Chapter 5: The Porch Light Flickers On
The bus smelled like bleach and exhaustion. Ender had been on it for sixteen hours, had watched the sun rise and fall through a scratched plexiglass window, had eaten nothing but a stale granola bar he'd found at the bottom of his duffel bag. His ribs throbbed with every bump in the road, and his jaw had swollen to the point where he could feel it pulsing against his skin.
He'd transferred twice. Once in a city he couldn't name, once in another. The stations had blurred together—fluorescent lights, plastic chairs, the robotic voice announcing departures. He'd kept his head down. Kept his bag close. Kept breathing.
Now, at two in the morning, the bus groaned to a stop in Cedar Falls.
The station was nothing more than a shed with a bench and a flickering sign. Ender stepped off, and the cold hit him like a wall. Oregon in November. He'd forgotten what real cold felt like—not the damp chill of the city, but this. Sharp. Clean. The kind of cold that made his lungs ache.
He pulled his coat tighter and walked.
Josh's address was written on a piece of paper in his pocket, smudged from weeks of handling. He'd looked it up three months ago, during one of Pete's poker nights. Had written it down, folded it, hidden it in his sock drawer. Just in case.
Just in case had become now.
The streets were empty. Streetlights buzzed overhead, casting pools of sickly yellow on the cracked sidewalks. Ender's legs moved on autopilot, one foot in front of the other, his duffel bag a dead weight against his chest.
He passed a closed diner. A church with a crooked steeple. A park where the swings creaked in the wind, moving though no one was there. The town was small. Quiet. The kind of place where everyone knew everyone and secrets didn't last.
Ender wondered if Josh would be angry. If he'd even recognize him.
The last time they'd seen each other was five years ago. At the wedding. Josh had stood beside him, had smiled and shaken hands and said welcome to the family. He'd had kind eyes then. Warm. The same kind eyes Ender had seen in Pete's face, before Pete had stopped pretending to love him.
Ender wondered if Josh's eyes were still kind.
The house appeared at the end of a dead-end street.
It was smaller than Ender had imagined. A single-story bungalow with peeling paint and a porch that sagged like an old man's spine. The yard was overgrown, choked with weeds and dead leaves, and the wrought-iron railing was rusted through in places.
But there was a light on.
A single bulb above the door, casting a weak glow over the porch. Wind chimes hung from the eaves—tarnished brass, bent wire—and they clattered in the wind, sharp and discordant. Ender stood at the bottom of the steps and listened to them scream.
He couldn't move.
His legs had stopped working. His lungs had stopped working. He stood there, frozen, staring at the door, and thought about all the ways this could go wrong.
Josh could turn him away. Josh could call Pete. Josh could look at him with those kind eyes and say I can't help you.
The wind chimes screamed again. Ender climbed the steps.
His knuckles hit the door before he could talk himself out of it.
The sound echoed through the house. Ender waited. Nothing. He knocked again, harder this time, and his bruised ribs protested with a sharp spike of pain.
Then—footsteps.
Heavy. Slow. Growing closer.
The porch light flickered on. The door swung open.
Josh stood in the doorway.
He was older than Ender remembered. His hair was longer, tangled from sleep, and there was a scar on his chin that hadn't been there before. He was wearing nothing but sweatpants, his chest bare, his feet shoved into a pair of worn-out slippers.
He stared at Ender.
Ender stared back.
For three full seconds, neither of them moved. The wind chimes kept screaming. The cold bit into Ender's face. And Josh's expression shifted—confusion, then alarm, then something harder. Something that looked like understanding.
"Ender?"
Ender opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Just a ragged exhale. A sound that was almost a word but not quite. His throat closed up, and his eyes burned, and he felt something crack open in his chest—something he'd been holding shut for five years.
Josh's face went pale.
"What the fuck," he breathed. "What the fuck happened to you?"
Ender tried to speak again. Tried to say I left him or I'm sorry or I didn't know where else to go. But the words wouldn't come. His body was shaking now, trembling so hard his teeth chattered, and he clutched his duffel bag to his chest like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
Josh stepped aside.
"Get in here," he said. "Now."
Ender crossed the threshold.
