Broken Wings and Burning Roads

CHAPTER 7

I catch the bottle without looking. “That so?”

“Yeah. You got that look. Not the someone’s-gonna-die look. The I-saw-something-I-wasn’t-expecting look.”

He leans against the desk, takes a long sip, eyes not leaving mine.

“Who is she?”

I raise an eyebrow. “What makes you think it’s a woman?”

Knox smirks. “’Cause you only get this quiet when you’re tryin’ not to admit you're interested. And I know you, Linc. You don’t do curious unless it matters.”

I roll the bottle between my palms, say nothing.

The silence stretches.

Knox chuckles. “So... she a waitress or a problem?”

“Maybe both,” I say, finally.

His grin widens. “Those are the fun ones.”

“She’s hiding something,” I add. “Saw her freeze up outside the diner. Over a car. Looked like she’d seen a ghost.”

“That why you’re itching to go back tomorrow?”

I glance at him. He knows me too well.

“I want to know what scared her,” I say. “And if that thing is still following her.”

Knox nods once, all business now. “Want me to look into her?”

“No.” The answer comes quick. Too quick. I know it, and so does he.

He raises both eyebrows but says nothing.

I drain half the beer in one go.

“I’ll handle it,” I mutter.

Knox lets it go. For now.

But he’s already filing it away, that big brain of his cataloguing every word, every shift in my tone.

Truth is, I don’t want eyes on Sadie. Not yet. She’s like a locked door with smoke curling out the edges. You don’t bust in swinging when you know there’s a fire inside—you walk slow. You figure out where the heat’s coming from.

And right now?

She’s burning behind those green eyes, and I want to know what started the flame.

The air inside the room was stale, like old cigarettes and disappointment. Peeling wallpaper. Rusty sink. The kind of place no one would think to look for someone hiding—especially not someone like me.

That was the point, right?

I kicked off my shoes, pulled off my apron, and collapsed face-first onto the bed. The sheets smelled faintly of bleach and desperation. But when I closed my eyes, I didn’t see rest.

I saw Bob’s slimy smirk.

I felt that same helplessness I swore I’d never feel again—the weight of someone with power assuming I had none. The heat of rage simmering under my skin, begging me to burn it all down just to feel clean again.

No.

I did the right thing.

Even if it cost me.

The room was silent except for the hum of the motel sign outside my window, its neon buzz flickering like a dying pulse. I lay still, curled up like a question mark, trying to ignore the creeping chill of uncertainty.

Tomorrow, I’d figure it out.

Tonight, I’d just survive. Again.

But the darkness has a way of reaching inside you when you think you’re alone.

A memory slithered in.

Colorado.

Cheap diner. Red booths cracked at the seams. Different name. Same apron.

I remembered the guy who smiled too wide and showed up after close, saying he’d “walk me home.” I remembered the way his hand lingered too long on my lower back, his voice syrupy-sweet and sharp underneath.

I remembered my manager not believing me when I told him.

I remembered the bruises. The police report that never got filed.

I remembered packing in the middle of the night. The bus ride. The shaking.

Nevada.

Different town. Different job. Hair dyed strawberry blonde and chopped to my shoulders. “Anna” on the nametag.

I remembered the woman who came in one night with too much eyeliner and too many questions. She said she was just passing through. But her eyes kept flicking to the parking lot.

And then, two days later, a man in a leather jacket walked in. Black ink crawling up his neck. Familiar smile. Too familiar.

I left that night. Left my tips on the counter. Left the lease half-paid and the fridge full.

Flash.

Alabama.

Minnesota.

Texas.

New towns. Same ghosts.

They always found me. Not them exactly. But the fear. The past. The itch in the back of my neck that said run now, ask questions later.

I curled tighter into myself, heart racing.

Why the hell did I let Lincoln get to me?

Why did those steel-gray eyes make me feel… seen?

And why the f**k did that car…

No.

I forced my breathing to slow. Counted ceiling stains like stars.

One, two, three—

A sound shattered the fragile quiet.

Tires.

Slow. Heavy. Rolling over gravel just outside my room.