Chapter 25
The night air was cold against Jenna’s face as she stepped outside.
The house had been warm and full, and she was grateful for every person in it. But the walls had been pressing in since she’d climbed into bed and realized that sleep wasn’t coming.
She needed some fresh air.
She started to close the door and froze.
Someone was there.
Behind her.
Had one of Roderick’s men found her?
Slowly, she turned, her entire body tense.
The air left her lungs in a whoosh.
It was Luke. Luke stood behind her.
She hadn’t heard him follow her—and she thought she’d trained herself for these types of things.
She was so thankful to see him, to know it wasn’t an assassin sneaking up on her.
Then she saw the look on Luke’s face. His jaw was set, and his eyes were dark and flat with accusation.
“How could you?” His lips barely moved as he asked the question.
She stared at the blame on his face and understood in an instant exactly what he thought he was seeing.
“Luke.” She kept her voice quiet and calm. “I’m just stepping outside to get some air.”
The accusation didn’t fade from his gaze.
“That’s all,” she continued. “I couldn’t sleep. The walls were closing in, and I needed five minutes outside. I was being quiet so I wouldn’t wake anyone.”
He held her gaze another moment. The accusation hadn’t fully left his eyes. Instead, it had shifted into something more complicated—doubt layered over anger layered over something else she couldn’t name.
Jenna stepped toward him. “Luke, I’m not leaving. I won’t do that to the kids. I won’t do that again. I promise you.”
She watched him turn her words over. Watched him weigh what she’d said against all his hurts.
She didn’t rush him.
Slowly—so slowly she almost missed it—the rigid line of his shoulders eased.
He nodded once.
She exhaled. Maybe there was hope for their relationship. Not that they’d ever act as husband and wife again. But maybe they could at least be friends.
When Luke spoke, his voice was quiet and even. “It’s going to take time before I can trust you again.”
She held his gaze. “I know.”
She heard what he’d said. But she also heard what lived underneath it—the honesty of his tone, the pain haunting him, the acknowledgment that the road ahead was long and uncertain, that it would require more from both of them than one day could hold.
Before I can trust you again.
Not I’m never going to trust you again. Not I don’t know if I can. It wasn’t a door swinging shut the way she’d been bracing for it to swing shut.
He’d said before. Maybe that meant there was a chance of restoration.
Something eased in her chest.
She didn’t say anything else. She didn’t smile or reach for him or let any of what she was feeling move across her face.
Instead, she looked at him and held onto the word like it was something solid.
Before.
After Jenna went back inside, Luke stood outside alone a moment.
The cold helped ground him. It always did. He stood in it a moment longer than he needed to, his hands in his pockets as he looked out at the dark property.
He’d thought Jenna was leaving. He’d been certain of it.
He’d seen the quiet way she was moving through the house, and in the span of about four seconds his entire chest had caved in. Some part of him had already put it together before his mind caught up.
And he’d been wrong.
Jenna had only been going outside for air.
He pressed the back of his neck with one hand and looked at the woods in the distance.
He’d asked how could you? before Jenna had said a single word. Before she’d had a chance to explain, he’d already decided what he was seeing—and he’d been so certain, so completely, bitterly certain, that the certainty had felt like proof.
That wasn’t fair. He knew it wasn’t fair even as it was happening, and he’d done it anyway.
He exhaled slowly through his nose.
The truth was that his anger wasn’t really about tonight. It wasn’t about footsteps in a hallway. It wasn’t about her moving quietly through the house. It was the same anger it had always been. All it had needed was a dark hallway and thirty seconds of misread evidence.
That wasn’t Jenna’s fault.
He turned that over, and the honest part of him acknowledged it plainly. She hadn’t given him a reason to think she was running. She’d told him she wasn’t leaving.
Still some part of him had needed another few seconds to believe it.
That was the part he had to reckon with.
She’d understood what he thought he was seeing, and instead of arguing, instead of getting angry at him for getting it wrong, she’d simply shown him the evidence. Like she knew she was going to have to earn his trust back one small moment at a time and had already made her peace with that.
He didn’t know whether to feel grateful for that or ashamed of himself. Probably both if he were honest.
The cold had worked its way into his jacket. He should go back inside.
But he didn’t move.
He needed to remember that tomorrow was another day of threats that had to be managed and children who needed protecting and a professional somewhere out there who might not miss a second time. His anger had a place, but it would have to wait its turn.
He looked up at the dark sky in the distance.
I can’t do this alone, God. I’ve been doing it alone, and it’s cost me things I’m still counting. I need You in all of it—in the anger and the fear.
Luke wasn’t sure he’d call his words a prayer exactly. They were more like an honest accounting, directed somewhere useful.
He stood there another moment.
As he did, his gaze drifted toward the gate.
A dark car slowly drove by the gate.
His shoulders tensed.
Who was that? Whoever was driving that vehicle was clearly checking out the place.
Balling his hands into fists, he started toward the vehicle.
But he’d only taken three steps when the car squealed away.
He stared after it. There was no catching up with it now.
He turned and went back inside, needing to be close to his family.