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“Sleep. That’s an order.” There’s no room for argument in his voice, and for once, I don’t have the energy to defy him.
Curling up on the couch, with a blanket pulled tight around me, I watch the way JD moves around the space. Familiarizing himself with every inch, every possible threat. In these moments, his vigilance is both comforting and heartrending.
When I wake, JD is still awake, his eyes never leaving the window. Outside, the stars have surrendered to dawn’s soft glow.
“Your turn.”
“Everything’s quiet?” I ask.
“Like a grave,” he confirms, and there’s a shadow in his gaze that speaks of the violence we’ve left behind.
“Get some rest, JD,” I say, finding strength in the need to protect him as he has protected me.
He hesitates, a rare indecision flickering across his features, before finally conceding. I watch him stretch out on the opposite couch, his body too large for the small space, and I’m struck by the paradox of this man—so fierce and yet so gentle in his care.
***
Days meld into nights, and our respite feels like the calm before the storm. We move from one hideout to another, courtesy of JD’s network of allies. Each place leaves its own mark on us—a creaky floorboard, the scent of stale cigarettes, the echo of whispered plans.
“Feels like we’ve been at this for months, not days,” I say as I’m wrapped in JD’s jacket for warmth.
We are sitting on the hood of yet another vehicle we acquired after ditching the last one.
JD says nothing but hands me a protein bar from our supplies.
“Ever doubt we’ll make it?” I ask, peering up at him, searching for cracks in his composure.
“Every damn day,” he confesses, and the honesty in his admission tightens something in my chest. “But we keep going, Cheree. No matter what. I know I’m taking us the long way but after seeing that guy and having to detour because of road works, I don’t want to take any chances.” He smiles down at me. “I’ll get you there, it’s just going to take a little longer.”
As we settle back against the windshield, side by side, our breaths visible in the chilled air, I realize this journey isn’t only about distance—it’s about the space between trust and fear, between the life I’ve led and the one I yearn to live. And with JD beside me, that space feels a little less vast, a little more like hope.
He scrambles off the car and taps the hood. “State line’s twenty miles out. Let’s get moving.”
With a groan, I get off the car and climb into the passenger seat. JD turns on the ignition and the dashboard throws a pale glow on his features, casting shadows that play with the scar I’ve come to know as well as my own reflection. He eases us back onto the road, picking up speed as he accelerates.
“New York’s never felt so far and yet so close,” I reply, pressing my forehead against the cool window glass, watching the blur of darkened landscape whiz by.
“Close don’t mean safe, Cheree,” JD remarks, eyes flickering to mine for a fleeting second before returning to the darkness ahead. “We ain’t done ‘til we’re deep in the city’s belly, hidden in plain sight.”
I nod, knowing the truth in his words. My thoughts are a tangled mess, each one a thread of hope or dread, weaving a tapestry of what-ifs and maybes.
“Remember that last diner?” I ask, the memory surfacing unbidden. “The waitress who looked at us like she knew we were running from something... or someone?”
JD chuckles, a low sound that vibrates through the confined space of the car. “Yeah, I remember. You got that look in your eye, like you were about to bolt without finishing your pie.”
“Wasn’t about the pie,” I confess, twisting a strand of red hair around my finger. “It’s that look. Makes me feel trapped, even in the open.”
In the dim light, I study the man beside me, wondering how many layers I’ve peeled back and how many remain. JD has kept his distance, only touching to reassure or to help. I find myself liking him despite the fact he is a man.
“JD, when we get there, to New York,” I start, voice trailing, “what then?”
“Then, Cheree, we part ways,” he answers simply. “You carve out a little piece of the world that’s yours, where no one can touch you.”
“Sounds like a dream.”
“Maybe.” There’s a hint of a smile on his face. “If you’re worried, I could hang around for a while? I’ve never spent more than a day in New York. Maybe we could explore it together?”
“Keep driving, JD.”
