“I will protect you, Maggie.”
He doesn’t look away from me when he says it. It’s a promise spoken with terrifying certainty. And standing there outside the damaged shelter while his men quietly reorganize security around my life, I realize the terrifying part isn’t what Alexei is. It’s that even knowing it, I still trust him.
11
MAGGIE
By the time I pull Mama’s car into the diner parking lot, my nerves feel rubbed raw. The replacement glass is finally in the driver’s side window, but the ugly scrape marks near the lock are still there from when someone tried to break in.
I squeeze the steering wheel tighter while the engine idles.
Lord in heaven.
I’m plum tuckered out. Not the sleepy kind, either. The deep-down kind that creeps into your bones after too much fear and too many questions pile up on top of each other. The shelter break-in keeps running through my mind in ugly little pieces as I stare at the glowing diner sign. My stomach twists again.
I hate how this anxiety is starting to seep into every part of my life. Most of the time, the diner feels comforting before I even walk inside. Tonight, it feels different. Tonight, I keep checking my mirrors.
I turn off the engine and get out, tugging my sweatshirt tighter around myself as the humid Savannah night wraps around melike damp cotton. The neon sign buzzes above while pickup trucks pass by on the highway.
As soon as I walk through the diner doors, the familiar sounds hit me. Country music plays low from the speakers, silverware clinks against plates, and waitresses call out orders to the kitchen. The smell of fried chicken, gravy, and fresh cornbread fills the air, making my empty stomach pang.
Mama looks up from behind the counter, and her face changes as soon as she sees me.
“Maggie.” She wipes her hands on her apron and comes around the counter, her eyebrows drawn together. “Sweetheart, you look like you’ve been dragged behind a truck.”
A weak laugh slips out of me before I can stop it. “Well, that’s encouraging.”
“Oh, don’t get smart with me.” She reaches up and brushes hair back from my face. “You’ve got those dark circles under your eyes again.”
I lean into her touch. That alone tells her plenty, and concern washes across her face right away.
“Oh baby.”
Emotion climbs into my throat so fast it almost embarrasses me. I swallow it down before it turns into tears.
“I got your window fixed,” I tell her, holding out the keys. “Willie said he reinforced the lock too.”
Mama’s mouth tightens, and I see the tension in her shoulders.
“You shouldn’t have paid for all that yourself,” she says, reaching into her apron pocket and handing me the keys to my truck.
“I wasn’t about to leave your car like that,” I say firmly.
“You already have enough on your plate.”
I shrug, though it feels forced. “Yeah, well. Here we are.”
She studies me quietly. I know that look. Mothers always know when their kids are barely holding on, no matter how old we get.
She hooks her arm through mine and steers me toward a booth near the back. “You sit yourself down. I’m bringin’ you food before you pass clean out.”
“Mama, I’m fine.”
“Magnolia Hayes, hush.” She points a finger at me before disappearing toward the kitchen. “You look one inconvenience away from cryin’ into a basket of fries and I raised you better than that.”
Despite everything pressing against my ribs , another laugh escapes me. A real one this time.
“Rude,” I mutter.
