Page 16 of Vargan

Less witnesses that way, I think, then wonder if Willie was thinking the same thing. Smart kid. Too smart for his own good, maybe.

"What do you think of them?" I ask casually. "Victor and Royce?"

Willie fiddles with a spark plug, not meeting my eyes. "If Savvy had just married Royce, we'd be living in the nicest house in town, and she wouldn't have to work so hard." He glances up at me. "He's not a bad guy."

My beast stirs at that, a low growl building in my chest that I quickly suppress. I remind myself that Willie's just a kid. He'sfifteen, not even old enough to drive without an adult. He's never been outside this town, never seen how big the world really is. It reminds me of myself when I crossed the Rift, thinking help would be on the other side. Naive. Hopeful.

"Sometimes the things that look good on the surface aren't what they seem," I say carefully. "Especially people."

Willie shrugs, but I can tell he's listening.

I glance back toward the diner to check on the new arrival—just a customer—and find Savvy standing in the garage doorway. She's still in her work uniform, hair escaping from her ponytail, eyes tired but alert. She must have slipped out during the lunch rush to check on us.

"Willie, go do your homework," she says, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Helen's got a piece of pie waiting for you if you finish before dinner."

Willie seems about to protest, then thinks better of it. He gives me a small nod before heading toward the house, leaving Savvy and me alone in the garage.

"Hope you don't mind me working on the truck," I say, wiping my hands on a clean rag. "I'm not good at just sitting around."

"It's fine," she says, moving further into the garage to inspect what I've been doing. "It was my dad's when he was in high school. He always dreamed of fixing it up for Willie someday."

There's that sad note in her voice again, the one she gets whenever she mentions her father. I've heard it in my own voice often enough to recognize the sound of loss.

Savvy leans against the workbench, arms crossed over her chest. "I overheard what Willie said about Royce."

I don't respond, waiting for her to continue.

"After my father died," she says, eyes fixed on some distant point, "I was left with Willie to raise, a mountain of debt, a dried-up peanut farm, a diner to run, and no idea how I was going todo it all." She gives a small, humorless laugh. "Royce felt like the right choice at the time. He could be charming when he wanted to be. Helpful, even. I didn't know it was wrong to let Willie get attached until it was too late."

I set down my tools and straighten, moving a step closer to her. "That's not what I was trying to do with Willie," I say, needing her to understand. "I wasn't—"

"I know," she cuts me off, meeting my eyes briefly before looking away. "I was just trying to explain why Willie thinks we'd be better off if I'd just given in and married Royce." She rubs her arms as if suddenly cold. "And as sad as it sounds, there were times I wondered myself if I should have just sucked it up and gone with it. At least when I was doing what he wanted, he was a nice enough guy."

My beast stirs again at the defeat in her voice, at the image of Savvy—fierce, proud Savvy—thinking she had to settle for a man like Royce just to survive. Anger rises in my chest, not at her, but for her.

"You were right to push him away," I say firmly, taking another step toward her. "It took strength to do that, especially when you had no support. No family."

She looks up at me, surprise in her eyes. "How would you know?"

"Because I've seen it before. Strong people broken down until they believe it's their fault. Until they think they deserve it." I don't tell her where I've seen it—in the camps, in the military, in the faces of refugees who crossed the Rift only to find themselves prisoners in a new world. "You did the right thing, Savvy."

She studies me for a long moment, then asks, "What about your family?"

The question catches me off guard. I rarely talk about them, but something about Savvy makes me want to be honest. "My mother didn't cross the Rift, only the men did. But my father waskilled as soon as we made it safely across." I swallow, memories rising that I usually keep buried. "All the adults were."

Savvy's expression softens, her eyes sad. "So you know all about not having family."

I step closer, close enough now that I could reach out and touch her if I wanted to. And I do want to—to offer comfort, to feel the warmth of her skin against mine. But I hold back, knowing it's a line I shouldn't cross.

"For a while, the kids in the camps were my family," I tell her instead. "Then my brothers in the military. Then the Ironborn MC. So even though I lost my blood family early on, I've never been without one."

Savvy smiles, but there's a sadness to it that pulls at something deep inside me. "That's good," she says softly. "Everyone needs someone."

A strand of hair falls across her face, and before I can think better of it, I reach out to tuck it behind her ear. Her skin is warm beneath my fingertips. She doesn't pull away.

“Who’s your someone, Savvy? Who’s fighting for you?”

Her eyes widen slightly at the question, a flash of vulnerability crossing her face before she can mask it. For a moment, I think she might actually answer, but instead she takes a shallow breath and presses her lips together, that wall I've seen before sliding firmly back into place.

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