Chapter 19 #2
My legs were numb when I stood, so I leaned against the counter for a second before heading to the bedroom.
I grabbed a selection of the new sweaters, jeans, and leggings that I’d gotten since I arrived here.
Jess had gotten me a pair of soft leather boots that had become my favorite footwear, so they went in the bag.
It felt surreal, packing for a mission I might never come back from.
I should have been afraid, but all I felt was the buzzing numbness of adrenaline.
I tucked a small bottle of perfume in the side pocket, then added a dog-eared paperback, just for the comfort of it.
At the last second, I crammed in a notebook and a new pen.
For Brie, I told myself. She’d want something to draw with.
When I zipped the bag, I realized my hands were shaking. Not a little, but a lot.
I carried it back to the living room and set it by the door.
Jess was standing there, just watching me, his expression soft. “You ready?” he asked.
“Not really,” I admitted.
He smiled. “Me neither.”
But we both knew we’d go, anyway.
The next few hours passed in a blur of waiting.
I drank more coffee, picked at the split ends in my hair, and paced in circles around the kitchen until I thought I might wear a rut in the laminate.
Jess busied himself with weapons—cleaning, packing, checking each one with the careful love of a man who trusted metal more than luck.
He didn’t say much, but every few minutes, he’d look up and check on me, like he needed the reassurance that I hadn’t disappeared again.
At three, my phone buzzed. It was Wrecker, the message short and to the point:
PILOT GOOD TO GO 4AM FLIGHT. PACK LIGHT. MEET AT PEARL’S TONIGHT, 7. brING ALL ESSENTIALS. -W
I read it twice, then showed it to Jess. He nodded once, snapped the magazine into place with a click that echoed in the tiny apartment.
“We leave at four,” he said, voice even. “Tonight we eat, then go dark. No social, no phones except the one Wrecker gives you.”
“Where are we going until then?” I asked.
He smiled, that half-crooked thing that had won me over in the first place. “I want to show you something.”
I didn’t press for details. I just shouldered my duffel and followed him down the stairs, out into the chilly spring afternoon.
The sky was the color of dishwater, but sunlight kept punching through in random spots, setting the wet grass ablaze.
Jess’s truck was waiting at the curb, a big Ford with plush leather seats.
He popped the lock and held the passenger side open for me, just like before everything went to hell. Always the gentleman.
We drove west, deeper into pack territory, past several houses.
After about ten minutes, the land spread out flat and endless, a checkerboard of pasture and wildflowers, bluebonnets and Indian paintbrush crawling up the bar ditches.
I rolled the window down and let the wind tangle my hair, the air sharp with the smell of green things growing.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Not far,” Jess said. “Just trust me.”
We took a left at a mailbox painted with cartoon cows, then rumbled down a dirt road lined with cedar. At the end of it was a wide metal gate and a hand-painted sign: WRECKER a pretty ranch house with a wraparound porch, every inch of it hung with wind chimes and dream catchers. Parker’s touch, no question.
Jess took my hand, pulled me through knee-high grass and down a gentle slope. I could hear water, and a few seconds later we came to a little creek, maybe six feet wide, the banks crowded with willows and wild plum. Jess stopped at a break in the trees, then turned to face me.
“This is it,” he said, voice gone soft. “This is where our house is gonna be.”
I stared, trying to picture it: a flat acre of grass, the creek curving along the back; the trees throwing shadows like a cathedral. The afternoon light caught in the leaves and made them shimmer, pale green and silver. For a second, I couldn’t breathe.
He put his arm around me and pointed to a spot halfway up the rise.
“I want a white board and batten. Big porch facing east so you get all the morning light. Gray sage shutters. Inside, just one level, ranch style, but with a huge kitchen. Big eating area, because you like when people come over. Stone fireplace. Three, maybe four bedrooms. Enough for a couple of pups, if you want them.”
His words made my heart trip and catch. I squeezed his hand so hard he winced.
“You mean, you want a family?” I said.
He looked at me, really looked, then nodded. “If you do.”
I thought about it for half a second. I pictured little kids running through the grass, arms out like airplane wings. I pictured the two of us sitting on that porch, watching the sunset and maybe not being haunted anymore.
“I do,” I said.
Jess let out a breath; a look of relief on his face. “Good.”
We stood like that, staring at the empty lot, until my toes started to go numb from standing still.
I leaned my head on his shoulder. “Can I tell you a secret dream?”
“Anything.”
“If we ever make it back from France, and if we have the money, I’d like to open a dance studio in town. Nothing fancy, just a little place for the kids. Maybe the moms wouldn’t think of me as the town whore and would let their little girls learn ballet from me.”
There was a long silence. Then Jess said, “They’d be lucky to have you.”
I snorted. “You’re biased.”
He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulled me close. “Maybe a little.”
We watched the creek for a while. I listened to the water, the wind in the trees, and the far-off bark of a dog. It was all so normal, so possible, that for a minute I almost forgot about Paris, about the pack, about everything waiting for us on the other side of the ocean.
“This is just the first days of our dreams coming true,” Jess said, his voice muffled against my hair.
I closed my eyes, letting myself believe it.
When we finally walked back to the truck, the sun was low in the sky, painting the world in bronze and blue. The shadows were long, but the air had warmed, and I could almost taste the fullness of spring.
We drove in silence. When we reached town, Jess pulled into the lot behind Pearl’s, parked in the shadows, and turned to me.
“You ready for this?” he asked.
I stared at my hands, the way they shook just a little.
“No,” I said. “But I’m going, anyway.”
He reached over, laced his fingers with mine, and squeezed.
And for the first time, I felt like we might be all right.