Chapter 36
Wyatt’s parents’ house sat at the end of a gravel track, every window glowing gold against the snow.
Jen didn’t know which version of herself to bring inside—the engineer, the survivor, or the woman who’d slept in Wyatt’s bed and woken up wanting more.
They’d spent the afternoon in bed after she’d given her statement, only rising in early evening for dinner at his mom’s and the opportunity to see Caro before she headed home.
The house was a modest two-story with powder-blue shutters and white trim, like something out of a winter card. Three trucks were already parked out front. One of them was Ryder’s.
Wyatt killed the engine, and the click of cooling metal filled the car.
“Hey.”
She looked at him.
His palm slid along the line of her jaw. His eyes were steady. Certain. “My parents are going to love you.”
He said it as if it was already decided.
Her throat closed up. “You don’t know that.”
“I do.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “Can’t promise the same about Ryder and Caleb. They’re assholes.”
She laughed, but it came out a little unsteady.
He kissed her anyway—soft and unhurried. Like there wasn’t a house full of people ten feet away. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers. “Ready?”
Nope. “Yeah.”
“Wait.” He got out, circled the hood, then opened her door and offered his hand.
When she took it, his grip was large and warm around hers.
The cold hit first—sharp and clean, nothing like the damp bite of the ocean. Then the smell. Woodsmoke. Home.
His hand settled on her back as he guided her up the steps onto the wraparound porch. A swing sat to the side, buried under folded blankets in soft pinks and browns.
Wyatt knocked once, then opened the door.
Sound rushed out to meet Jen—voices, laughter, a child shrieking somewhere down the hall.
He paused on the threshold and took a breath. When he turned back to her, the lines at the corners of his eyes had softened, just a fraction.
This was his place.
The shrieking drew closer. A small blonde blur pelted toward them at full speed.
“Wy-yat!”
“Ellie.” Wyatt crouched just in time. She launched herself at him, and he caught her mid-air, swinging her up as he buried his face in her neck and blew a loud raspberry. She screamed with delight, legs kicking.
“Me no like, Wy-yat!” she shouted, even as she clung to him.
Wyatt blew another raspberry anyway.
When he lifted his head, he was laughing again, and this time the weight he always carried was nowhere to be seen.
Ellie leaned back, suddenly serious, small hands framing his face. She studied him like a doctor before her gaze slid to Jen.
Wyatt turned slightly so they were cheek to cheek. “Ellie, this is my friend Jen.”
Ellie ducked her face briefly against his neck, then peeked out again, eyes solemn. She considered Jen, then waved the fingers of one small, chubby hand. “El-lo.”
“Hi, Ellie.” Jen gave a small wave back.
The tension she’d carried during the drive eased, just enough to breathe. Not relief exactly, more like the quiet shock of being let inside without having to prove herself first—and the unsettling ache that came with understanding how rare that was.
Ellie wrapped her arms around Wyatt’s neck and squeezed. “Lub Wy-yat.”
“Don’t just stand there, Wyatt—bring her in before she freezes.” A woman appeared in the doorway, silvered hair pulled back, laugh lines etched deep around her eyes. She took Jen’s coat before Jen could even offer it.
“Come in. You must be frozen.” Her hands were warm. “Shoes anywhere. I don’t care.”
No where are you from? Just motion and warmth, as if Jen already belonged in the flow of the house.
“I’m Sophie.” She hung Jen’s coat on a peg. “Wyatt’s mom. And you must be Jen.”
She took Jen’s hands and squeezed them with firmness. “I’m glad you’re here.”
And that was it.
Jen swallowed. “I’m glad, too.”
Sophie’s gaze slid to her son, softening. “Wyatt, sweetheart.”
She kissed his cheek as Ellie wriggled between them, shrieking, “Gramma!”
A man stepped out of the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel.
“Dad,” Wyatt said.
Tall and broad-shouldered, he had the same intense eyes as his son —and a face marked by old damage. Scar tissue threaded through the stubble on his left cheek, tugging at the corner of his mouth. He had the look of someone who’d been hurt and come back stronger for it.
His father pulled him into a brief shoulder hug. “Good to see you upright after that rig.”
Then his attention shifted to Jen. “This must be the engineer Caro’s been singing about.”
“Just Jen,” she said quickly, offering her hand.
He ignored it and pulled her into a bear hug instead. “Welcome. I’m Tyler.” He patted her back and let go. “Good to see you both in one piece. After those bastards.”
Her throat burned.
They weren’t weighing her. They’d already made space. She’d braced for questions, for assessment. Instead, she’d been folded in as if she’d always had a place here.
She didn’t know what to do with that.
Sophie shepherded them into the house as Ellie tore ahead.
Jen followed Wyatt into the dining room and stopped.
The table was bedlam.
A woman with a sweep of long dark hair wrestled a laughing baby with furious legs into a high chair. Two men—Ryder and Caleb—were mid-argument over something involving snowmobiles and horsepower. A blonde woman sat at the end of the table talking with Caro.
