Collateral Damage

Morning light pooled across Duck’s kitchen table like a promise Bethany didn’t feel able to take. The house smelled of frying bacon and coffee; the ordinary sounds of a family morning tried to stitch over the rawness she carried. Outside, Nancy and Colin’s laughter threaded through the screen door as the two of them played tag on the lawn. For a moment, Bethany let herself watch Colin tumble in the grass and felt the ache ease, just a fraction.

Duck moved with the ease of a man who had long since learned how to make a home. He set a plate in front of Bethany and sat across from her, wiping his hands on a towel. He didn’t ask anything at first — just gave her the space to breathe. When he finally spoke, it was the sort of plain question fathers asked when the air had already been punctured.

“So…what is going on?”

Bethany’s breath hitched. The words she’d been holding in all night spilled out like a broken dam. Tears came hot and messy, catching in her throat as she told him about the money, the lights going out, the way she’d felt like a prisoner while pretending their life was whole.

“Tevin has a gambling problem,” she said, voice fraying. “He took out the fifty thousand I’d saved. I… I’ve been trying to be the perfect wife for ten years, and it’s been one thing after another. I thought he was cheating. It turns out he was addicted. I used Colin’s tuition money last month to cover a bill because I couldn’t say no, and I didn’t want to argue. I was scared, Daddy. I couldn’t do it anymore.”

Duck listened without interruption. When she finished, he folded his hands on the table, and the kitchen grew very still. “Do you think he was in trouble taking out all that money?” he asked finally, careful.

Bethany swallowed. “Possibly. I’d been letting him have— I’d been giving him cash, a thousand here and there, so he’d stop begging or sneaking off. I thought I was keeping it small enough to fix later. I didn’t know he could lose us like that.”

Duck’s jaw tightened. He looked toward the window where Colin’s laughter floated back to them like something fragile. He stood up and moved to the counter, making a show of busying himself — an old, practiced trick to keep someone from seeing the raw calculation behind a father’s worry.

“No one will come on this property and not get handled,” Duck said, the edge in his voice soft and steady. He put a hand on Bethany’s shoulder. “We’ll get you set up. We’ll make sure you have your own account — one he can’t touch. We’ll make sure Colin’s protected. And you’re not alone, understood?”

Bethany nodded against the pressure of gratitude and shame. “I know, Dad. I’m so sorry I put this on you.”

“You didn’t put this on us,” Duck said. “He made choices. We’re fixing what we can. But you need to be honest with me — if anyone called, if anything felt off, you tell me. Straight away.”

Bethany swallowed and told him about the lights going out the morning she left. She left out the shame of feeling the house close in on her as she packed, leaving instead the practical pieces that Duck would use to protect them — the dates, the amounts, the fact that Tevin had been desperate.

As Bethany spoke, Duck began to form a plan the way a man who’d worn many hats formed plans: practical, layered, aggressive only in the sense of being determined. He would change the locks, beef up the exterior lights, and have Nancy keep Colin inside the next few days. He’d call an attorney to ask about liens, about how to step out of whatever obligations Tevin had created. He’d get Bethany her own bank account and move Colin’s savings into one she alone controlled. He made a mental list and checked it with the narrow focus of a man who refused to be surprised.

Outside, Nancy chased Colin, laughing, and for a moment, Bethany let herself breathe again. But the uneasiness sat under her ribs like a stone; it was nameless at first — a hollow part of her that wouldn’t settle. She scanned the yard, the road beyond, the little gate. She had the distinct, unreasonable sensation that something was watching: a car idling too long at the end of the lane, a shadow that might have been nothing. She told herself it was only fear, that she was on high alert because of the morning’s loss. But the hair at the back of her neck kept prickling.

Duck noticed the way she kept glancing at the window. He walked over and stood behind her, covering her hand with his. “We’ll keep you safe,” he said again, quieter this time. “I’m going to call Marcus — he owes me a favor. He can sit at the end of the lane for a couple of days, keep an eye out. And I’ll get the lawyer on the phone. If there’s any hint of trouble, we call the sheriff.”

Bethany nodded, the words a lifeline. “Do we need to call the police now? About the money? About threats?”

“Not yet,” Duck said. “If there’s evidence of a threat or if anyone show up, we call. Until then, we don’t want to tip our hand. I want you to be steady so you can think clearly. Let me handle what I can.”

He hesitated, then added, “And Beth— don’t tell Tevin’s friends where you’re staying. Not yet. We keep this small.”

That night, after Colin had been tucked into bed on a mattress in Nancy’s room and the house had grown still, Bethany sat by the window with a cup of tea that had gone cold. She watched the dark beyond the yard and tried to imagine what Tevin might be doing — whether he’d finally sought help for his addiction, whether he’d run, or back at a table, gambling away money he didn't have.

Her phone buzzed on the table, and she jumped. A number she didn’t recognize flashed on the screen. For a moment, every fear she’d carried that day tightened into a point. She let it go to voicemail, and the tiny red notification pulsed unanswered.

Downstairs, Duck’s truck idled in the driveway for a long time before he finally started it up and drove away, the taillights red against the black as he went to call in favors and make arrangements. Bethany listened to the hum of the house settling, the soft, regular breathing of two people sleeping in the room down the hall. She wrapped her arms around herself and tried to sleep, feeling the unease as a living thing, patient and waiting.

Somewhere not far away, men who wanted more than money were counting days. The house held its breath.