Chapter 32
CHANCE
Three days after the attack, we finally go home. I drive, and Roxie sits in the passenger seat, bundled in one of Boone’s jackets, staring out at the snow-heavy pines.
Dillon and Boone follow us in Dillon’s truck. They came back yesterday to grab it so we can stock up at the hardware store, but none of us have set foot inside the house.
On our way out of town, Roxie and I stop for groceries, mostly as an excuse to buy ourselves ten extra minutes of normal before we drive up the mountain. Dillon and Boone make the rounds, picking up supplies we ordered to start repairs on the house.
Eventually we can’t stall any longer. Tires crunch on the snow as I drive up the long driveway. The tightness in my chest winds like barbed wire as I look up at our house.
From the outside, it looks so normal. Perfectly, horrifyingly so. The cedar porch with the lights still strung up from when Dillon insisted we get festive early.
If I didn’t know any better, I would almost think nothing had happened here. But I do know better.
Crime scene tape still flaps weakly on the porch. Yellow ribbons waving hello like the worst welcome committee ever. The cops are done, the Feds have cleared the site, and we’re told we can begin repairs.
When we roll all the way up the drive, I put the car in park, but I don’t move. My hands stay locked on the wheel, my knuckles aching from the grip. My pulse hammers so hard my fingertips tingle, but it’s not that I’m afraid of the house, or the memories, or even the motherfucking mob.
No, what pins me in place is the thing I felt inside me during the fight. That switch. The familiar click of that darkness I warned Boone about. The version of me that doesn’t feel fear or mercy, it just starts doing math. Constantly calculating angles and threats.
End them before they end you.
I didn’t lose control that night, but God, I came close. If Roxie didn’t appear exactly when she did, I would have, and stepping back into the place where that part of me stretches, hungry and ready… I don’t know what it would have done to me.
Will it wake up again? Will it stay awake this time?
A soft touch on my arm breaks through the spiral. Roxie’s hand is gentle as she gives me a reassuring squeeze. “Chance?”
I look over to find that she’s turned fully toward me, her vibrant green eyes warm, steady, and filled with understanding. She gives me a small, genuine smile. “We don’t have to do this today if you’re not ready.”
She means it. Fuck, I can see the sincerity in her gaze. If I put the car in reverse right now, she’d just nod and hold my hand the whole drive back down the mountain.
But we do have to do this.
“The insurance adjuster is coming tomorrow,” I remind her quietly, my voice not quite working the way it should. “We need photos of every inch of the mess before anything gets cleaned up, so we kind of do have to do it today.”
That’s one reason, anyway. The other reason, the one I don’t tell her, is that I need to face this place. Now. Before the fear grows teeth and the darkness inside convinces itself this house is where it belongs.
If I run today, I’ll never stop running. I know that. I just need a minute to steady myself. I take it, exhaling slowly and sliding my hand into hers. “We should go in now.”
She studies me for a beat, so goddamn perceptive it almost hurts. “Are you sure?”
“No,” I admit, the word coming out low and rough. “But I need to do it anyway.”
Facing the darkness doesn’t mean surrendering to it. All I have to do is remember that. When Roxie squeezes my hand, it reminds me who I’m doing it for, because that’s what will get me through this.
It’s not just me anymore. Not even just the two guys I grew up with, who have become like brothers to me. It’s them too, but it’s also her. The girl I never thought we’d find who can love all of us for exactly who we are, and the babies currently growing in her belly.
My babies. My family.
“Then we’ll do it together,” she says as she reaches for the door handle. “Come on, tough guy. We’ve got this.”
She sends me a smile that takes some of the weight off my chest, enough that I can finally open my door and step out into the cold mountain air. Dillon and Boone pull up behind us as I round the car, but I don’t wait for them to catch up.
Snow crunches under my boots as I start toward the front door, my feet feeling heavier than usual, like every step toward that house is a step toward something I’m not ready for. But with Roxie’s hand in mine, I keep going.
We step through the front door together, and even though I brace myself, the impact hits like a physical blow as I look around. This isn’t the view I remember from the entryway.
In fact, the destruction is pretty fucking complete.
Shattered glass crackles under my boots, bullet holes pockmarking the drywall like some demented connect-the-dots picture.
Most of our furniture is overturned, shredded, soaked, or all three.
There’s a dried smear of blood on the floor by the stairs where Boone tackled an intruder and another near the couch where I sat after getting hit.
This is the place where everything inside me nearly came unhinged, where I almost became something else, and the air still smells faintly of gunpowder, metal, and fear. My stomach clenches, but Roxie’s fingers lace through mine, warm and steady.