Caro.
She turned as Jen entered the room, and her face lit up. “Chief!”
Jen pressed a hand to her chest and took a breath. Caro looked good. Rosy-cheeked in a pink sweater instead of oil-stained coveralls. A far cry from the terrified woman who’d climbed a vent shaft and taken a bullet keeping hostages moving.
Tears welled behind Jen’s eyelids, but she blinked them back. “Hey, Caro.”
Caro crossed the room and hugged her hard. “It’s so good to see you.”
“Right back at you.”
“This is Ivy,” Caro said, gesturing to the blonde. “And Grace.” The dark-haired woman beside Caleb.
Grace shifted the baby to one hip, giving up on the high chair entirely, and smiled. “Hi. This is Josie. She’s teething and deeply offended by it.”
Josie gummed a fist and glared.
“Here. Let me take her for a bit.” Caleb scooped the baby out of Grace’s arms and kissed the top of her fuzzy head.
“I’m forgetting myself. Wine or tea?” Ivy asked.
“Wine would be great, thanks.”
“Correct answer.” Ivy grinned.
“Jen.”
She turned.
“You made it.” Ryder pulled her into a quick hug. “Nice to see you not hypothermic.” He gestured to his brother. “You remember Caleb—from the helicopter? Last of the three musketeers.”
“I do.”
“Good to see you,” Caleb said. He pivoted, baby still in his arms, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “And in one piece. Always a plus.”
“Thank you, both of you,” Jen said. “For everything.”
“Don’t mention it.” Caleb clapped Wyatt’s shoulder. “Wyatt’s solo-hero act made the day more interesting.”
“Don’t,” Wyatt warned.
Ryder grinned. “Touchy.”
“Can we eat,” Wyatt said evenly, “or are you two going to keep posturing?”
Ryder pressed a hand to his chest. “Wow. Hostile.”
Wyatt rolled his eyes.
Ivy laughed. “She’s got you rattled.”
Wyatt didn’t deny it. Instead, he pulled out a chair and gave Jen a look like she was the only person in the room.
Dinner was noisy.
Plates passed hand-to-hand. Voices overlapping. Laughter bounced off the walls. Ellie sat in Ryder’s lap, systematically applying spaghetti to her face with impressive coverage.
“She got her mouth that time,” Caleb said.
“Progress.” Ryder beamed.
Ivy dabbed at Ellie’s chin with a napkin, but Ellie swatted her away. “Me do.”
“By all means.” Ivy handed her the napkin.
Ellie smeared the sauce more thoroughly over her cheeks and flashed her baby teeth. “Me clean.”
Grace snorted into her wine glass and looked away.
Wyatt’s family wasn’t polite or performative. It was people who loved each other—teasing, interrupting, showing up.
What would it be like to stay?
His hand found Jen’s under the table. She curled her fingers into his, his warmth sinking into her.
The dining-room door swung open.
“Don’t get up. I know I’m late.” The voice carried authority before the woman did.
Sarah stepped in, still in uniform, badge catching the light as she shrugged out of her jacket.
“Long shift?” Caleb asked.
Ryder tipped his beer toward her. “Or were you out busting teenagers again?”
Sarah eyed them both. “Amazing. Two grown men and you still think I spend my evenings chasing kids in lifted trucks.”
Caleb grinned. “Just checking you haven’t mellowed.”
“Dream on,” she said. “Scoot up. I’m starving.”
Sophie was already moving toward the kitchen. “I’ll get you a plate, honey.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Sarah dropped into the empty chair next to Caleb and met Jen’s gaze. “Hi. You must be Jen.”
“Hi. Yes.”
Sarah’s eyes were sharp. “Heard a lot about you.”
Wyatt stiffened.
Sarah’s mouth twitched. “Relax, big brother. All good things.” She turned back to Jen. “Are you doing okay? After everything?”
Jen bobbed her head. “Getting there.”
Wyatt leaned back in his chair, but his arm slid across the back of Jen’s chair.
“Good.” Sarah reached for the water jug and poured herself a glass. “Akilov’s at County. There’s Feds everywhere, he’s under close watch.” She paused, something behind her professional calm. “His people are still being rounded up.”
The table went quiet for half a second.
Caro’s fork stalled midway to her mouth, and Jen’s fingers tightened around her glass. Her gaze connected with Caro’s across the table.
She didn’t regret what she’d done. The flare gun. The burns to Akilov’s face.
“Well,” Ivy said lightly, “that’s something.”
“Yeah.” Sarah sipped her water. “He’s not going anywhere.”
Caleb looked at Wyatt. The way younger brothers looked at the oldest when the room got heavy.
Wyatt gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. Not now.
Caleb picked up his wine.
Conversation resumed, slower at first. Ryder launched back into his snowmobile argument, and Ellie demanded more spaghetti.
Under the table, Wyatt’s hand found her knee and held on. I’m here.
She wasn’t used to someone watching for her like this—not just with words, but with every small touch.
As if he already knew how easily everything could be taken away.