward me, eyes wide, mouth partin’ like she wanted to argue but couldn’t find the words. Just stood there, palm flat against the quilt like she was anchoring herself to it.
I leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, watchin’ her soak it in. Every second carved deeper into me than any scar I’d ever earned.
Down the hall, Zara’s laugh carried, bright and free. Malik’s voice followed, low but lighter than before.
That sound—safe.
Sable finally looked at me again, her eyes glimmerin’ with somethin’ fragile but fierce.
“I want you to feel like this is your home,” I told her, lookin’ her in the eyes. “Because it is.”
