He couldn’t have left the store. Could he?
Ash’s breath was coming out too fast. Too shallow. His legs felt weak, chest burning, but he didn’t stop. He couldn't. Every aisle was a dead end. Every corner was someone else’s kid. Every second was another voice in his head whispering, you were supposed to be holding his hand.
He grabbed a staff member by the shoulder. “Have you seen a kid- eight years old, yellow shirt-”
The man blinked at him. “Sorry, I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
Bastard.
Ash moved on.
He checked the front. No one by the exit. Just people coming in and out. He peeked through the sliding doors. No sign of Noah outside either.
Fifteen minutes. Maybe twenty.
He gripped the edge of the checkout counter, forcing himself to breathe. His mind was spiraling, churning out possibilities he didn’t want to think about. What if someone took him? What if he went looking for something and got locked in a backroom? What if-
Then someone tapped his shoulder.
Ash turned so fast he almost dropped the grocery bag. His heart jumped into his throat- but it wasn’t Noah.
It was someone else.
A guy. Probably twenty-five or older. Just a little taller than Ash, but it was the way he carried himself that made him seem older. Calm. Collected. One hand in his pocket, the other casually holding up a phone like he’d just finished checking the time.
Who is this guy?
He had wavy dark hair pushed back like he didn’t care what it looked like and sharp eyes that scanned you in a single blink. His expression was neutral- friendly, but not overly so.
“Are you looking for someone?” he asked, voice low and even.
Maybe he found Noah!
Ash blinked, breath catching. “Yeah. My little brother. He’s-”
“Yellow shirt, talks a lot, way too curious?” The guy gave a knowing smile, the corner of his mouth twitching up just slightly. “I found him near the freezer section. Said he got lost.”
Ash exhaled all at once. His fingers tightened around the grocery bag, grounding himself. “You found him?”
“Yeah. He’s with me. I didn’t want to leave him alone.”
Finally!
The guy motioned for Ash to follow, and Ash- relieved but still tense- trailed behind him past the last few checkout counters. There, tucked near a quiet bench by the self-checkout lane, sat Noah.
Legs swinging, head tilted in deep thought, hands in his lap.
Ash quickened his steps, heart still thudding. “Noah.”
Noah’s head popped up, eyes wide. “Big Brother!”
But instead of running to him, Ash just crouched in front of him, scanning him quickly. Hands. Legs. No signs of crying or bruises or panic. Just his usual chaos.
“Are you okay?” Ash asked quietly, gripping the edge of the bench. “You didn’t talk to strangers, did you?”
“I talked to him,” Noah said simply, pointing at the stranger. “He’s nice. He knew where to find you.”
Ash exhaled, finally letting his knees rest. His shoulders were tight, the panic still humming beneath his skin like an echo.
“Guess I should’ve glued you to the shopping cart,” he muttered.
Noah shrugged. “Yeah, I guess you could’ve glued me to the candy aisle.”
Dumbhead.
He turned back toward the stranger. “Thanks. Seriously. I thought I’d lost him.”
The guy gave a small, polite nod. “You didn’t. He’s got good instincts. Just wanders fast.”
Ash studied him for a second, still breathing through the aftermath of panic. The stranger didn’t look out of place, exactly- but something about his calm felt… too effortless. Like he wasn’t reacting at all to a flustered teenager and a lost child. Like he’d done this before. Like chaos didn’t rattle him.
Ash held out a hand. “I’m Asher Hawkins.”
“Z Samuel,” the guy replied, shaking his hand once. His grip was firm, steady.
Damn. He’s not shaken at all.
They both turned slightly to glance at Noah, who was now sticking his hand back into the grocery bag with exaggerated sneakiness, completely ignoring their conversation.
Ash turned back to Samuel. “Hey… just out of curiosity…”
He tilted his head. The question rose before he could fully stop it.
“…How’d you know I was his brother?”
Samuel blinked.
And for a split second- barely noticeable unless you were really paying attention- something shifted in his eyes. Just the tiniest flicker of hesitation. Not fear. Not nervousness. Just calculation.
What?
Ash saw it.
It made something quiet inside him stir.
Samuel cleared his throat lightly, gaze flicking to the bench. “He described you,” he said smoothly. “Said his brother was tall, maybe 5 foot six inches, had black onyx eyes and black hair, and had this way of getting into trouble wherever he went.”
Ash stared at him.
Noah said this?!
But it didn’t sit right.
Because Ash knew Noah. If he’d gotten lost, he would’ve mentioned “my brother’s gonna be mad” - but not a full description. Not detailed enough for a stranger to track him down without hesitation.