The door clicked shut behind him, and the warmth of the house wrapped around him like a blanket. It smelled like wood smoke and old books and something cooking—soup, maybe, or chili. Something that had been simmering for hours.
And then Ender broke.
The tears came without warning. Without sound. They just spilled down his face, hot and relentless, and he stood there in the middle of Josh's living room and sobbed like a child.
Josh didn't ask questions.
He just crossed the room in two strides and pulled Ender into his arms.
It hurt. God, it hurt—his ribs screamed, his jaw throbbed, his entire body ached with the force of Josh's grip. But Ender didn't pull away. He clung to Josh like a drowning man, fingers digging into his shoulders, face buried in his neck.
And Josh held him.
"How long?" Josh's voice was low, rough. "How long has he been doing this to you?"
Ender couldn't answer. He just shook his head and cried harder.
Josh held him tighter.
"I'm gonna fucking kill him."
---
They sat at the kitchen table.
Josh had wrapped Ender in a blanket—a thick, woolen thing that smelled like cedar—and made him tea. Ender cupped the mug in both hands, letting the heat seep into his fingers. He hadn't realized how cold he was. How cold he'd been for years.
Josh sat across from him, arms crossed, jaw tight.
His eyes kept drifting to Ender's face. To the bruise under his jaw. To the split in his lip. To the way he held himself, shoulders hunched, like he was waiting for another blow.
"You want to tell me what happened?"
Ender stared into his tea. "You know what happened."
"I want to hear you say it."
The clock on the wall ticked. Ender counted the seconds.
"He hit me," he said finally. "For five years. Every time I did something he didn't like. Every time I talked back. Every time I breathed wrong."
Josh's hands clenched into fists.
"Why didn't you leave sooner?"
"I was scared."
"Scared of what?"
Ender looked up. His eyes were red-rimmed, swollen, but there was something steady in them now. Something that hadn't been there before.
"Scared of him finding me," he said. "Scared of having nowhere to go. Scared of being alone."
Josh's expression softened.
"You're not alone," he said. "You're here now. You're safe."
Ender wanted to believe him.
He wanted to believe that the nightmare was over, that Pete couldn't reach him here, that he'd finally escaped. But there was a part of him—a small, cold part—that knew better. That knew Pete wouldn't let him go so easily.
"I left everything," Ender said. "My ring. My phone. My keys. He's going to know I'm gone."
"Good."
"He's going to look for me."
Josh leaned forward. "Let him."
Ender shook his head. "You don't understand. He's—"
"I understand plenty." Josh's voice was hard now. Hard and cold and sharp as a blade. "I've known my brother was a piece of shit since we were kids. I just didn't know how bad it was. I didn't know he was doing this to you."
"You couldn't have known."
"I should have."
The silence stretched between them. Ender took a sip of his tea. It was too hot, burned his tongue, but he didn't care.
"I didn't know where else to go," he said.
Josh reached across the table and took his hand.
"You came to the right place."
---
The guest room was small.
A twin bed. A dresser. A window that looked out over the overgrown backyard. Ender stood in the doorway, duffel bag at his feet, and felt something he hadn't felt in years.
Safe.
Josh hovered behind him. "It's not much. But it's yours for as long as you need it."
Ender turned. "I don't have any money. I can't pay rent. I don't even have a job."
"We'll figure it out."
"I can't—"
"Ender." Josh's voice was gentle but firm. "You just escaped an abusive marriage. You don't have to figure anything out right now. You just have to rest."
Ender's throat tightened.
"I don't know how to rest," he said. "I don't know how to do anything except survive."
Josh stepped closer. He didn't touch Ender—just stood there, close enough that Ender could feel the warmth radiating off his skin.
"Then I'll teach you."
Ender looked at him. Really looked. At the kind eyes, the soft mouth, the scar on his chin. At the way he stood, solid and steady, like a wall that wouldn't crumble.
"Why are you helping me?"
Josh's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"Pete is your brother. Your blood. I'm just—" Ender swallowed. "I'm just the guy he married."
Josh shook his head.
"You're not just anything," he said. "You're family. And family doesn't let family suffer."
Ender didn't know what to say.
