Chapter 3

"Javi."

Javier set the receiver down. It clicked into place with a sound too loud for the quiet house. "I gotta go."

"Go where?"

"Back. Before they come here."

Rafael stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. "You think going back fixes anything?"

"I think staying here gets y'all killed."

"Who was that?"

Javier ran a hand over his face. His palm came away damp. "Somebody connected to Angel. They think I know something. Or they want me to pay for something. Doesn't matter which."

"It matters to me."

"Rafa, you don't understand how this works."

"Then explain it."

Javier looked at his brother. Rafael had always been the calm one, the one who got out early, the one who chose a different path. They had the same face—same sharp jaw, same dark eyes—but Rafael's eyes didn't carry the same weight. They hadn't seen what Javier's had.

"They don't stop," Javier said. "They keep coming until they get what they want. And right now, they want me. If I'm here, they'll find me. And they'll find you. And that woman and those boys don't need to be part of this."

Rafael sat on the edge of the bed. The springs groaned under his weight. "You think running back to California protects them?"

"It keeps the fire away from their door."

"No, it doesn't. It just makes sure you're not here to put it out."

Javier's jaw tightened. "I don't know how to fight this different, Rafa. I only know one way."

"Then learn another way."

They sat in silence. Outside, a night bird called, and the wind rustled through the trees. Javier could hear his own heartbeat, steady and too fast.

"I got a friend," Rafael said slowly. "Name's Marcus. Used to be a cop in Birmingham. He handles security now, private stuff. He can help us figure out who's coming and how to keep them out."

"I ain't hiding behind some security guard."

"You ain't hiding. You're buying time to think."

Javier wanted to argue, but the words died in his throat. He thought about Micah's laugh on the swing. Isaiah's question: You gonna leave too? Nia standing on the porch, telling him he didn't need all the answers tonight.

"One call," Rafael said. "That's all I'm asking. Let me make one call."

Javier nodded. It felt like giving in. It also felt like the first time he'd let someone else carry part of the weight.

The next morning came gray and damp. Javier woke before the sun, his body trained to rise early even when he had nowhere to go. He found Rafael already in the kitchen, talking low on his cell phone. When he saw Javier, he held up a finger and finished the conversation.

"Marcus is coming by this afternoon," Rafael said. "He's gonna look at the property, see about cameras and alarms."

"Cameras."

"You got a problem with cameras?"

"I got a problem with people thinking I need babysitting."

"Nobody's babysitting you. We're protecting everybody."

Javier poured himself a cup of coffee. It was black and bitter, just how he liked it. "What about Nia?"

"What about her?"

"If these people come looking for me, they might ask questions. They might show up at her place."

Rafael set down his phone. "You care about her."

"I care about not getting her killed."

"Same thing."

Javier didn't answer. He drank his coffee and stared out the window at the gray morning. The chicken was pecking at the ground near the fence, oblivious to everything.

"I'm gonna go over there," Javier said. "Check on them."

"You gonna tell her what's going on?"

"I don't know yet."

Nia's house looked different in the morning light. The dew clung to the grass, and the chickens were already out, scratching and clucking. Javier parked Rafael's truck at the edge of the yard and walked up the dirt path. The screen door was propped open, and he could hear voices inside.

Micah spotted him first. He came barreling out, a half-eaten biscuit in his hand. "Javier! You came back!"

"Told you I would."

"Mom's making pancakes. You want some?"

"Maybe."

Micah grabbed his hand and pulled him inside. The kitchen was warm and smelled like butter and syrup. Nia stood at the stove, flipping pancakes in a cast-iron skillet. She wore a faded T-shirt and jeans, her hair pulled back in a scarf. She looked up when he walked in.

"Well, look who's back."

"Don't sound so surprised."

"I'm not surprised. Just wondering what brought you out here before the sun was fully up."

Javier shrugged. "Couldn't sleep."

Isaiah sat at the table, a book open in front of him. He looked up, studied Javier for a moment, then went back to reading. But Javier noticed the way his eyes kept flicking up, watching.

"Sit down," Nia said. "Plate's in the cabinet."

Javier sat across from Isaiah. Micah climbed into the chair next to him and immediately started talking about a frog he'd found in the garden. Javier nodded along, but his mind was elsewhere.

Nia set a plate of pancakes in front of him. "Eat."

"I ain't hungry."

"Eat anyway."

He picked up his fork. The pancakes were fluffy, with butter melting into the syrup. He took a bite. It was good. He took another.

Nia sat down with her own plate. "You got something on your mind."

"I got a lot on my mind."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really."

She nodded, didn't push. They ate in silence except for Micah's chatter. When Isaiah finished, he cleared his plate to the sink without being asked.

"Isaiah, you and your brother can go play for a bit," Nia said. "I need to talk to Javier."

Isaiah hesitated. His eyes met Javier's, and for a second, Javier saw the same wariness from before. Then Isaiah nodded and led Micah outside.

The screen door banged shut. Nia turned to Javier, her expression unreadable. "Now. Tell me what's wrong."

"It's complicated."

"I got time."

