Nine Years Ago
The three of them were sitting in John's living room. The afternoon sun filtered through dusty blinds, casting long bars of light across the coffee table cluttered with soda cans, chip bags, and an old deck of cards.
John was stretched out on his recliner, boot resting on the edge of the coffee table, a toothpick between his lips. Lilly sat cross-legged on the couch, laughing at some stupid joke John had made about her inability to cook rice without setting off the fire alarm. Mark, on the far end of the couch, stared at his phone like it owed him money.
"You remember that time you tried to grill corn inside?" John said, smirking.
Lilly gasped, grinning. "That was an experiment, you caveman."
"You nearly set the smoke detector into cardiac arrest."
"I was seventeen!"
"And the house still smells like burnt corn every August."
She tossed a pillow at him, laughing. It landed with a soft thud against his chest. "You're such a brat."
John leaned back, grinning. "And proud."
But the moment was interrupted by the sharp scrape of Mark's phone hitting the table.
"Can we not talk about kitchen fires and high school stupidity for one damn minute?" he muttered.
Lilly's laugh died in her throat. Her posture shifted subtly, just enough for John to notice. Her smile stiffened.
"Sorry," she said quickly. "We were just goofing."
"Yeah, I can tell," Mark said, voice flat. "You're really good at turning everything into a comedy show."
John narrowed his eyes, the grin sliding off his face.
What the hell was that?
"I think she's got a better sense of humor than you do, man," John said, casual but firm.
Mark didn't even look at him. "I guess that depends on what you find funny. Some people never outgrow playground jokes."
"Some people could stand to lighten up," John muttered under his breath.
Mark got up and walked into the kitchen without another word.
The silence he left behind was loud.
John turned to Lilly slowly. "What's that guy's problem?"
Lilly forced a chuckle. "He's just in a mood. Long week."
"Mood or not, he doesn't get to talk to you like that."
"It's fine, John."
He was about to argue when he noticed it. Just for a second—when she shifted to pick up the pillow—her sleeve slipped up.
A dark bruise. Big. Ugly. High on her arm.
John's stomach twisted.
"Lilly," he said, voice suddenly low, serious, "what the hell is that?"
"What's what?"
"On your arm."
She glanced down quickly, yanked the sleeve back over it, and looked away.
"Nothing. I bumped into the shelf at work. Damn thing's been loose forever."
John didn't move. Didn't blink. "That's not from a shelf."
She scowled. "It's none of your business."
"Don't do that," he said, his voice cracking. "Don't lie to me."
"I'm not—" she began, then sighed hard. "Look, I already said it was nothing. Drop it, John."
He stared at her, heart pounding, mind racing. Everything in him screamed that something was wrong. But she wasn't giving him an inch.
The sound of a beer can popping came from the kitchen. Mark was still in earshot.
"I mean it," she whispered harshly. "Don't start something."
"But Lilly—"
"No," she said, sharp. "Please. Just don't."
Her eyes met his, and in that second he saw it—fear. Not just the kind you have in a tense conversation. The kind that lives in the corners of your soul, where you try to pretend it doesn't exist. And then just like that, it was gone. Her face hardened.
Mark returned, holding a beer. He flopped down beside her, not even glancing at John.
The tension lingered like smoke.
But Lilly smiled again. Not quite real, not quite fake.
"So, Johnny," she said, bumping his foot with hers. "When are you gonna get a girlfriend so we can go on double dates and I can finally have someone who'll agree I'm always right?"
John gave her a strained smile. "I'll get right on that. Might be easier to build one in the garage at this point."
She grinned, clearly trying to drag things back to normal. "You're impossible."
Mark snorted. "Double dates? What are we, sixteen? That stuff's childish."
The comment hung in the air. Lilly's smile faded a little. She didn't argue. Didn't tease him back.
John noticed.
Everything about her had shifted in the last ten minutes. The way she spoke, the way she laughed, even the way she leaned slightly away from Mark instead of into him.
And she was always so full of fire. So ready to fight. But now, she looked like she was swallowing her voice with every breath.
John watched her.
He didn't say anything more. Not that day.
But later, when they left and he was alone again in the silence of his living room, he sat with his hands folded tight, staring at the spot where she'd smiled and told him to mind his business.
He should've done something.
He should've ignored her protests, grabbed her by the hand, and gotten her the hell out of there.
But he didn't.