Still…
Ash didn’t say anything. Not yet.
He pulled out his phone instead. “Can you give me your number? You really helped us out. I can return the favor sometime. I don’t know. Just…”
A way to repay him. A way to say I don’t forget kindness.
Samuel raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
They exchanged numbers.
Samuel typed his in fast. Almost too fast. Like he was waiting for this moment all his life.
Phone buzzed in Ash’s hand.
“I’ve got yours,” Samuel said. “I live close by. If you ever need something, you can tell me.”
No, dude. He helped me and now he’s offering more help.
Ash snorted, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Thanks. Hopefully next time, I’ll get a chance to return your favor.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Samuel glanced one last time at Noah- who was now holding up two different types of cereal- then gave Ash a polite nod.
And walked off.
Just like that.
Ash watched him go. Samuel’s steps were slow.
Relaxed. Not cocky. Just knowing.
Like he’d already memorized every corner of the store before he’d walked in.
Ash turned back to Noah, forcing himself to breathe.
They’d found each other. That was what mattered.
But as he picked up the bag and nudged Noah toward the checkout, one thought kept looping in the back of his mind:
I should’ve never left Noah’s hand like this. Maybe this calls for an ice cream so Noah doesn’t tell mom.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“We're home!”
The grocery bag rustled as Ash dropped it on the kitchen counter, the familiar weight of the day settling back into his shoulders. Noah had already scampered off, muttering something about finally having both cereals to test which one turned milk purple faster.
Ash exhaled, leaning on the edge of the counter, eyes flicking to the clock. Just past noon.
Homework done. Dishes washed. Grocery trip survived- barely.
So why do I still feel like I forgot something?
His eyes flicked to the clock on the wall.
12:03 PM.
He stood there for a moment longer, his knuckles resting on the counter.
And then it hit him.
Samuel and Jason.
The name slipped through his mind. Like when you know you’re to remember something all the time, and when you don’t, you feel like that was way important.
Nothing was really weird about Samuel. But the way he described Ash, the way he nonchalantly just… helped him get to Noah like it was no big deal.
Something is off about Samuel. I just don't know what.
And Jason…
.
.
I’ll tell you when you get there.
.
.
He hadn’t said what, hadn’t offered even a hint.
Ash rubbed the back of his neck, frowning.
Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
Did he call Lucas? Or not?
His hand was already reaching into his pocket, fingers curling around his phone. The screen lit up with a quiet click as he unlocked it. Muscle memory guided his thumb straight to Lucas’s chat.
Ash stared at it.
Well. Just text him.
Ash preferred texts.
He liked the safety of typing. The distance. The chance to reread your words before pressing send, to rewrite and edit.
Calls were too immediate.
Too raw.
Too close.
Then, as if summoned, he remembered something.
.
.
It was way before- when Ash didn’t even know Lucas was the boss, or to be simply blunt- when things hadn’t gotten worse.
Ash leaned against the cool metal of his locker, arms crossed, phone clutched loosely in one hand. He didn’t notice Jason walking toward him until the boy stopped right in front of him.
Jason looked annoyed.
“Why didn’t you reply?” he asked.
Ash blinked. “Huh?”
“I texted you. Twice.” Jason held up his phone like it was proof of some betrayal.
Ash glanced down at his own phone. The unread messages were there.
“Ugh, I hate science.”
“We wanna see how you did on your assignments.”
Ash looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “I didn’t know what to say.”
“You could’ve just said something,” Jason muttered, frustrated. “Even just a ‘k.’”
Before Ash could respond, Lucas’s voice cut in from behind them.
“Told you,” he said, leaning against the locker beside them. “He’s terrible at texting.”
Jason turned to him. “So? You text back like instantly.”
Lucas shrugged. “Yeah, well, I hate typing stuff. It’s slow. People say weird things when they write. You never know what they mean.”
Ash glanced sideways at Lucas, who met his gaze for just a second before looking away.
“Better to just call,” Lucas added with a small grin. “Say what you mean and be done with it.”
Ash scoffed. “Easy for you to say. You say whatever pops into your head.”
Lucas raised an eyebrow. “And you don’t say anything at all.”
.
His thumb hovered over the call icon now. His stomach flipped.
He’ll probably tease me if I call.
Ash sighed.
Fine. I’ll be done with it quickly.
He pressed the call button.
Once.
Twice.
His heart thudded against his ribs, steady but unpleasant. Ash wasn’t used to calling first. He was always the one who waited.
So when the line picked up and a voice said:
“Hello Asher.”