Javier set down his fork. He thought about the phone call, the threat, the voice on the line. He thought about Nia's boys playing in the yard, unaware of the danger that might be coming.

"Somebody from my old life found me," he said. "They called Rafael's landline last night."

Nia's face didn't change, but her hands stilled on the table. "What did they want?"

"They want me. They think I know something about a friend who died. Or they want payback. I don't know which. Either way, they said they're coming here."

"Coming here? To Alabama?"

"Yeah."

Nia stood up and walked to the window. She looked out at the yard, where Micah was chasing the chicken and Isaiah was sitting on the swing, turning a stick over in his hands. "What are you gonna do?"

"Rafael's got a friend coming to set up cameras. But I don't know if that's enough."

"Is that why you came here this morning? To warn me?"

"Partly."

"What's the other part?"

Javier stood up and walked over to her. He stopped a few feet away, close enough to see the freckles on her nose, the tight line of her jaw. "I wanted to see if you were okay."

"I'm okay. My boys are okay. But that could change if you stay."

"I know."

"So what are you gonna do about it?"

He didn't have an answer. He wanted to promise her that he'd fix it, that he'd keep them safe, but he knew promises like that were cheap in his world.

"I'm not gonna let anything happen to you or your boys," he said.

Nia turned to face him. Her eyes were steady, unblinking. "You can't promise that, Javier. None of us can. But I can promise you this—if you run, you'll never know if you could have stayed. And if you stay, you'll have to fight different than you're used to."

"What if I don't know how?"

"Then you learn."

She reached out and touched his arm. Her hand was warm, her fingers calloused from work. "You're not alone in this. You got Rafael. You got me. But you gotta let us help."

Javier looked down at her hand on his arm. It was such a small thing, but it felt like an anchor.

"I don't know how to let people help," he said.

"Then start practicing."

He spent the rest of the morning at Nia's, helping her fix a loose board on the porch and keeping an eye on the boys. Micah showed him the frog, which he'd named Spike. Isaiah stayed close but didn't say much, though he did hand Javier a hammer when he needed one without being asked.

Around noon, Rafael called. "Marcus is here. You should come back."

Javier said goodbye to Nia. She was hanging laundry on the line, her hands busy, her eyes thoughtful. "You come back later if you want. Supper's at six."

"I might."

"You better."

On the drive back, Javier's phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: You think you can hide? We already know where you are.

Javier pulled over on the side of the road. His hands were shaking. He stared at the message, then deleted it.

He drove back to Rafael's house and found a man he didn't recognize standing in the driveway next to a black SUV. The man was tall, broad-shouldered, with a calm face and steady eyes.

"You must be Javier," the man said. "I'm Marcus. Your brother told me about the situation."

"What situation?"

"The one where people from California are looking for you. And the one where they already found you."

Javier's blood went cold. "How do you know that?"

Marcus held up his phone. "I got a friend at the county sheriff's office. A car with California plates was spotted on the interstate an hour ago, heading this direction."

Rafael came out of the house, his face tight. "They're here."

Javier looked down the empty road. The trees stood still, the sun high and bright. But somewhere out there, the past was coming.

"Then we don't have much time," he said.

The afternoon stretched thin and tense. Marcus showed Javier how to lock down the house, where to position himself if someone came, how to call for backup without drawing attention. Javier listened, but his mind kept drifting to Nia. To Isaiah and Micah. To the life he'd barely started to imagine.

At four o'clock, his phone buzzed again. Another text: Tell the woman with the boys to stay inside tonight.

Javier's vision went red. He was out the door before Rafael could stop him.

"Javi, wait!"

But Javier was already in the truck, engine roaring, tires spitting gravel. He drove too fast down the winding back roads, his hands gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles went white.

He pulled into Nia's yard and saw her on the porch, phone in hand, her face pale.

"You got it too," he said, jumping out.

She held up her phone. The screen showed a message: Tell your new friend to come alone to the old mill road at sundown. Or we come to you.

Javier took the phone from her hand and read it twice. Then he looked at her, and for the first time, he saw fear in her eyes.

"I'm not letting them near you," he said.

"Then what are you gonna do?"

He didn't have an answer. But the sun was already starting to sink, and the clock was ticking.

"I'm gonna go meet them."

"Alone?"

"I don't have a choice."

"Yes, you do." She stepped closer, her voice low and fierce. "You can stay. You can fight different. You can let the people who care about you help."

"Nia—"

"No. You listen to me, Javier Mendoza. You told me you didn't know how to let people help. Well, this is where you learn. You are not walking into that alone. Not if I have anything to say about it."

He stared at her. The fire in her eyes was brighter than any threat from California.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked.

"Call Marcus. Call Rafael. And call the sheriff. We do this the right way."

"The right way might get you hurt."

"The wrong way will get you killed. And I ain't ready to lose you yet."

Javier's breath caught. He looked at her, standing there in her yard with her boys inside and the sun bleeding across the sky, and he realized he didn't want to lose this either.

"Okay," he said. "Okay. I'll call."

He pulled out his phone. Behind him, the road stretched empty and waiting. But for the first time, Javier didn't feel like he was walking it alone.