So he just nodded. And when Josh pulled him into another hug—gentler this time, mindful of his injuries—Ender let himself be held.
---
He slept for fourteen hours.
When he woke, the sun was high in the sky, streaming through the thin curtains and painting the room in shades of gold. Ender blinked at the ceiling. It was white. Unstained. For a moment, he didn't know where he was.
Then he remembered.
He sat up. His ribs ached. His jaw throbbed. But the pain was different now—duller, less sharp. Like his body was finally starting to heal.
He found Josh in the kitchen, flipping pancakes.
"Morning," Josh said. "Or afternoon. You slept forever."
"What time is it?"
"Almost two."
Ender's eyes widened. "I never sleep in this late."
"You needed it." Josh slid a pancake onto a plate and pushed it toward him. "Eat."
Ender sat down at the table. The pancake was golden brown, drizzled with syrup, and his stomach growled at the sight.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten a real meal.
He took a bite. Then another. Then he was shoveling the food into his mouth like a man starved, because he was—starved for more than just food, starved for kindness and warmth and safety.
Josh watched him with a small smile.
"There's more where that came from."
Ender slowed down. Forced himself to chew. To breathe.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't know why I'm so—"
"Don't apologize." Josh cut him off. "You've been through hell. You're allowed to be a mess."
Ender set down his fork. "I don't know what to do now."
"About what?"
"Everything. I don't have a plan. I don't have a job. I don't have—"
"You have me."
Ender looked at him.
"I know it's not much," Josh said. "I know I'm just some guy with a shitty house and a dead-end job. But I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere."
Ender's eyes burned.
"Thank you," he whispered.
Josh reached across the table and squeezed his hand.
"Eat your pancakes."
---
The days passed in a blur.
Ender slept. He ate. He helped Josh around the house—fixed the leaky faucet, patched the hole in the screen door, cleaned out the gutters. He felt useless, a burden, and he kept waiting for Josh to get tired of him.
But Josh never did.
He took Ender to the doctor, who confirmed what Ender already knew—two bruised ribs, a mild concussion, and a jaw that had been fractured at least once before. The doctor asked questions. Ender didn't answer them. Josh sat beside him the whole time, a steady presence in the sterile room, and didn't push.
Josh bought him new glasses. Took him to the laundromat. Taught him how to make chili, the way he liked it.
Ender started to feel like a person again.
On the fifth night, Ender found Josh on the porch.
The wind chimes were screaming. Josh sat in a worn-out chair, a beer in his hand, staring at the stars.
"Hey," Ender said.
"Hey."
He sat down in the chair beside Josh. The wood creaked under his weight.
"Can't sleep?" Ender asked.
"Never can."
They sat in silence. The wind chimes rang. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.
"I called Pete," Josh said.
Ender's blood ran cold.
"You what?"
Josh didn't look at him. "I called him. Told him you were here. Told him if he ever came near you again, I'd kill him."
Ender's hands were shaking. "Why would you do that?"
"Because he needed to know." Josh's voice was hard. "He needed to hear it from me. He needed to know that you're not alone anymore. That you have someone in your corner."
Ender didn't know what to feel.
"What did he say?"
"He called you a lot of things." Josh's jaw tightened. "Said you were his. Said I was stealing from him. Said he'd come get you himself."
Ender's stomach dropped.
"And what did you say?"
Josh finally looked at him. His eyes were cold, hard, the same eyes Pete had when he was angry. But there was something else in them too—something protective, primal.
"I told him to try."
The wind chimes screamed again.
"And if he does come?" Ender asked.
Josh set down his beer. He reached over and took Ender's hand, his grip firm and warm.
"Then I'll be here," he said. "And this time, you won't be alone."
Ender looked at their hands. At Josh's long fingers laced through his own. At the way Josh held him like he was something precious. Something worth fighting for.
He didn't know what the future held. He didn't know if Pete would come, or if he'd have to run again, or if he'd ever feel truly safe.
But for the first time in five years, he wasn't running alone.
He squeezed Josh's hand back.
"Okay," he said.
The wind chimes kept screaming, but maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. Maybe it was just the sound of the world moving on.