Present day
The parking lot was still glistening with last night's rain, the sky a flat, pale blue as the first light of morning crept across Ashwood. A few old sedans and a battered pickup truck dotted the Walmart lot—regulars, probably, the kind of folks who liked to beat the crowds and grab the paper before the rest of the world had its second cup of coffee.
John pulled into a spot near the front, glanced at the clock on the dash—6:02 a.m.—and cut the engine.
Sarah sat beside him in her freshly dried clothes, still wearing the hoodie she'd arrived in. It was faded and a little too big on her, but she looked cleaner, calmer. Her hair was brushed, pulled back in a messy ponytail. Her eyes, though tired, no longer looked like they were preparing for war.
"You good?" John asked, turning toward her.
She gave a tight nod. "I think so."
He nodded back. "Alright. Let's get you set up."
Inside, the store was near silent. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, echoing down the wide, empty aisles. The only people around were a couple of elderly shoppers pacing slowly near the front, pushing carts filled with milk and newspaper bundles.
John grabbed a cart and motioned to Sarah. "Come on. Clothes first."
She hesitated. "I really don't need much—"
"You do," he said, cutting her off gently. "Grab what you like. I'm not here to tell you what size to wear or what color fits your soul. I'm just the wallet."
She cracked a small smile at that, then led the way into the women's section.
John lingered near the end of the aisle as Sarah browsed. She picked out a couple of shirts—simple, long-sleeved, neutral colors—and a pair of jeans. He could see her doing the math in her head, probably already trying to justify not grabbing anything more.
She met him back at the cart with her modest haul.
"Just these."
John raised an eyebrow. "That's all?"
She shrugged. "I don't need—"
"You need more than two shirts and one pair of jeans."
"I don't want to be a burden."
"You're not," he said, then, without asking, turned and walked back into the racks. He grabbed a few more shirts, similar to what she picked, but in different colors—one soft blue, a forest green, even a pale yellow. Then a couple more pairs of pants.
He tossed them into the cart without ceremony.
She blinked at him. "You didn't even check the sizes."
"I saw what you grabbed. You think I've never eyeballed a part and guessed right?"
She folded her arms, lips twitching like she was trying not to smile. "You're a stubborn man."
"And you're freezing half the time. Let me fix one thing at least."
She shook her head, the smile finally breaking through. "Okay. Fine. But I'm not wearing the yellow one."
John shrugged. "It'll be there when you change your mind."
They moved into the grocery aisles. John grabbed a loaf of bread, some eggs, a few cans of soup, coffee grounds, and a gallon of milk. As they passed the coffee creamer section, he stopped the cart and looked at her.
"What do you like in your coffee?"
She blinked. "Um… just a little cream. No sugar."
"Pick one."
She hesitated, scanning the options, then reached for a small bottle of hazelnut creamer.
John nodded, satisfied. "See? That wasn't so hard."
They rounded the last aisle, and as they passed the bedding section, John paused again and tossed a fuzzy grey blanket into the cart.
Sarah raised an eyebrow. "You cold?"
"Nope. That one's yours."
She stared at the blanket, touched the edge of it. "You didn't have to."
"I know," he said. "But I wanted to."
She didn't reply, but her eyes said more than words. Gratitude. Confusion. Maybe a tiny flicker of comfort.
They checked out without trouble. John paid in cash and carried the bags while Sarah followed close behind, hoodie pulled a little tighter as they passed the greeter by the exit.
The sky had brightened by the time they got back in the truck. The town was just beginning to stir, porch lights flicking off one by one as the day began.
They drove back to the shop in silence, but it wasn't a heavy one. Just tired.
John pulled into the gravel lot behind Harper's Garage and parked by the bay door. He turned to her as he shut off the truck.
"Alright. I usually get started around eight. Got a radiator coming in and some guy's brake pads that sound like a dying moose. You're welcome to hang out upstairs or come down to the shop."
Sarah hesitated. "Do you have employees?"
"Just an old guy named Clyde. Helps out with invoicing and drinks half my coffee. But he won't be in today."
She let out a breath. "Okay. I'll come down with you. I don't want to be alone."
"You won't be," he said gently. "And I don't expect you to work."
She gave a small smile. "Good. I don't know a damn thing about cars."
He grinned. "That's alright. You'll fit right in."
Together, they unloaded the bags, brought them upstairs, and John gave her some privacy to sort her clothes. He poured her a cup of coffee and added the hazelnut creamer she picked out.
When she came back out, he handed it to her.
"Here. First official cup of 'Harper's House Blend,' now with flavor."
She laughed softly. "Thanks."
Then, without needing to ask, she followed him down to the shop.