Page 5 of Hammer

We stood together, brushing sand from our clothes as we prepared to leave the beach.Levi tucked his phone carefully into his pocket, the burner device that had become our lifeline to potential freedom.As he zipped up his hoodie against the night air, I noticed how the too-large garment hung from his slender frame, making him appear even younger and more vulnerable.

Yet there was nothing childlike in the way he surveyed our surroundings one last time, his eyes scanning for potential threats with a methodical thoroughness that mimicked his brother’s.Or in the way he had meticulously planned our escape, calculating risks and probabilities with the precision of someone much older.

“Ready?”Chase asked, already a few steps ahead of us, impatient to get moving.

Levi nodded, giving my hand one final squeeze before releasing it.“Statistically speaking, nighttime departures reduce observation probability by forty-seven percent,” he said, falling back on numbers for comfort as he often did when stressed.“We should be fine if we take the side path back to the car.”

My heart ached for the childhood he’d never had, for the innocence stripped away too soon.But as we walked away from the crashing waves, following Chase’s lead through the darkened beach access, I felt a fierce pride alongside the sorrow.My son carried the bruises of his past on his face, but also the determination for a better future in every careful step he took away from the life we were leaving behind.

We walked away from the ocean in silence, the sound of the waves growing fainter with each step.The sandy path through the dunes felt like a boundary between worlds -- behind us the vast, indifferent sea that had witnessed our planning, ahead the uncertain darkness that would either lead to freedom or danger.This momentary passage, this comma in our journey, held us suspended between what was and what might be.

Our footprints trailed behind us, three sets of impressions in the sand that would be washed away with the tide, erasing all evidence of our presence.The metaphor wasn’t lost on me -- we too were trying to disappear, to remove all traces that might lead Piston to our new life.

The narrow path forced us to walk single file, Chase leading, Levi in the middle, me taking up the rear.From this vantage point, I could see the similarities in their gaits despite their different builds -- the same cautious precision, the same awareness of their surroundings.My boys, shaped by the same cruel hand into complementary defenders.

At the end of the boardwalk, we paused together, a brief hesitation before stepping from the weathered wood onto the asphalt of the parking lot.None of us spoke, but I felt the weight of the moment, this small threshold crossing that represented so much more than a change in terrain.

Chase scanned the nearly empty lot, his posture alert despite his casual stance.Levi checked his phone one more time, before he tucked it away.I simply breathed, trying to capture this fragile instant of potential -- the three of us, together, poised on the edge of transformation.

“Car’s clear,” Chase murmured, breaking the silence.“No one’s been near it.”

I nodded, knowing he would have noticed if anything had been disturbed, if any unfamiliar vehicles had entered the lot during our absence.My oldest son paid attention to everything, his hyperawareness both blessing and curse.

Levi moved closer to me as we walked toward our nondescript sedan, his shoulder occasionally brushing against my arm.Not clinging, not exactly, but seeking proximity in his own subtle way.I matched his pace, offering the comfort of my presence without drawing attention to his need for it.

“Tomorrow,” he said softly, the word carrying the weight of all our hopes and fears.

“Tomorrow,” I echoed, neither confirmation nor promise, simply acknowledgment of the pivotal day ahead.

Chase reached the car first, circling it completely before unlocking the doors.I watched the practiced routine -- his eyes checking the undercarriage, scanning the interior, testing the door handle before actually opening it -- and wondered if he would ever be able to approach a vehicle without this ritual of verification.If any of us would ever live without looking over our shoulders.

As we settled into the car, I found myself studying my sons.This was a big change for all of us, and I worried what the future might hold for us.The car started with a quiet rumble, and Chase pulled carefully out of the parking lot, observing all traffic laws to avoid unwanted attention.As we left the beach behind, I felt the subtle shift in our reality -- the planning phase was over, the action phase beginning.That momentary pause, that breath between decisions, had passed.

We’d crossed a line, a point we’d never return to, and now came the harder part -- the follow-through, the meeting with Scratch, the leap into the unknown.I reached forward and placed my hand briefly on Chase’s shoulder, feeling the coiled tension there, before turning to squeeze Levi’s hand where it rested on his leg.

Tomorrow would be a new sentence in our story, one we would write ourselves.

* * *

Chase stood guard outside our motel room, his tall frame silhouetted against the flickering neon of the vacancy sign as his eyes methodically scanned the parking lot.Even in the dim light, I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze moved in a practiced pattern -- checking each parked car, noting the positions of the few people visible through lit windows, cataloging every potential threat.My oldest son never truly relaxed, his body a constant sentinel between us and the dangers of the world.

“Get inside,” he said quietly when he noticed me watching him from the doorway.“I’ll be in after I check the perimeter.”

“Chase, it’s nearly midnight.We’re two counties away from home.He doesn’t know we’re gone yet.”I tried to keep my voice gentle, not wanting to dismiss his concerns but aching at the burden he placed on himself.

His green eyes flashed to mine, briefly haunted before hardening again.“You don’t know that.And it only takes one person recognizing the car, one call to one of his brothers, and he’ll know exactly where we are.The motel clerk said they wouldn’t run the card until tomorrow, so for right now, he can’t track us through bank records.”

I couldn’t argue with that.Piston’s reach extended far beyond our hometown, his motorcycle club connections spreading like a toxic web across the state.Chase was right to be cautious, even if the weight of that vigilance was crushing him.

“Ten minutes,” I conceded.“Then you come inside and get some rest.”

He nodded but didn’t promise.I knew he would take as long as he deemed necessary, regardless of my wishes.My son had long since stopped seeing my authority as absolute -- not out of teenage rebellion, but because he’d had to step into the protector role too many times when I couldn’t.

Through the thin curtains, I watched as he moved methodically around the perimeter of the small motel.His movements were fluid but purposeful, nothing wasted, nothing showy.He checked the parking spots closest to our room, then the ice machine alcove, then the stairwell leading to the second floor.I saw him note the security camera positions, the blind spots in their coverage, the potential escape routes if we needed to flee quickly.

When he finally returned, he locked and chained the door behind him, then wedged a chair under the handle -- a habit he’d developed at thirteen after Piston had kicked in Chase’s bedroom door during a rage.

“All clear?”Levi asked from where he sat cross-legged on one of the double beds, his laptop open before him.

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