Page 62 of Welded Defender
The call ends with a soft click that sounds impossibly final. My arm falls to my side, the phone slipping through numb fingers onto the couch cushion.
My aunt’s slippers whisper across the hardwood as she approaches, her face gentle with concern. “What happened?”
“Brett—he—” The words stick somewhere between my chest and throat. I swallow hard, my fingers twisting the hem of my sweater. “He pressed charges. Against Landon. Nova says they need me to?—”
Her palm settles on my forearm, warm through the fabric, anchoring me when everything else feels like it’s spinning away. “Then you go.”
I look up, searching her face for hesitation, for judgment. Finding none. “Just like that?”
Her smile is small but fierce. “You’ve been waiting your whole life for a place where you feel like you matter. From what I’ve seen, you’ve found it. You love that man.”
Her words terrify me because deep down I know they’re true. I do love Landon—I’ve loved him for a while now.
Heat stings my eyes. “Maybe it’s not?—”
“It is.” She squeezes my arm. “I can see it plain as day. And I’m proud of you for finally choosing something for yourself. For standing up, even when it’s terrifying.”
My aunt’s words hit me like a physical blow. I blink rapidly, my vision blurring as I stare at the wooden floorboards. The memory of my mother’s dismissive wave when I’d shown her my college acceptance letter flashes through my mind. My father’s empty chair at every school event. The counselor who suggested “more realistic goals.”
My aunt has always believed in me—seen me—when no one else would. Her hand remains steady on my arm while I struggle to breathe around the knot lodged in my chest.
I nod quickly, brushing tears away with the heel of my hand. “I have to go.”
“Then go,” she says again, stepping back. “Don’t worry about packing. I’ll handle whatever you leave behind.”
I don’t even think. I shove my phone into my pocket, grab my coat from the porch hook, and jam my arms into the sleeves. I snatch my purse and sling it over my shoulder, not bothering to check if anything’s inside beyond my wallet and keys.
I zip my coat with trembling fingers. My aunt's slippers scrape across the porch boards behind me, the screen doorbanging shut. When I glance back, her chin is lifted, shoulders squared against the bitter cold.
"Drive safe," she calls, breath clouding white between us. "And Marcy?"
My keys bite into my palm as I hover by the open car door, one foot already planted on the salt-crusted floor mat.
She presses her lips together, then nods once, firmly. "The rearview mirror is for checking traffic, not for watching what you're leaving behind."
I nod, swallowing hard against the knot in my throat, and slam the door with enough force to rattle the window. The key turns and the engine catches with a desperate growl. Frozen gravel pops and cracks beneath the tires as I back out too quickly, my aunt's figure already shrinking in the rearview mirror. I shift into drive and press the gas harder than I should. Snow crystals dance across the windshield, melting into teardrops that streak sideways in the wind. My fingers grip the wheel until my knuckles go white. The speedometer needle climbs past the limit as Landon's police station address glows on my phone screen—the destination arrow pointing forward, never back.
CHAPTER 34
Marcy
The station sits at the edge of the next town over from Black Pine Ridge like a forgotten shoebox—just another low brick building with dirty slush piled in gray-brown ridges around the cracked asphalt lot. I sit in my car for a full minute before my hands finally unclench from the steering wheel, my knuckles bone-white against the black leather. The windshield wipers squeak once, dragging a smear of melted snow across the glass.
Inside my chest, my heart pounds like it’s trying to make me turn back.
I don’t. Because Landon’s in there.
I push the door open before I can change my mind. The cold slices across my cheeks, turning my breath into a cloud that vanishes too quickly. My boots break through the thin ice crust with each step, the sound like tiny bones snapping. The glass doors part with a mechanical whine, releasing a wall of heat that carries the bitter tang of burnt coffee and something chemical that burns the back of my throat. My fingers tremble so badly I shove them into my pockets, and my heartbeat drums in my ears, drowning out the muffled police radio crackling somewhere inside.
“Marcy?”
I jump, whip my head around. Becket leans against the wall, one boot propped behind him, his leather jacket still zipped to his throat. His jaw tightens, then releases. The fluorescent light catches the stubble shadowing his cheeks.
“What are you doing here?” The words barely make it past the knot in my throat.
“I drove Landon here.” He pushes off the wall, uncrossing his arms. His fingers flex once, twice at his sides. “Figured somebody should keep an eye on things.” He steps closer, his gaze traveling from my trembling hands to my face. “How did you know?—”
“Nova called me.” My voice comes out hoarse, like I’ve been screaming. I dig my car keys deeper into my palm, the metal teeth biting skin.
