The second morning on the road broke with the soft scent of dew and the hiss of Sage zipping up her hoodie. She stood just outside the motel door, phone pressed to her ear, her quiet voice floating in with the breeze.
“Yeah, Max was good this morning. Dad already took him for a walk… No, I told you, I trust you. You’re the one who taught me how to fix my first flat, remember?”
Silas sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as she laughed softly on the call. It was a laugh he hadn’t heard much—gentler than her bar smirk, warmer than her “I-can-handle-my-own” attitude.
“I love you, old man,” she said before she hung up.
When she stepped back in, she looked surprised to see him awake.
“You talk in your sleep,” she said, half amused, half curious.
“s**t,” he muttered, dragging a ha
