Chapter 16
Kayla
It took all three of us to walk William back.
He wouldn’t let go of Jolly, so Ben walked on one side with the dog, and I walked on the other with my arm around William’s shoulders.
By the time we reached the yard, Donovan was leaning against his SUV at the curb.
He gave a quiet nod as we passed. Vance met us at the edge of the property, hands in his pockets.
“Glad he’s okay.” He looked at William with a warmth that reached his eyes. “Tough kid.”
“Thank you,” I managed. “I’m sorry this was all for nothing.”
“Definitely not for nothing. It’s always a good day when everyone comes home safe and sound.” He clapped Ben on the shoulder, gave me one more nod, and headed for his car.
I led William, shivering under my arm, up the front porch.
I sat on the step and pulled him into my lap. He was too big for it, legs dangling, but he curled against me anyway. Jolly lay at our feet, chin on his paws, eyes moving between William and Ben.
“William.” I waited until he looked up. “You scared me. You can never go roaming around the neighborhood by yourself. Not ever.”
His chin trembled. “But I asked. I asked if I could go, and you said yes.”
The words hit me like a slap. Because he was right. He had asked. And I had said yes without listening.
“I know you did.” I kept my voice even. “I thought you meant the backyard. That’s my fault. I should have been paying better attention. But even if you see Jolly outside, you can’t leave the yard without telling me exactly where you’re going. Okay?”
The tears came then. Real tears, the messy, gulping kind that shook his whole body.
“I thought he was lost. I thought Jolly was lost and nobody was going to help him.”
Ben moved then. He crouched down in front of William, and his voice was the same one he’d used at the assembly. Direct, calm, carrying weight without force.
“William. Jolly is a trained K9. That means he knows how to stay close and how to come home. He would never just run off on his own.”
William wiped his nose with his sleeve. “But I saw—”
“You might have seen another dog. There are a lot of dark-furred dogs around. But Jolly was with me today, working at the station. He was safe the whole time.”
“He was?”
“The whole time. And you know what? If Jolly ever did get loose, I have ways to find him. That’s what I’m trained for.
So if you ever think something’s wrong, you come get me or your mom.
Don’t go looking on your own.” He paused.
“And between you and me, why would Jolly want to run away when his best friend is right here in the backyard?”
Something in William’s face loosened. Not all the way, because the fear was still there, the aftershocks still running through him. But enough that his breathing slowed and his grip on my shirt eased.
“He’s still my best friend?”
“Without a doubt. Just look at him.”
William looked at Jolly. Jolly’s tail thumped twice. A confirmation that required no translation.
William slid off my lap and crouched beside Jolly. He wrapped both arms around the dog’s neck and pressed his face into the fur.
“Goodnight, Jolly,” he whispered. “I’m glad you weren’t lost.”
Jolly leaned into him and closed his eyes.
I looked at Ben over William’s head. He gave me a small nod. Go. I’ll be here.
I carried William upstairs. Gave him a bath, helped him change into his pajamas, tucked him in with the covers pulled high. He didn’t even ask to read a story. Jolly’s red ball was still on his nightstand where he’d left it that morning.
“Mom?”
“Yeah, buddy?”
“I’m sorry I scared you.”
I brushed his hair back from his forehead. “I’m sorry I wasn’t listening. We both learned something tonight, okay?”
He nodded. His eyes were already heavy, the adrenaline crash pulling him under. I sat on the edge of his bed until his breathing evened out, until his hand went slack on the covers, until I was sure he was asleep.
Then I went back downstairs.
Ben was on the front porch, leaning against the railing, arms crossed. A quick glance toward the street told me Donovan was gone and Jolly nowhere in sight. He’d taken the dog home and come back.
“He’s asleep,” I said.
“Good.”
I held the door open. “Come inside.”
He looked at me for a beat, then pushed off the railing and followed me in.
We ended up in the kitchen. I leaned against the counter. He stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets. The house was so quiet I could hear the dishwasher cycling through its rinse.
