We walk in silence. Tank doesn't try to make conversation, doesn't press me for information I'm not offering. Just walksbeside me like a mountain with legs, his presence itself a deterrent to anyone stupid enough to start round two.
Murphy's is mostly empty now, just a few stragglers finishing late dinners. I spot Maya immediately, sitting in a corner booth with the owner, an old man with kind eyes and weathered hands who's smiling at whatever my daughter is saying. Maya's got crayons spread out across the table, working on what looks like a picture of a horse.
Always horses with her. Don't know where she got that from. Neither her mother nor I ever had anything to do with horses.
Murphy sees me first, his expression shifting from warm to concerned when he takes in my face. "Christ, son, you okay?"
"Been better," I admit. "Thanks for watching her."
"Course." He stands, wiping his hands on his apron. "She's a sweetheart. Told me all about the states you've been through."
"That's pretty much all of them at this point," I say, moving to the booth. "Hey. Ready to go?"
Maya looks up, and her whole face lights up with a smile that makes every bruise, every cut, every mile worth it. "Daddy! Look, I drew a horse! Mr. Murphy said it's really good!"
"It's beautiful, baby." I slide into the booth across from her, ignoring the way my ribs protest. "Did you finish your dinner?"
"All of it! Even the vegetables!" She's so proud of herself that I can't help but smile despite everything. "Are we staying here tonight? Can we? Please?"
The question hits me right in the chest. She's four years old and she's already tired of motels, already hungry for something stable. I've been telling myself she's fine, that kids are resilient, that she doesn't need more than I'm giving her.
But the hope in her voice says otherwise.
"Maybe," I tell her, and I see Tank glance at me from where he's standing by the door. "Let me figure some things out first, okay?"
"Okay." She goes back to her coloring, adding more details to her horse. "I like it here. It's pretty. And Mr. Murphy said there's a school with a really nice teacher who loves kids."
Of course he did. Because Maya has never met a stranger, has never encountered a person she couldn't charm within five minutes. She gets that from her mother. The ease with people, the natural warmth. From me she got the dark eyes and the stubborn streak and probably a lifetime of therapy bills.
I gather up her crayons, tuck them back into my pocket, and help her into her jacket. Murphy refuses payment for the meal—"After what you did out there? Your money's no good here"—and then we're back outside in the cool October air.
Tank is still there, patient as stone.
"You know where the clubhouse is?" he asks.
"No."
"Head east on Main, take a left on Copper Street. Big building, can't miss it. Gate's usually open, but if it's not, just hit the buzzer." He looks down at Maya, his expression softening in a way I wouldn't have expected from a man his size. "You like pancakes, kid?"
Maya nods enthusiastically. "With chocolate chips!"
"Steel makes the best pancakes in town. Chocolate chips and everything." Tank looks back at me. "Offer stands. Your choice."
Then he's gone, climbing onto his bike and riding off into the night.
I stand there on the sidewalk with my daughter's hand in mine, watching the taillights disappear, and I think about King's words. About work, stability, a safe place for Maya to grow up.
About whether I have enough faith left to take that chance.
"Daddy?" Maya tugs on my hand. "Are we going to stay?"
I look down at her, at those docile eyes so much like mine, at the hope written across her face, at the crayon stains on her fingers and the way she's trying so hard to be patient while I figure out my life.
"Yeah," I say, making the decision even as the words leave my mouth. "Yeah, I think maybe we are."
Chapter 3 - Alice
My hands are still shaking when Torch pulls up in front of my house.
