Page 147 of Cinder
And my first instinct is to protect them. Both of them.
The rest of the day runs the way it always does. Routine checks, a minor callout for a fender bender on Main. Paperwork. Banter that comes in short bursts and dies just as quickly.
Nobody brings Stacey up again, but she sits there anyway, in the pauses and the shared looks. In the way Colt watches me a second longer than usual, and how Fletch doesn’t crack another joke at my expense.
By the time I clock off, my shoulders are tight. The drive home feels longer than it is, and I catch myself scanning sidewalks and parks. I drive past the motel Remi mentioned, even though it’s not on my route. Every unfamiliar car looks suspicious for half a second before logic catches up.
When I pull into the driveway, everything looks the same. Gus barks once from inside, and the porch light flicks on, the front door opening before I even reach it.
Penny’s there, waiting.
“Hey.” She leans in, her hand gliding along my jaw to peck me quickly before stepping back. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I let my eyes travel over her face, cataloguing. “Now I am.”
The smell of something roasting hits me as I walk into the dining room. Elle’s at the table with her workbook open, tongue tucked into the corner of her mouth while she writes. Gus is loudly sniffing up crumbs from around the base of her chair, his tail thumping once when he sees me.
“Daddy!” Elle says, hopping off her seat and launching herself at my legs.
I catch her automatically and lift her up, breathing her in. She smells like crayons and shampoo, and I squeeze her tighter against me, savoring her giggle. Everything is exactly as it shouldbe, and for a second, I almost convince myself that maybe Remi was wrong.
I set Elle down and glance at Penny. She holds my gaze, then gestures over her shoulder.
“Kitchen?” she suggests.
My eyes dart to Elle, happily sitting back with her workbook and crayons, and I nod. She follows me in, busying herself for a moment by taking a pot off the stovetop, then turns to me.
“So?”
“Remi’s pretty sure it was her,” I say. “Near the motel on Main.”
Penny absorbs that, a small crease between her brows. “Okay.”
“She didn’t approach Remi or try to say hi, though.”
“Has she called you?” Penny asks.
“No.”
“Has she called Elle’s school?”
“No.”
She nods again. “Do you think she’ll come here?”
“I don’t know.”
“Evan,” Penny begins carefully, leaning back against the counter and folding her arms loosely. “Do I need to know what to do if Stacey shows up? What to do if you’re not with us?”
The question lands harder than anything else today, because it’s not an accusation and it’s not some weird possessive or jealous thing. She’s asking me because it’s practical—and she loves my daughter enough to ensure she keeps her safe.
“If she comes here,” I say slowly, looking her in the eye, “you don’t let her in. You call me. Or Beck, or Herb. Or Remi. You don’t handle it alone, okay?”
“Okay.”
“She’s still Elle’s mom,” I add. “But she doesn’t get access without going through me. She can’t just turn up and expect to see her.”
“Is she… uhh, do you know if she’s…” She trails off, trying to choose her words carefully. “In treatment?”
