The Son-in-law

Ashes Of Yesterday

Chapter Seven: 

The morning air was sharp, cold enough to bite through the thin fabric of Billy’s shirt. The streets were quiet, washed in that pale gray light that comes just before the rain. He sat on the front steps of the workshop where he once spent whole days fixing engines—machines that always made sense to him in a way people rarely did. His hands were stained with old grease, though he hadn’t touched a wrench in weeks. The smell lingered—oil, rust, and smoke—a reminder of a past that was simpler, but never truly safe.

Through the grimy window he caught his own reflection: hollow eyes, a jaw clenched too tight, a man who looked older than his years. The reflection seemed to sneer at him, as though mocking the illusion of peace he had tried to build.

A soft knock broke the silence. Billy didn’t move at first, but the sound came again, gentle but insistent.

“Billy?”

He turned. Evelyn leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, her hair tied back loosely so a few strands framed her face. The velvet gowns of the Jones estate were gone; she wore something simpler now—jeans and a blouse—but even in plain clothes, she carried a certain presence.

“You’ve been out here all night,” she said. Her voice wasn’t scolding, just… tired.

Billy shrugged, eyes shifting back to the empty street. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Evelyn stepped closer, her shoes crunching softly against the gravel. “You’re thinking about them. The men from last night.”

The silence stretched. Billy’s jaw worked, but he said nothing. That was enough of an answer. Evelyn lowered her arms, her gaze sharpening.

“You need to tell me the truth, Billy. What part of your past is chasing you now?”

His fingers curled against his knees. He took a slow breath, heavy with rust and memory. “There was a time—long before this family—when I wasn’t exactly the man people think I am now.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You mean before you married into us?”

He gave a slight nod. “Back then, I ran with people. Dangerous people. The kind you don’t write into polite histories. I walked away—or thought I did. But last night…” His words trailed off, weighted with unease. “That look in his eyes… it wasn’t a stranger’s look. It was someone who remembers.”

Evelyn’s arms folded again, but it wasn’t to distance herself. It was to keep herself steady. “So you’re not just fighting against my brother’s venom or my father’s suspicion. You’re fighting shadows they don’t even know exist.”

“Exactly.” Billy’s voice was low, gravel scraping across stone. “And when those shadows catch up, it won’t just be me who pays. Everyone I stand near gets burned.”

Before she could answer, a sharp thud rattled the window beside them. Both turned in unison.

On the ground lay a rock, its edges jagged, wrapped in a scrap of paper tied with rough twine.

Evelyn’s breath caught. She darted forward, scooping it up with hands that trembled despite her effort to appear calm. She tugged the twine loose and unfolded the note.

The words were scrawled in heavy ink, each letter pressed hard into the page:

You can’t outrun blood.

Billy’s stomach turned to iron. His hand shot out, crushing the note in his fist. The paper crumpled easily, but the weight of its message pressed deeper than steel.

“They know,” he muttered.

“They want you scared,” Evelyn whispered.

Billy looked up at her, and for a moment she saw something raw flicker in his eyes—not weakness, but the ghost of it. “They’ve succeeded,” he admitted. “But fear doesn’t mean I’ll run.”

The workshop door creaked suddenly, breaking the moment. Mr. Jones stood framed in the doorway, his presence filling the threshold like a wall. His gray eyes were hard as stone, scanning between his daughter and Billy.

“You two whispering secrets now?” His voice was sharp, each word dripping with accusation. “I knew you were trouble, Billy. But dragging Evelyn into it? You’re rotting this family from the inside.”

Billy rose slowly, every movement deliberate, until he stood level with the older man’s glare. “Believe what you want. But if you think I’m the biggest danger knocking at this door…” He leaned forward slightly, his voice steady, cutting. “…then you’re blind.”

Mr. Jones’s jaw tightened. For a flicker of a second, unease slipped into his eyes—before he masked it behind a scoff. He turned and stalked back inside, the slam of the door echoing like a gavel.

Silence followed, thick and suffocating.

Evelyn exhaled shakily. “He won’t stop until he finds a way to push you out. But if what you’re saying is true…” She glanced at the crushed note in his fist. “…then he has no idea what kind of storm he’s inviting in.”

Billy’s grip on the paper tightened. The ink had smudged against his palm, black streaks marking his skin like a curse.

“So what now?” she asked softly. “You wait for them to come again? Or do you finally face whatever it is you’ve been running from?”

Billy didn’t answer right away. He turned his gaze back to the street. The sky had darkened; low clouds churned above the rooftops, swollen with rain. His pulse thudded heavy in his chest. For years, he had lived half a life—half-son-in-law, half-man, half-shadow. Always waiting. Always reacting.

Not anymore.

His hands curled into fists, grease smearing against sweat. His voice came out like stone grinding against stone.

“No more running.”

Evelyn studied him, her expression unreadable, caught somewhere between fear and admiration.

“If the past wants me,” Billy said, his words slow, deliberate, unshakable, “then let it come. I’ll be ready.”

A single drop of rain splashed onto the wooden step between them, darkening the grain. Then another. The storm had arrived, uninvited, inevitable.

Billy didn’t flinch. He lifted his chin to the sky as the first cold droplets struck his skin.

Storms never asked permission before tearing lives apart.

And this one had his name written in it.