He froze.
That wasn’t Lucas. No way. Lucas hated that name. He always made a face and said, “It’s Ash, not your grandfather’s ashes.”
And Lucas would’ve answered with a grunt, or a “What,” or some strange noise just to mess with him. Never a soft-spoken “Hello Asher.”
Wait. Is THAT-?!
Ash blinked. “Jamie?”
There was a pause, like the name surprised him. Then a hoarse laugh, rough around the edges. “You recognized me fast.”
Ash didn’t smile, but his voice softened anyway. “Yeah. Guess I did.”
Dude, how can I forget you?!
Jamie was the one Ash found when he was sad and depressed. When Lily left, Jamie was the one who told him family’s the one you need and you’re the one your family needs.
Jamie didn’t say anything for a moment. On the other end, Ash could hear a faint wheeze, like breathing through a clogged straw. The sound of someone lying down, maybe shifting blankets.
“You sound sick,” Ash said before he could stop himself.
“Caught a little something,” Jamie admitted. His voice was scratchy, like it hurt to talk. “Lucas ran down to the pharmacy. He left his phone here charging, so… I figured I’d keep an eye on it.”
“Oh,” Ash said. And then again, quieter, “Oh.”
“I was… um. I wanted to talk to Lucas.”
Of course. Awkward. Even for him, that was bad. He winced at himself.
Jamie didn’t laugh, just said, “I figured. Don’t worry about it.”
Ash stared down at the floor. His socked toe nudged the edge of a grocery bag, crumpling the receipt peeking out.
“I didn’t think you were home,” he said after a second. “Lucas told me you’ve been gone a lot. Because of the protests.”
The line went still.
Jamie’s breath caught- barely- and when he spoke, it was with a practiced kind of calm. “Did he now?”
I shouldn’t have told him that, right?
“Yeah,” Ash said, immediately wishing he hadn’t brought it up.
A soft chuckle.
“Lucas never shuts up.”
But his voice had dulled.
“It’s okay,” Jamie added, too quickly. “Really. It’s not a big deal.”
Ash didn’t believe that. Not for a second. But what was he supposed to say? Are you okay? Why do you sound like you’re used to it?
He didn’t say anything. Just pressed his thumb harder against the edge of the counter until his nail bent.
Jamie spoke again before he could gather a reply. “How are you doing, Asher? School okay? How’s everything at home?”
Ash opened his mouth. Closed it.
“Fine,” he said eventually. “Everything's… just fine.”
Ash looked toward the hallway.
“And you?” Jamie asked again, voice softer. “You doing okay?”
Ash’s chest tightened.
He hated that question.
He hated how it made him feel like he had to perform wellness. Like it was a test.
There was a war happening in his head. One part wanted to hang up. Thank Jamie. Go back to pretending everything was fine. The other par- wanted to say no. That he wasn’t okay. That something about today, about Samuel felt off and he didn’t know what, and it was driving him crazy.
But those words didn’t come out.
Smile. Nod. Lie.
So he gave the answer he always gave. The one that slipped off his tongue with practiced ease.
“Yeah. I’m good.”
Jamie hummed. Not disbelieving. Not believing, either. Just letting it sit there.
“You wanna leave a message? Or you can just call back later when Lucas is home.” Jamie asked.
“No, it’s…”
Another long pause.
Awkward.
“Tell Lucas I called?” he asked.
“I will.”
Ash hesitated again.
“…Only if he’s free.”
Jamie’s reply came softer. “Okay.”
Ash didn’t answer.
What was he supposed to say?
I don’t like being a burden?
“I’ll let him know,” Jamie added. “Take care of yourself, Asher.”
Ash bit the inside of his cheek. “Get well soon,” he muttered, already pulling the phone away.
Finally.
But before he could hit end-
“WAIT!” Jamie’s voice came quick, winded. “I think Lucas is back- I hear the door!”
Ash blinked. His hand froze midair.
Then, in the distance: a door opening. Muffled voices. Footsteps.
Jamie’s voice: “Hey! It’s Asher! He wants to talk to you- yeah, now.”
Ash exhaled. His shoulders loosened a little, like someone had finally allowed him to drop the weight he’d been carrying.
A second later, the line crackled. Then-
“YO Ash! Wassup?”
Lucas’s voice.
Stupid.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I'm gonna buy sour bear gummies to tease Jamie. 'Cause he's the one who always says, 'No sour-y thing when your throat hurts’.
Lucas was on his way to the corner market for snacks, half-teasing Jamie about the snacks he can't eat when he's sick.
