3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Shay

The headlights of the old truck cut through the blackness of the night, the windshield wipers making a little squeak with each swipe they made across the glass. Lucas sat on the small back seat that barely left any leg room for anyone who wasn't a child. The backseat was more for storing items and not passengers. But it meant he wasn't riding up front and was a bit safer.

He hadn't said a word, but I could see him in the rear-view mirror, his eyes still big, his face too pale.

"Lucas?" His name was a whisper as I turned the wheel with muscle memory, down a street I hadn't been on in more than ten years. The streets in this part of town were nearly deserted this time of night. Slowly, I rolled the truck to a stop and put it in park, the engine idling. Turning slightly and trying to hide my wince at the pain the movement caused, I looked at my son .

He swallowed, but didn't say anything, just stared back at me.

"We're going to be okay. I promise."

He sniffled, hugging Mr. Rabbit closer to his chest, rubbing his cheek against the stuffed animal's soft fur. "You were bleeding."

There was no denying it. There had still been streaks of blood on my face when he crawled out to me. In the past I had tried my best to make sure he didn't see me bleeding. The few times he had, I had lied and said I had a bloody nose. Not caused by a punch, just a silly bloody nose caused by dry air. Nothing to worry about.

Looking away from him, I nibbled my bottom lip, remembering too late that Edward had split it open. The sting was sharp, and a metallic taste filled my mouth as it started bleeding again. Grabbing a tissue from the box Albert always kept in the middle of the bench seat, I held it against the cut.

My parents had always believed in being pretty straight forward with my brother and me. At least my dad had. My mom passed away when I was seven and Asher was ten. My memories of her had faded with time and age, just a small handful standing out in my mind. Dad had been a great parent, stepping up and raising us both, without losing his shit from grief or the demands of two small children. A fact I hadn't given him enough credit for, or appreciated fully, until it was too late.

Lucas had seen more tonight than I ever wanted him to, and lying wouldn't help the situation. But I had promised myself that I would never bad-mouth Edward to our son, and I would keep that promise.

"I was." My gaze met his, as much as it could. My left eye was nearly swollen all the way shut now and I pressed the tissue to my still bleeding lip. "And, I'm going to have some scabs and bruises for a few days." Or weeks, whatever. "But I'm okay. My eye might look scary, but it doesn't even hurt." Sometimes being a good parent meant you had to lie.

"It doesn't?" His voice was so tiny and shaking it nearly broke my heart. Heat burned behind my lids, and I was helpless to stop the tears from welling.

Shoving the used tissue into the box, I gave him a tiny smile, careful of my lip. "Nope. I'm okay, and so are you. We're going to be okay." If I said it enough it might eventually be true.

"Where are we?" Lucas looked around, peering out of the little side window of the truck cab.

Turning to face forward, I glanced over at the auto repair shop across from us. There was new signage, and the front window looked like it had been replaced, the glass shining and clear. But the bones of the building were still the same, and my heart did a little weird thump.

"This used to be your grandpa's shop," I told him, my voice catching on some feeling I couldn't put a name to. The pain in my chest flared brightly for a few seconds, before settling into a dull ache. It had been much too long since I had been here, and I hadn't been prepared for the emotional pain seeing this building would cause. "My dad, Tristan. He would have loved you a whole bunch."

My dad had died years before Lucas had been born, but I knew even if he had been alive, it was doubtful he would have even known who Lucas was. Edward wouldn't have allowed it.

Lucas looked around at the shop, and the row of cars that were waiting for various things to be done to them in the parking area. "He fixed cars?"

"He did." And so had I, a lifetime ago. Why did thirty feel so old? "I grew up in that building."

Some of my first memories were visiting my dad at his shop. Of him letting me hand him tools when he worked on a car, even before I knew the proper name for each one or what they were used for. He never complained, just kept letting me hand him random tools until I finally handed him the one he needed. The man had endless patience that again, I hadn't fully appreciated until it was too late. "That sign used to say Pierce and Sons."

Though my brother had never had any interest in cars, other than an appreciation of fast, pretty ones. Asher had his heart set on being a doctor from a young age, a surgeon, and Dad had made sure he never put Asher's hands at risk. It made me wonder why he had gone into pediatrics, instead of surgery.

Hopefully, I would get the chance to ask him. Asher had every right to be pissed at me. To not help me.

Fatigue and pain dulled my senses, the adrenaline that had fueled me earlier disappearing like a poof of smoke. My body ached, and I felt like I could sleep for a week. I couldn't remember ever being so tired. It was more than a tiredness of my body though. No, this was an exhaustion that extended into my soul.

Putting the truck in gear, I drove to a nearby gas station, thankful not much had changed in this area of the city since I'd last wandered these streets. Reaching into my duffle, I pulled out the envelope Albert had insisted I take. Quickly I counted the bills I found inside, then counted again, sure my foggy brain had added wrong. Nope, it was still five hundred dollars. With the hundred I had managed to scrape together, we had a better start than I had thought we would. That, plus the truck, should get us to where we were going.