“We’ll fix it,” she says, her voice small but sure. “All of it. I promise. It might even end up being fun.”
I nod, but she says “we” like it’s the easiest thing in the world. What she doesn’t know is that standing here makes my skin crawl with the memory of how close I come to losing myself. Losing her. Losing every last trace of me that desperately wants to be part of that “we.”
That night, as I expected, I fought two battles.
There was the one with the men trying to kill us, but that one was easy.
Much easier than I thought. The locals Caruso hired were probably the best this area had to offer, but they weren’t as well trained as Boone and me, or as resourceful in a fight as Dillon.
The other battle, however, was one I damn near lost. The one with the darkness inside me that wanted those men’s blood with an inhuman thirst.
But in the end, I didn’t kill a single person. Not one. I stopped every threat, but I didn’t cross that line. I just haven’t decided yet if that makes me relieved or deeply, deeply unsettled.
Boone walks in behind us, sighing as he moves his hands to his hips and surveys the damage. “Wow. It looks a lot fucking worse in the cold light of day, huh?”
Dillon rakes a hand along the stubble on his jaw. His blue eyes narrow, but then he perks up almost immediately.
“You know, a lot of this stuff was getting pretty outdated anyway,” he says happily. “It might just be fun, furnishing the house together for a family rather than a bunch of bachelors.”
“That’s what I said.” Roxie grins at him. “Well, the part about it potentially being fun. I didn’t even think about how your needs might’ve changed now that there are babies on the way.”
“Our needs,” Boone stresses, seemingly without even thinking, as he starts picking through the debris. “I think we’re going to have to divide and conquer if we want to get this done today. Everyone pick a room and start taking pictures?”
We nod one by one, then spend the next few hours walking around the house, documenting every crack and hole, and every little thing that needs to be replaced. Somewhere between the ruined staircase and the kitchen where the table lies splintered in half, the mood between us all seems to shift.
Roxie picks up a fallen paint chip from the wall and arches her brows at me. “Okay, but if we have to repaint anyway, maybe that midnight blue I showed you wouldn’t be so crazy.”
I snort. “The one that makes the room look like a moody vampire lives here?”
“Don’t be dramatic,” she says lightly. “A tasteful, moody vampire.”
“Uh-huh.” I sigh, but she’s smiling, and damn if that doesn’t flip something in my chest.
Boone strides into the kitchen from upstairs, darkening the doorway for only a moment before he heads for the oven and turns it on.
“Dillon and I have pictures of everything upstairs. The gym and the rest of it downstairs came through unscathed. Most of the damage seems to be contained to this floor.”
He crosses to the counter where we’ve left the groceries that don’t need refrigeration and starts unpacking. “Dinner is going to have to be simple tonight. Why don’t you guys keep me company while I cook, and we’ll pick up again tomorrow?”
“Sounds good.” Roxie drops onto one of the stools at the island and pulls out her phone. “We can go through some photos for inspiration while we’re here.”
“I’ve got some ideas already,” Dillon says as he walks in and drops onto the stool beside her. Without missing a beat, he leans closer to look at her screen over her shoulder. “Oh, I like those couches. They look obscenely comfortable. Let’s add those to your cart.”
Their chatter continues as she switches from one retailer to another, and I help Boone chop some vegetables before we all end up sitting on the floor, surrounded by debris and paint chips, talking about design ideas like this is a reality show audition and not a crime scene.
Strangely, even though this isn’t my thing at all, it helps me slowly stop feeling so haunted. We’re planning a future, the sun sinks behind the ridge, and the house is quiet.
My chest loosens as I drink it all in, realizing that the worst really is behind us. We map out a dozen possible new layouts, argue about cabinet handles, and decide the kitchen should have warm wood instead of white because Dillon will destroy the white cabinets in a week.
And as we imagine something better than the husk around us, I feel the sense of power returning to me. Real power, not the kind that came out of me in a burst of adrenaline and violence three nights ago.
After dinner, we go up to Dillon’s bedroom, which somehow made it through without a single bullet hole or even a drop of blood. Monitors glow on his walls, still running like nothing has ever changed.
There are sports broadcasts, news networks, and even a collage of security feeds on one screen. I glance at it, but then Dillon tackles Roxie onto his California king bed, and she laughs, swatting at his shoulders when he tickles her ribs.
Boone groans as he watches them, but it isn’t long before he heaves his massive frame onto the mattress with them, laughing when he joins the fray. I keep my gaze on the security feeds for one more moment, then deliberately turn my back on them and pull my shirt off over my head.
The house is wrecked, but we aren’t. And tomorrow, we begin rebuilding, not just the place where we live, but also the lives we’ve always wanted.
Together.