Chapter 10 - THE RIDE HOME
Damon pushed open the heavy glass exit doors and stepped out into the crisp, cool Iowa afternoon air.
The sun was dipping low over the horizon, painting the sky in deep shades of orange and purple.
Parked in the gravel lot near the side of the building was his rusted '04 Chevy Silverado. Through the fogged-up passenger window, Damon could see Evan sitting inside, the heater running, his small hands wrapped around a warm paper cup of water he had brought from home.
Damon walked across the gravel, his heavy work boots crunching softly against the stones.
He opened the driver's side door, stepped up into the cab, and pulled the heavy door shut with a solid, metallic thunk. The cabin smelled familiar and warm—a mix of old leather, copper pipe shavings, and coffee.
Evan looked up at his father, his eyes still slightly red from crying, but his breathing had restored to normal.
"Did... did you get the refund, Dad?" Evan asked softly, looking down at his lap.
Damon reached into his flannel pocket, pulled out the two hundred-dollar bills, and placed them neatly inside the glove compartment.
"Got it right here, buddy," Damon said quietly.
He turned the key in the ignition. The V8 engine roared to life with a deep, familiar rumble, shaking the truck slightly as the heater blew warm air onto their feet.
Evan hesitated for a moment, looking out the window at the martial-arts gym.
"Dad..." Evan began softly, his voice filled with a mix of curiosity and hesitation. "How did you know he wasn't going to hit you?"
Damon shifted the truck into drive, resting his right hand over the gear shift as he checked his side mirrors before pulling out onto the highway.
He looked over at his son, offering a gentle, warm smile—the smile of a loving father who had traded the darkness of war for the quiet peace of a small Iowa town.
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"Because, Evan," Damon said softly, turning the truck toward home, "when people fight just to prove they're better than everyone else... they always forget to watch where they're standing."
The rusty Silverado rolled smoothly down the country road, leaving the small-town gym far behind in the dust of the setting Iowa sun.