A small ray of hope filled me, and for the first time, I truly believed we might have a real chance of making it to safety. Making it to my brother, where I would get down on my knees and beg for his forgiveness if that was what it would take. I just needed Lucas to be safe. If that meant spilling all my secrets to my brother, so be it. If he never forgave me, I could live with that. As long as he helped Lucas.

Shuffling Lucas into the bright lights of the gas station, I hurried him to the restrooms. We had about 1700 miles to go, give or take. With a six-year-old, and as banged up as I was, I was guessing it would take us more than a few days to get there. Knowing there would be plenty of bathroom breaks and stopping to stretch our legs. I was hoping to not have to use any of the money on a hotel room, but the way I was feeling it was a possibility I needed to prepare for.

"I don't have to pee," Lucas whined, as I washed my hands at the sink and peered at myself in the mirror. The harsh fluorescent lights didn't make my face look any better than it had earlier.

"Just try, please." Coughing into my fist, I bent double at the pain the act caused my bruised ribs. I really wanted to lift my shirt up and take another look, but Lucas was scared enough and didn't need to see the bruises that had already started forming. My eye that was nearly swollen shut was already turning black and looked gross and ugly.

Pushing my blond hair off my forehead, I saw a small knot swelling at my temple. No doubt another well placed kick from Edward's expensive shoes. I had no recollection of it, so it had probably happened while I was unconscious. Edward was great at kicking me when I was down.

Fucking hell, I looked like I'd been in a barroom brawl.

Tugging the collar of my T-shirt away from my skin, I could just make out the beginnings of fingerlike bruises starting to form on my neck and throat. My eyes fell on the scar from my mate bite, and anger surged in me.

I had been so stupid. So fucking infatuated with Edward's shiny brightness. Pulling the shirt back up, I ignored the bruises and that damn infernal mark.

Lucas flushed the toilet, fiddled with his pajama pants–somehow turning them sideways when he pulled them up–then came to wash his hands. Fixing his pants, I helped him clean his hands, giving him a small smile to reassure him.

"Are you going to take some more medicine?" He nibbled his lower lip and shuffled his feet, the movement causing his shoes to light up with blues and reds. No doubt he was afraid I would pass out like I had earlier after swallowing the liquid cough medicine.

"Nope, I need to drive us. We're going to top off the gas tank, and I need to see if they have a map. And I need coffee." Ruffling his messy hair, I added, "And we can't have a road trip without snacks, can we?"

It would be cheaper to stop at the 24-hour Walmart a few blocks over, but the more miles we put between us, Dallas, and Edward and his family, the better off we would be.

"What's a road trip?" Lucas asked curiously.

Taking his small hand, I led him out of the bathroom and down the snack aisle. "It's where you drive really far, and you eat lots of junk food."

It probably wasn't my finest hour as a parent to bribe my kid with junk food, but we were about to be stuck in a vehicle for a long time. Needs must and all that.

One of my favorite memories growing up was when my dad would announce we were going on a road trip. He'd load me and Asher up in our car, along with a fuck ton of snacks, and we'd hit the road. Sometimes we just drove down random country roads, or all over the city, before ending up back at home at the end of the day. It hadn't mattered where we were going. Just that we were together, having fun. Talking about random stuff, singing to the songs on the radio at the top of our lungs. Making memories.

Grabbing beef jerky, even though I really wasn't hungry, a bag of chips, a bottle of ibuprofen, some chocolate and gummies for Lucas, I headed over to the self-serve coffee. Pouring two cups, I awkwardly made my way to the counter with our haul.

After asking if they had any paper maps, the kid who couldn't be old enough to drink finally found some in a corner. He'd seemed really confused as to what the thing even was. Hell, he probably didn't even know how to read one. The only reason I did was because my dad had insisted both Asher and I learn. Insisting we couldn't always rely on our cell phone to do things for us.

Tonight, I was doubly grateful he had insisted we learn how to read a map. Saying a silent thanks to him for that, I added a couple of bottles of water to our pile, wincing at the outrageous total. Definitely should have stopped at Walmart.

Once Lucas was buckled in and talking softly to Mr. Rabbit all about road trips and snacks, I dug my cell phone out of my duffel and sat it in the console next to me. Swallowing three of the ibuprofen, I turned the truck in the direction of the highway. I doubted the little brown pills would put a dent in my aches and pains, but they were better than nothing.

"Daddy?" Lucas's soft voice broke the silence a few minutes later.

"Yeah, buddy?" Making a quick detour down a side street at the last second, I answered him .

"Where are we going?"

He'd asked before and I hadn't really answered him. "I have one more stop to make real quick, and then we are going to a place called Sweet Alps, California. We're going to see your Uncle Asher."

Glancing in the rear-view mirror, I saw him mulling over what I had told him. Lucas was a thoughtful kid, always thinking about people's responses before he asked follow-up questions. But he was six, so I knew the questions were coming.

"Is it far?"

"Pretty far, yeah. We'll make plenty of stops so we can stretch our legs, okay?" The rain started again, and I switched the wipers back on.

