Page 11 of Victorious: Part I

Before I can respond, a guard approaches our table. I recognize him. Officer Miller—one of thefewdecent ones in this place. But something about his stance, the tension in his shoulders, sets my teeth on edge.

“Time’s almost up, Drake,” he states, his tone tight with urgency.

My pulse instantly spikes.

Mom squeezes my hand, her grip firm, steady—the kind of strength she’s always had, even when life tried to break her.

Even when itdidbreak her.

The calluses on her fingers are rough against my skin, etched into her like battle scars. Each one is a marker of the sacrifices she’s made.

For her.

For me.

And yet,she’sthe one who paid the price.

“I love you, Noah. Stay safe out there.”

Her voice is steady. Mine is anything but. “Mom—”

“I’ll be fine,” she insists, cutting me off before standing with a conviction that feels too much like a lie. It’s like she needs me to believe it so she can believe it too. “Just focus on keeping yourself, your Old Lady, and the club safe. Youpromiseme, Noah.”

A promise.

A fucking impossible one.

I nod, but it feels like my head is moving through wet cement because how do I promise something I already know I can’t control?

She pulls away.

And then turns.

One step.

My stomach knots, twisting so tight I can’t breathe.

Two.

My hands curl into fists under the table. My nails bite into my palms, grounding me. Or maybe it’s keeping me from rampaging to stop her exit.

Three.

My pulse is a thunderous roar in my ears. Louder than it wasthat night.

The night they tookheraway from me.

The night I watched my mother walk out the door and into a squad car while my father’s blood dried under my nails.

The night I couldn’t stop them.

And now, it’s happening all over again.

I’m sitting here. Watching. Doing nothing.

Miller strides beside her, his stance controlled, protective.

Too protective.

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