Page 21 of Charging Dodge

“He’s worried that he hasn’t heard from Rebel,” I inform him.

“Some interrogations take longer than others,” he tells me.

“I know,” I concede, leaning against the porch railing. “But he thinks if he isn't breathing down their necks, everything is going to fall apart.”

Hulk chuckles, a low, rumbling sound. “He's the president, not the guy holding the knife. But try telling him that when he's got a bug up his ass about security.”

I sigh, watching the sunrise paint the sky in shades of bruised purple and orange. “He needs to trust you guys. And he needs to eat. He hasn't touched a thing since yesterday.”

Hulk crosses his arms over his massive chest. “Good luck with that. He's got a mental map of every threat within fifty miles, and until he clears the board, food's just noise to him.”

“Maybe I'll try anyway,” I offer, pushing off the railing. “If I can get him to take a bite, maybe it'll take the edge off.”

“You're a brave woman,” Hulk remarks, giving me a rare, genuine grin. “Let me know how that goes.”

“I'm gonna have to trick him and make him believe eating is his idea,” I muse.

Hulk shakes his head, his eyes tracking a hawk circling high above the trees. “Man's stubborn as a mule. You've got your work cut out for you, Adalynn.”

“I've handled stubborn before,” I quip, turning to look at him. “He's just a man. He isn't made of iron, even if he acts like it.”

Hulk chuckles, a low vibration that makes his chest heave. “Yeah, but try telling him that. He'll treat a sandwich like it's a tactical threat.”

I laugh, feeling a little lighter despite the heaviness hanging over the house. “Then I'll just have to be the tactical genius. I'll make something that smells so good he can't ignore it.”

“Good luck with that,” Hulk grunts, pushing off the railing to scan the tree line once more. “I'm going to take a walk around the barn. Keep your eyes peeled while I'm gone.”

“Always,” I reply. I turn and step back inside. The kitchen is still and quiet. I pull the fridge open, scanning the shelves until I find the leftovers. It's not much, just a plate of bacon and eggs from this morning, but it's protein. I slide it onto a clean dish and pop it into the microwave. The hum of the machine is the only sound in the house, a steady, hypnotic buzz that feels almost peaceful. I hope waking him is worth it. He needs the fuel if he's going to lead these men through whatever is coming next.

Peering out through the tiny, postage-stamp-sized window, I spot Carter pacing the backyard. He holds the gun Dodge handed him, scanning the area intently for any signs of trouble. Watching him, I let my head drop in defeat—this is entirely different from the kind of life I envisioned for him. I am completely exhausted from constantly thinking and repeating those exact words, but it remains the absolute truth.

The microwave alerts me with a beep that the food is ready. I grab the plate and carry it over to the living room, setting it down on the side table so it's waiting for him as soon as he opens his eyes. I just hope it doesn't end up cold. Re-heating this stuff is never a good plan, and I really should've considered that before I even turned the machine on.

The screen door whines on its hinges as I step into the back yard. Carter doesn't turn around immediately, his shoulders locked in a rigid line. He holds the pistol Dodge handed him like it is an extension of his own arm.

“Carter,” I call out, my voice tight.

He spins around, the weapon dipping slightly but not enough for my liking. “You shouldn't be out here,” he warns, his eyes scanning the tree line.

“And you shouldn't be playing soldier,” I counter, crossing my arms to hide how much I am shaking. “Put it down.”

“Dodge told me to stay sharp,” he says, his jaw set in a hard line.

I walk toward him, not stopping until I am just a few feet away. “Dodge shouldn't have given you that. You are just a kid.”

He scoffs, a bitter sound that doesn't belong in his young throat. “I am not a kid anymore. Look around us, Adalynn. This is the reality now.”

I reach out, my fingers brushing the cold metal of the gun before I firmly push his hand down. “This isn't reality. It is a nightmare. I didn't spend all this time hoping for a better future just to see you holding a gun in the dirt.”

He stares at me, his eyes old and tired, and it breaks me all over again. “Someone has to do it,” he mutters.

“Not you,” I insist, grabbing the weapon from his loose grip. “Not today.”

He shoots me a side-eyed glare before crossing his arms. He copies the exact possessive posture Dodge takes right before he tears into someone.

“Where are Amelia and Noah?” I demand, remembering he's supposed to be watching over them right now.

He jerks his chin toward the house. “They're in the den watching a movie.”