Chapter 38 Jess
Jess
Something warm touches my shoulder. A gentle shake.
“Jess.” Marco’s voice, soft and close. “Wake up for a second.”
I blink awake. The great room floor. The dying embers. My cheek against the rug. Oh right. We fell asleep here after... everything.
“What time is it?” I mumble.
“Early. Four thirty.” He’s already sitting up, reaching for his jeans. “We should get dressed and move to the couch before Ben wakes up.”
Right. Because explaining why we’re naked on the floor would be a conversation I’m absolutely not ready to have with a five-year-old.
I glance at the hallway door. Still locked, thankfully.
I fumble for my clothes in the dim light. Everything’s wrinkled and scattered. My bra’s somehow ended up near the fireplace. Very classy, Jess.
Marco helps me up. I clasp my bracelet back onto my wrist while he gathers the blanket we used.
We move to the couch. He pulls me against his chest, tucking the blanket around us.
“Sleep,” he murmurs into my hair.
And somehow, impossibly, I do.
When I wake again, it’s to the sound of a small, serious voice coming from somewhere close nearby.
“Two whistle blows, look at Daddy. Three blows, freeze. And if I get separated, I blow my whistle three times and stay put.”
Ben. Already awake. Reciting the rules to Frederick.
I realize Marco’s not beside me. When did he get up?
And how did I not notice?
I know exactly how. It’s because of all that... extra-curricular activity last night. Must have really tired me out.
My face grows molten hot just thinking about it.
I get up, and see Ben sitting at the kitchen island with Frederick propped beside her. Marco’s at the solar-powered stove making breakfast. Eggs and toast because apparently even in the wilderness this man can’t help but feed people properly. He catches my eye and smiles that devastating smile.
“Morning,” he says.
“Morning.” My voice comes out rougher than intended. Probably from all the moaning I did last night.
Stop it, brain.
Ben turns to look at me. “Jess! Frederick wants to know if you’re ready for our adventure.”
I actually almost forgot where we are.
Almost.
I force my best game face. “Absolutely ready. Frederick’s very wise to check.”
She nods solemnly. “He says scared and brave can live in the same body. Just like you taught me.”
The words hit different this morning. Because yeah, I’m definitely both right now. Scared out of my mind about being in these woods. But also brave because I’m choosing to be here anyway.
For her.
For him.
For this weird little family unit we’ve accidentally created.
“Frederick’s extremely smart,” I tell her. “The smartest snail I know.”
Marco plates breakfast and we eat together at the rustic table. The food is perfect because of course it is. He’s a former Michelin star chef. The man could probably make gourmet meals over a campfire using nothing but a stick and sheer willpower.
After breakfast, Marco runs through the final checks. Satphone charged and programmed, check-in text sent to Jag. Bear spray clipped to his belt and another canister clipped to mine. Laminated rules in my jacket pocket. Whistle on all our lanyards.
The shotgun comes out next. Marco unlocks the case with methodical precision, using the code only he knows. Then he checks the chamber. Empty, safety on. Then slings it over his shoulder.
“We’re hunting today?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Demonstrating,” he corrects. “Ben needs to see the process. Respect before fear, remember?”
Right. Because nothing says ‘don’t be afraid of the woods’ like bringing an actual firearm.
When you realize your childhood trauma is about to meet live ammunition.
Cool.
“Ready?” Marco asks.
I nod. Because what else am I going to say? That I’d rather face a hundred Marlowe wannabe mommy bloggers than spend another minute under these trees?
We step outside and the morning air hits me. Cool and damp and smelling like pine and earth and memories I’ve spent two decades trying to forget.
One, two, three. Smell the cocoa. Blow the steam.
The breathing helps. A little.
Ben skips ahead with Frederick. Not too far. Just enough that she feels independent while staying in sight. Marco falls into step beside me.
“You good?” he asks quietly.
“Getting there.” I force a smile. “Just reminding myself that nothing’s going to go wrong.”
He squeezes my hand once. Quick and reassuring. Then lets go because we have a kid to supervise.
The trees close around us. Tall pines that block most of the sky. The path is clear enough but everything looks the same. Just trunks and needles and shadows that could hide anything.
Stop it.
You’re fine.
Everything’s fine.
I think about last night. About Marco’s hands on my skin. His mouth everywhere. The way he made me forget every single fear I’ve ever had.
If I can survive that level of vulnerability, I can survive a walk in the woods.
Right?
Right.
The bear spray canister on my hip keeps banging against my thigh with each step.
Annoying.
I pause, unclip it, and transfer it to my pack instead.
Better.
My eyes drift to the shotgun slung over Marco’s shoulder.