Jamie slept as soon as he took meds. His voice was still rough and his nose was still running- but at least he was asleep.
Lucas just glanced at the couch where Jamie was lumped against, shallow breathing as if it hurts to just breathe.
Lucas wrote a note on a sticky pad,
.
.
Out for a bit. If you need something, call me.
.
.
And he had walked out of the door with it slowly clicking behind him.
Serves him right for trying to get all sick on me.
Lucas was half-distracted by Ash’s weird phone call earlier too. Apparently, Jason had called Ash too.
.
.
“Probably just wants to confess a secret relationship,” Lucas joked.
There’d been a beat of silence on Ash’s end. A long pause, like he’d either dropped his phone or was trying to piece together a sentence that didn’t start with what the hell are you talking about.
“You think so?” Ash had asked. “Yeah… yeah, that definitely makes sense.”
Lucas laughed. “You’re so easy to convince.”
.
.
What should I get beside sour bear gummies?
His eyes caught the sight of a Red Bull.
I'm definitely taking that.
He wasn’t thirsty. Just needed to tease Jamie.
He was halfway through glancing at the flavors when he noticed the crowd.
Huh? What's that?
It was faint at first. Just a vague rise of voices coming from the plaza two streets down.
Probably a concert or a pop-up- no, wait.
His fingers paused on the vending fridge.
It wasn’t music. It was chanting.
And when he stepped out, soda in one hand, the air shifted.
He saw them from across the street.
Dozens of people. A mass of motion and raised arms and cardboard signs.
Oh?
“We demand Justice!”
“We want the truth, no more lies!”
“We want real deals, not empty promises!”
Oh.
The protest. Right.
And in the middle of all that noise and color, something cut through.
A board. Handheld. Old. Almost crooked.
“JUSTICE FOR HART WHITAKER.”
Lucas froze mid-step.
No one was stopping him. No one would even notice if he kept walking. His bus stop was the other way. He could go home, toss snacks on the counter, maybe call Ash back and make another dumb joke about Jason’s secret love life.
He turned his eyes away.
Then turned them back.
That sign.
That name.
Dad.
It had been sixteen years since Hart Whitaker was found dead rotten in a warehouse no one went to.
Sixteen years since his dad's name was left out of the city’s memory like he’d never existed.
Sixteen years would've been enough to find his murderer.
It was enough time. But of course.
Sixteen years would've been enough to put Jack behind the bars.
But nothing like that happened.
They declared him innocent. There wasn't any hard proof.
Sixteen years should've been enough.
But Jack took this time to rise. Sold people a cleaner version of the story.
That didn't involve blood and violence and gunning people down in places that give off malicious vibes.
Lucas hadn't even heard his father’s voice. Not really. Had seen him in Old photos. A smile with too much warmth for someone whose name the world barely said out loud anymore.
And now someone was carrying it like a flag.
Lucas cursed under his breath.
Jamie would kill me if I went closer.
He could already imagine it- Jamie's voice, sharp with panic, the kind of voice that only cracked when fear turned into fury.
.
.
If I ever find out you got into trouble by yourself- Lucas, I swear- you can’t even imagine what I’ll do.
.
.
That had been right after the hospital.
After the stabbing.
Lucas hadn’t meant to get involved. He was just trying to save Ash. One wrong move, and he ended up bleeding through a towel while Jamie paced the ER like he was going to explode.
He didn’t yell right away. He waited. Waited until Lucas was patched up and drowsy from pain meds, until the nurse left and the door clicked shut.
Then he broke.
He’d gripped the edge of the bed and shouted something about recklessness, about how Lucas wasn’t allowed to throw himself into trouble.
The way he stayed all night in that stiff visitor chair, head tilted against the wall, arms crossed like he was guarding the room.
That was Jamie.
Angry when he was terrified.
Fierce when he felt helpless.
So Lucas should’ve turned back.
But he didn't.
He walked towards the protest, the people holding up signs.
Because Hart Whitaker’s name was out here.
Being held up by someone who still remembers.
Sorry Jamie. But I'll just see what that man holding the cardboard has to say about dad.
It wasn't far. Just took him ten to twenty steps to reach there.
Alright Lucas. Just see who it is and go back. Don't engage.
The crowd around the square had doubled since he last passed through. A ripple of static buzzed from a loudspeaker ahead, echoing off concrete buildings and iron streetlights.
Then he saw it.
The stage.
Raised just above street level, surrounded by news crews and phone cameras, boom mics hanging like vultures over a podium.
And that’s where…
Lucas squinted his eyes at the stage.
…Anthony Jack would be.