"Is he nice? My uncle?" His little voice was so hesitant it tore at my heartstrings. I had told him a few things about Asher, but not much. I hadn't wanted him to ever say something in front of Edward, that would alert him to the fact that I had looked for–and found–my brother.

Pulling into the cemetery, I slowed on the little gravel road, surprised I remembered the way. It had been so fucking long since I had been here. But when we left tonight it would be for good. I had no intention of coming back to Dallas. Ever.

"Asher is very nice," I whispered, and that weird, aching squeeze thing happened to my heart again. "He was the best big brother."

And he had been. I'd been the one that had turned into a know-it-all little shit. I'd been the one that had turned my back on everyone I had ever loved. Acting like I was too good to be associated with them. Acting like I had a new family and didn't have any use for my dad and my brother .

Asher had always protected me, and I prayed to the Goddess he would protect us now. And if not me, then Lucas.

Turning in the seat, I ignored the tug the movement caused my ribs. My entire body was one big, throbbing ache, which was becoming second nature.

"Stay here, okay?" Pointing to the headstones to the side of us, I instructed Lucas. "I'm going to be right there. You'll be able to see me the whole time. But it's raining, so you stay here. I just need to tell grandma and grandpa good-bye."

He nodded, his blue eyes solemn. He should be sleeping at this time of night. Tucked safe and warm in his bed.

Rushing as fast as I could in the rain that had turned into a cold downpour, I stared down at the headstone, barely able to make out the letters in the dark. Elizabeth Pierce on one side, and Tristan on the other. Regret slammed into me like a real thing.

I had missed my dad's funeral. Hadn't been there in his last days. The shop had been sold, and I assumed the house we had grown up in along with it. I had a shit ton to answer for with my brother. I had a shit ton to answer for, period.

My chest tightened, and the infernal tickle that I knew preceded a coughing fit started in the back of my throat. The cough barked out of me, the force of it nearly making me fall into the headstone and grasping the cold, wet granite tightly with curled fingers.

I sounded like a fucking seal when I coughed, my sore throat burning with the effort to draw air into my lungs. Tears streamed down my face, mixing with the rain that soaked my skin and clothes.

"I'm sorry, Dad." The ragged, whispered words tore from my throat. "I'm so sorry. For everything. I'm sorry I wasn't a better son. But I'm taking Lucas and I'm getting him out of here. I hope you haven't seen anything that's happened, but if you have…well, I hope you know I did what you taught me. I never raised a hand to Edward. Not once. But I can't do this anymore. I can't do this to Lucas. He deserves better. We both do. I'm going to find Asher. I hope…I hope he'll forgive me. I hope you can forgive me, too. I never stopped loving you. Just…I need you to know that. I'm going to try to be the man you raised me to be."

I didn't even try to wipe the tears that were falling freely down my face, at least from my one good eye. Lucas's face peered at me from the truck window, looking small and scared.

Making my way back to the passenger side of the truck, I shivered as I opened the door and reached for my cell phone. I needed to ditch it, knowing Edward would be able to track me with it. The phone was in his name, and he used it like a weapon. It hadn't taken me long to figure out he had some way to see what I was doing on my phone. Who I was texting. Even if I searched something on the internet.

At first, I had thought I was being paranoid. When I had done a search for Baby and Me classes when Lucas was a newborn, Edward had mentioned at dinner that night that he didn't think it was something I needed to pursue. When I had been feeling lonely and wanted to try to get a piece of my old life back, I had sent a Facebook message to an old school friend. Edward had come home early in a jealous rage that had ended with my first broken nose.

After that, if I used the phone for anything other than answering his text or calls or for anything that didn't pertain to Lucas's doctor appointments, he would have the service shut off. Lucas had been a baby at the time, and I had been scared to death something would happen to him and I would have no way to call for help. Edward had trained me like I was his damn dog, reliant on him for everything.

But I wasn't as stupid as he thought. Wasn't just the handsome alpha who worked on cars and looked good draped on his arm. He couldn't trace the computers in the public library, where he allowed me to take Lucas for weekly story hour.

He never imagined I would enlist our butler's help in documenting my bruises, cuts, and broken bones. Albert had used his personal cell phone to take pictures, set me up with an email Edward didn't know about, and sent the pictures to it. An email I also sent addresses and phone numbers I might need, along with any articles that might someday be of use.

I knew this day was coming, and I knew I needed to be prepared, especially if I had a chance in hell of keeping Lucas safe. Edward–and his family–would fight me; I knew that. They had power, lots of money, and fancy lawyers backing them.

I would be ready when they came for me.

Pulling up Edward's contact information, I added his alpha father to the text. Quickly I typed my message and hit send, tossing the phone behind me. It landed with a soft thud in the wet grass of the cemetery.

The text had been short and to the point. Two words that referenced an old law that was still active on the books. Two words that were my first step to freedom and getting my life back and getting Lucas to safety. Edward might not know what those words meant, but all those fancy lawyers his father employed sure as fuck would.

Alpha Law.