“We’re not actually... going to... kill anything today, are we?” I ask him softly.
He shrugs noncommittally. “This is a hunting trip. We’re going hunting.”
When your billionaire lover or whatever he is casually announces he’s planning to shoot Bambi in front of his five-year-old daughter who talks to a stuffed snail.
“Marco.” I keep my voice low. “She’s five. She thinks animals have feelings. She names rocks. Yesterday she cried because a leaf fell off a tree.”
“That’s exactly why she needs to understand the reality,” he says calmly. “Respect comes from understanding the full cycle. Life, death, sustenance.”
“Or trauma,” I mutter. “Trauma also comes from watching your dad shoot something with big adorable eyes.”
He glances at me. “You don’t hunt.”
“Correct. I also don’t therapize five-year-olds who’ve just witnessed a Disney character getting murdered.”
“It’s a deer, Jess. Not a character.”
“Tell that to Ben when she’s sobbing over Frederick tonight because she can’t stop thinking about Bambi’s mom. Seriously, I thought the rifle was just for show.”
He shakes his head. “I thought I made it plain already what it was for.”
When you realize you’re actively participating in what might be the worst parenting decision of the year and you’re complicit because you’re too chicken to put your foot down.
Great job, Jess.
He suddenly sighs. “All right. Fine, if we find a deer I’ll keep an eye on Ben and won’t shoot if I think she can’t handle it. Okay?”
“Okay,” I tell him.
He nods to himself. “Best I can do.”
We walk for maybe fifteen minutes. Ben narrates everything to Frederick. “Look, a pinecone! And that tree has moss. And I think I see a bird but it flew away.”
The normalcy of it helps. This is just a walk. Marco won’t kill anything. It’s just fresh air and nature doing nature things. Nothing scary. Nothing dangerous.
Except I can’t shake this feeling.
This weight in the air that feels wrong.
It’s just my childhood trauma.
Ignore it.
You got this, Jess.
But then Ben stops. “Daddy, look.”
We follow her pointing finger.
There’s something on the path ahead. Dark and still and very clearly dead.
We get closer.
It’s a fox. Or what’s left of one.
The carcass is partially eaten. Torn open. The smell hits me and I have to turn away before I gag.
“Don’t touch it,” Marco says immediately. His voice has that edge that means he’s in protective mode. “Come here, piccola.”
Ben obeys, stepping back toward us. “What happened to it?”
“Something bigger ate it,” Marco says simply. Honest but not scary. “That’s what happens in nature. Animals hunt. It’s the circle of life.”
“Like in The Lion King?” Ben asks.
“Exactly like that.”
But I’m staring at the carcass. At the claw marks. At the way the ribs are exposed.
Something bigger ate it.
Yeah. Something with very big teeth and very sharp claws.
And suddenly I’m thinking about Ben. Sweet, anxious Ben who can’t even handle the school cafeteria without a breathing ritual. Ben who’s clutching a stuffed snail and thinks plants have feelings.
And we’re out here in the woods where things with very big teeth and very sharp claws tear other things apart.
With a loaded shotgun.
Planning to kill something in front of her. Even if Marco says he won’t do it if Ben seems like she can’t handle it.
This is a terrible idea.
A monumentally terrible idea.
What are we doing?
What am I doing?
I’m the nanny.
I’m supposed to protect her from bad decisions, not enable them.
And Marco’s the dad who wanted a son so badly he pretended he had one for two years and now he’s trying to turn his daughter into some kind of junior hunter and I’m just going along with it because I’m too in love with him to say no and—
My breathing’s getting faster. Shallower.
The trees are closing in.
We shouldn’t be here.
We should go back.
We should have never come.
We’re going to get lost and something’s going to attack us and Ben’s going to see something horrible and it’s going to scar her forever and it’s all my fault because I didn’t speak up and—
“Jess.” Marco’s hand is on my arm. Firm. Grounding. “Breathe.”
I can’t.
Can’t catch my breath.
Everything’s spinning.
“Look at me.” His voice cuts through the panic. “Eyes on me. Now.”
I force my gaze to his.
“One,” he says quietly, squeezing my arm at the same time.
I try to inhale. It comes in shaky and thin.
“Two.”
Another breath. Another squeeze. Slightly better.
“Three.”
The exhale and accompanying squeeze releases something tight in my chest.
I take several more deep breathes, very slowly returning to normal.
He’s watching me carefully. “You want to turn back?”
I should say yes.
Should grab Ben and run back to that cabin and demand we pack up and leave.
But then I look at Ben. She’s examining a pinecone, completely unfazed by the dead fox. Already moved on. Resilient in that way kids are.