He checked the time. Seven more minutes until he could call. He slammed the phone onto the concrete beside him.

Running would lead to problems with the authorities. It would paint him as guilty almost immediately. He and his brothers might be safe from the Guides—at least for a little while—but it would be hard to hide from the cops. He didn’t have much cash on hand, and using credit cards would leave an indelible trail.

But staying made them a target.

Along with everyone around them.

Adam uncurled from where he was sitting. Michael hoped he was going into the apartment. But no, he edged over to sit next to Michael. Then he held out his hand.

“Here.”

Michael looked down. A key chain sat on Adam’s palm.

“Keys to the apartment,” Adam said. “My mom’s been whining that I’m never around much anymore, so I’m going to visit for a while. Maybe even spend the night.”

Michael didn’t touch the keys. Suddenly ashamed, he stared at his travel mug. “You don’t have to leave leave. That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant.” Adam paused. “And I know what it’s like to need time to regroup.”

“I don’t want to chase you out of your home. We can leave—”

“Sure, you can. Whenever you’re ready. Or you can stay. But I have somewhere else to go—somewhere free—and it’s not a hardship.” He rolled his eyes. “Or it won’t be for a while. You know how mothers are.”

The words hung in the air for a moment. Adam seemed to realize what he’d said, because there was a little flinching around his eyes—but he couldn’t unsay the words, and Michael appreciated that he didn’t try.

Michael reached out and took the keys. He had to clear his throat. “I’ll work on finding us somewhere else to stay once I talk to the insurance company.”

“You should try to get some sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’ve said.”

“Keep the keys with you if you leave. I’ll get the spare from my mom.”

Michael nodded. He knew he should say thank you, but emotion was clawing its way up his throat, and he was worried his voice would crack—or he’d say something angry, just to cover it up.

Keep it together. Your fifteen minutes is almost up.

It was enough to steady his breathing. “We’ll be gone by tomorrow morning.”

Adam didn’t look away. “It’s okay to let other people take care of you, you know.”

Michael laughed without any real humor to it. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Hmm. Well, at least now I know where Nick gets it.”

That pissed Michael off. “You think I should let other people ‘take care of us’? You think that would help? Let me tell you what happens when I try. When my parents died, they had people working for them. Good guys, I thought, who offered to help me figure out the business. Good guys who stole almost ten thousand dollars before I realized what was going on. Or how about when Nick and Gabriel were twelve and they snuck out of the house to be stupid, and they got caught. I asked a neighbor to come sit with Chris since it was the middle of the night. She was real helpful. She reported it to DFS. Told them my brothers were running wild. There are all kinds of people trying to help, but it always seems like they’re really just waiting around for me to f**k up.”

“I’m not waiting for you to f**k up.” Adam paused. “Just because you can’t trust everyone doesn’t mean you can’t trust anyone.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know.” Adam stood and moved toward the door. “Those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.”

Michael turned to snap at him, because he couldn’t take any more emotion or uncertainty, and “helpful” commentary from a veritable stranger wasn’t all that welcome.

But Adam was already through the door, softly latching it behind him, leaving Michael sitting on the concrete, alone with his worries.

Hannah lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, willing sleep to slow her thoughts. She’d choked down a cup of coffee on the way home from the firehouse, knowing she’d have to be alert enough to get James to school, but now she was paying the price.

Some days her life was almost too surreal for examination. Six hours ago, she’d been performing CPR between burning houses during an earthquake. One hour ago, she’d been holding James close, inhaling his ever-present scent of sugar cookies and boy sweat, tickling him until he cried, “Mommy!” and collapsed in giggles on the front steps of his elementary school.

Then he’d gone through the double doors, and she’d walked back to her car, enduring the judgmental stares from the other mothers, most of whom were ten years older than she was.

When she’d been seventeen with an infant, she’d expected the stares. They validated a feeling she’d walked around with every day: shame.

Now, she wanted to scream at them all. I’m a good mother, too.

Some days she felt interminably lonely. Any friends she’d had in high school were finishing college now, looking at internships and getting ready to start their adult lives. Hannah had started her adult life five years ago, and she couldn’t relate to young women whose biggest dilemmas were how to get their first credit card or how to deal with a roommate who had loud sex at all hours of the night. But she also didn’t fit in with women whose days revolved around yoga class or desk jobs or picking up their husband’s dry-cleaning. She felt squarely smashed in between life cycles, trapped by a mistake of her own making.