I opened my mouth to say something normal, something steady, and what came out instead was a sound I hadn’t planned on making.
I pressed both hands over my mouth. My shoulders curled inward. The sound I made was ugly and broken, and I couldn’t hold it back. I stopped trying.
Ben’s arms went around me. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t tell me it was okay. Just held on while I came apart against his chest.
“He was in the woods because I was on the phone.” The words came out jagged, between breaths. “He was in the woods, Ben.”
“He was in the woods because he loves that dog and he thought Jolly needed help. That’s not on you.”
I shook my head against his chest. Pressed my fist against my own and tried to breathe.
“I never planned to be a widow in my twenties. I guess nobody ever does. It’s just been William and me since I was twenty-six.” Quieter now, almost to myself, I added, “And most days, I’m fine. I know how to do this.”
His arms tightened around me.
“But this guy I dated. Before I moved here.” I pulled back far enough to look at him.
I didn’t bother wiping my face because there was no point.
“He called tonight. That’s why I wasn’t paying attention when William asked to go outside.
I was on the phone telling Craig Dutton he’s a piece of garbage when my son walked into the woods. ”
Ben’s jaw tightened. A compression in the muscle, brief and controlled. He didn’t push for details. His hands stayed on my arms, steady and warm.
“William is upstairs. He’s safe. He’s asleep. That’s what matters tonight.”
I nodded. Wiped my face with the back of my hand. My breathing was coming back under control, but my body felt hollowed out, emptied of everything except exhaustion and the ache of too many feelings crammed into too small a space.
Ben’s hand came up to my face. His thumb traced the edge of my jaw, slow and careful, and I watched something shift behind his eyes. A door opening that he usually kept shut, the effort of keeping it closed suddenly more than he was willing to spend.
I didn’t know who moved first. Maybe both of us. Maybe neither. Maybe it was just the weight of the night collapsing the distance we’d been holding since the fence.
His mouth found mine, and everything outside this room fell away.
This wasn’t the fence kiss, brief and bright and startled. This was slow. His hand on my jaw, the other on the small of my back, pulling me closer with a patience that was its own kind of intensity.
I pressed into him and felt his breath catch, felt his fingers tighten against my spine, and the heat that moved through me had nothing to do with gratitude and everything to do with want.
His mouth opened against mine, and I made a sound I would be embarrassed about later. He tightened his arm around me, and for one long, consuming minute, nothing hurt.
Then he pulled back.
“We should probably not do this tonight.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that. Not when I wanted to lean back into a kiss with him.
“You’ve had the worst night. And there’s a six-year-old sleeping upstairs who might come down for water at any second.”
“I know, but…” Something small and bright behind my sternum went out. I kept my eyes closed because they were already burning.
He took another step back, and the air between us seemed to go cold. I knew that was just my imagination, but I couldn’t help it.
“Goodnight, Kayla.”
“Goodnight.”
He looked at me for another moment. His face held something I couldn’t name. Not the composure he wore for the world and not the softness I’d glimpsed at the fence. Something between the two that seemed to cost him. Then he turned and walked out the door.
I went upstairs and checked on William. He was exactly where I’d left him, curled on his side, his face smooth and slack with sleep, but he had one hand on Jolly’s red ball. I pulled the covers back up over his shoulder and pressed my lips to his temple.
Then I went to my room and closed the door.
No man is ever going to want you.
Craig’s voice. Not loud. Just there, the way it always was, waiting in the quiet for its turn.
I knew it wasn’t true. The rational part of me, the part my therapist had rebuilt piece by piece over six months of hard, patient work, could see exactly what Ben had done and why. He’d been gentle. He’d been good. He’d stopped because he cared about getting it right.
But the other part. The part Craig had built. The small, dark room he’d constructed inside me where his voice still lived and whispered and kept its own hours.
That part said Ben pulled away because something about me wasn’t enough.
I sat on the edge of the bed in the dark and didn’t argue.