Chapter 146
Chapter 146
The morning light filtered through the blinds like threads of gold, tracing thin, trembling lines across the motel wall. The world outside was just beginning to wake — the sound of tires on wet pavement, the distant hum of a truck engine, a gull crying somewhere far beyond the glass.
Izzy was already awake. She had been for a while.
She sat at the small table by the window, her hands wrapped around a Styrofoam cup of coffee gone lukewarm, her gaze fixed on the parking lot. The steam from the cup had stopped long ago, but she held it anyway — something solid, something real, something that didn’t ask questions or make promises.
Behind her, Beck was still asleep. His arm was draped over the blanket, his body turned toward where she’d been lying earlier. There was a crease between his brows, even in rest — the same look he’d had the night he found her, and every night since.
It should’ve been comforting. Safe. But nothing felt safe anymore.
She glanced at the duffel bag on the chair — packed and ready. It wasn’t much: a few changes of clothes, the last envelope of cash she’d hidden from Dick, and a small tin of prenatal vitamins that Father Nolan had insisted she take when she still thought she might have time to breathe.
The air in the room smelled like motel soap and coffee grounds. Beck stirred, his voice rough from sleep.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
She shook her head without turning. “Didn’t want to.”
He sat up, rubbing his face. His hair was a mess, his T-shirt wrinkled, but when he looked at her, there was that same steady calm he always carried — like the world could be burning, and he’d still find a way to make her believe it would be okay.
“I heard they’re hiring up north,” he said after a moment. “Ranger friend of mine mentioned it when I was up there years ago. Moosehead Lake. They need a guide for the season.”
Izzy turned, the words catching her off guard. “You think we can just… go there?”
Beck shrugged, standing and pulling on his flannel shirt. “Why not? It’s work. It’s far. Sounds like exactly what we need.”
She stared at him for a long time, trying to understand the ease with which he said we.
The word made her chest ache.
“We’ll be ghosts,” he said, softer now. “No one’ll look for us that far up.”
Izzy managed a faint smile. “You sound sure.”
“I have to.” He crossed the room and crouched beside her chair, his hand finding hers. His palm was warm, rough, grounding. “We need something that’s ours, Iz. Something that’s not running or hiding. I can do this. I can take care of you — both of you.”
Her throat tightened. He was looking at her stomach when he said it.
The words should’ve soothed her. Instead, they pressed on a wound she didn’t know how to close. She squeezed his hand and whispered, “You already have.”
He smiled at that — the kind of smile that made her remember the warmth of the lodge before everything fell apart.
They loaded the truck as the sun began to break through the clouds, pale and reluctant. Beck threw their bags in the back while she filled the thermos with fresh coffee from the motel lobby. The clerk didn’t ask questions. She doubted anyone around here would.
When Beck started the truck, the radio crackled — faint static and a country song about leaving everything behind.
Fitting.
Izzy watched the highway stretch ahead, the endless line of trees and fog curling low over the shoulders of the road. The air was heavy with spring thaw, the scent of earth and pine creeping in through the cracked window.
Neither of them spoke much. The silence was comfortable — at least until it wasn’t.
Every time a car appeared behind them, Izzy’s stomach clenched. Every passing set of headlights felt like a threat. She couldn’t stop glancing at the mirror, waiting for the impossible — Dick’s car, that black luxury sedan with the tinted windows.
But it never came.
Beck noticed her fidgeting and reached across the seat, resting his hand on her thigh. “You’re safe, Izzy.”
She nodded but didn’t answer.
The road wound north, through small towns and long stretches of forest where snow still clung to the shadows. The further they went, the lighter she felt — like each mile put another ghost to rest.
By the time they hit the backroads toward Moosehead, Izzy leaned her head against the cold glass, watching the trees blur together.
For the first time in months, she wasn’t sure what waited for her.
But she knew what she was leaving behind.
And for now, that was enough.
The further they drove, the more the world began to open up.
The highway uncoiled into long stretches of pine, their dark tips fading into mist. The snow along the shoulders had started to melt, leaving behind streaks of mud and pools of dirty ice. A new season was pushing its way in, slow and stubborn — not unlike her.
Beck drove with one hand on the wheel and the other wrapped around his coffee mug, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. There was something in his expression that made Izzy’s chest ache — the quiet, steady focus of a man who needed purpose again.
The hum of the engine filled the silence. Izzy let her head rest against the window, her reflection faint in the glass. Her hair had grown longer than she remembered. Her skin looked pale, but not sickly — just… tired. A tired that went bone-deep.
“Want me to put some music on?” Beck asked after a while.
She shrugged. “Sure.”
He fiddled with the old radio dial until it settled on a classic rock station, the static breaking into soft guitar riffs and a low, familiar voice singing about highways and heartache.
Izzy smiled faintly. “You and your old man music.”
“Hey,” he said, grinning. “You’re lucky I didn’t pick country.”
“You did last night.”
“Yeah, well. I was feeling sentimental.”
He winked, and she rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her. It felt good to tease him — to have something normal, even for a minute.
After a while, the road curved past a frozen lake, sunlight catching the thin sheet of ice still clinging to the surface. Izzy reached a hand to the window, her fingers brushing the glass.
“Hard to believe this is the same world,” she said softly.
Beck glanced at her. “What do you mean?”
“Just… how different it feels out here. Like all that other stuff happened in another lifetime.”
He was quiet for a moment, his eyes on the road. “Maybe that’s what we needed. A new lifetime.”
The words lingered between them. Izzy didn’t respond.
She didn’t want to ruin it — that fragile bubble where the world was just a road, a truck, and the faint promise of something better up ahead.
They stopped in a small town a few hours later — one of those places with a single main street and more pine trees than people. The diner was nearly empty when they walked in, the smell of bacon and coffee heavy in the air.
A waitress with kind eyes brought them menus and called Izzy sweetheart. The word nearly broke her.
She ordered toast and scrambled eggs. Beck went for a stack of pancakes big enough for two.
They ate mostly in silence until Beck leaned back, sipping his coffee. “You’re quiet.”
“Just thinking.”
“About?”
“Everything.” She traced a finger along the rim of her glass. “What happens next. If this works. If it doesn’t.”
He nodded slowly. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now.”
She looked up at him then, really looked. “You make it sound easy.”
“It’s not,” he admitted. “But I’ve learned something about easy — it’s overrated.”
That made her laugh, a small, surprised sound. Beck smiled at the noise, like it was the first real thing he’d heard all day.
They paid and left a tip big enough to make the waitress blink. When they stepped outside, the sun was higher now, bright against the wet pavement. Beck helped Izzy into the truck, his hand lingering at her back just a second longer than necessary.
As they drove again, Izzy caught sight of their reflection in the side mirror — her and Beck, side by side, the trees blurring by like ghosts of a world they were leaving behind.
Her fingers drifted to her stomach. It still didn’t feel real.
Beck noticed and reached over, his hand covering hers gently. “You’re not alone in this,” he said.
Izzy didn’t trust her voice enough to answer.
But she squeezed his hand back.
And for a moment, just one, the road ahead didn’t look so impossible.