Chapter 4
four
The drive home was silent. Logan stared out the window, music leaking faintly from his earbuds. He tried twice to start a conversation—asked about Lazy Susan, mentioned X’s offer to teach him to ride—but Logan responded with shrugs and one-word answers.
By the time they pulled into the driveway, Bear’s jaw ached from clenching it. He killed the engine and sat for a moment, trying to find the right words.
“Thank you for giving the ranch a shot,” he said finally.
Logan didn’t look at him. “Whatever.”
Bear’s patience, already frayed after two weeks of this, snapped. “You know, I’m trying here. I know this isn’t easy, but—”
“I’m not going to school tomorrow.”
“The hell you aren’t.”
“I said I’m not going.” Logan finally turned to face him. “I don’t know anyone. The year’s almost over. The teachers are all—”
“Logan.” Bear cut him off. “You have to go to school.”
“Next year, I’ll be back at my old school, so what does it matter?”
The anger drained away, replaced with a hard knot that rose up his throat to choke him. Did Logan really think that? “You’re not going back to your old school. You’re staying here, with me. This is your home now.”
“I don’t have a home.” Logan’s face twisted. “Not anymore.”
“You have me.” The words sounded hollow even to Bear’s own ears. “You have this house. We’ll make it work.”
“Make it work? You don’t even know me. You haven’t seen me since I was three, and now you think we can just... be my dad?”
“I know this is hard—”
“You don’t know anything,” Logan snapped and swiped at his eyes. “You don’t know what it’s like to have your whole life ripped away. To have to start over with nothing.”
He did know. Better than Logan could imagine. That was exactly what going to prison had been like. And then getting out after so many years was just as bad. Maybe worse.
Logan yanked the door handle and shoved it open. “You were gone for twelve years. Twelve years, and now you think you can just show up and tell me what to do?”
“Logan—”
“I’m not going to school tomorrow.” He slammed the door with enough force to make the truck rock, stormed up the porch steps, and into the house.
Bear sat for a moment, hands still on the wheel, listening to the tick of the cooling engine and the sound of his own heart beating in his ears.
He’d handled that badly. Had let his own frustration get the better of him and pushed too hard when he should’ve pulled back.
He always pushed too hard—first with Amber, then with Logan, even with himself.
It’s why he’d ended up in prison, why he’d lost his son, why the gap between them now seemed too wide to cross.
Goddammit.
Bear ran a hand over his beard. Twelve years of missed birthdays and graduations and the everyday moments that made up a life.
How was he supposed to fix that?
King whined from the back seat and thrust his jumbo head between the front seats, bumping Bear’s shoulder with his wet nose. The dog’s amber eyes watched him with that uncanny understanding that made Bear wonder sometimes if King was more than just a dog.
“I know, buddy.” He rubbed King’s neck. “We should head in and get you dinner.”
King gave a happy rumble in agreement and slathered Bear’s face with his tongue before retreating to the back seat, tail wagging hard enough to rock the truck on its wheels. For King, every problem had a simple solution: belly rubs, walkies, food. If only Bear’s problems could be so easily solved.
He pushed open his door and jumped out. The early evening air carried the bite of approaching night, the western sky already fading from blue to purple. Summer was taking its sweet old time coming to Montana this year, the promise of warmth still weeks away.
“Come on, boy,” Bear called, and King bounded out of the truck, nearly knocking him over in his enthusiasm. The dog immediately dropped into a play bow, paws extended, tail wiggling his whole rear end.
“Not now,” Bear said, though he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. “Come on. Inside.”
King grumbled but fell into step beside him. The porch steps creaked under Bear’s weight as he climbed them. He paused at the door, listening for sounds of Logan inside, but the house was silent.
His hand fell away from the doorknob. He just…
couldn’t go in yet. Couldn’t face another confrontation when the memory of his son’s face—red with anger, eyes bright with tears he refused to cry—was still so fresh.
Instead, he sank down onto the porch steps, which groaned ominously.
He would have to replace the whole porch sooner rather than later, or risk his boot going right through the wood one of these times.
King flopped down beside him and rested his head heavily on Bear’s thigh. The dog’s eyes watched him, concern evident in every line of his furry face. The unconditional trust there made Bear’s heart squeeze.
“I don’t know why you look at me like I hung the moon, you crazy dog. I’m a mess.”
King huffed as if in agreement and nudged his hand, demanding attention. He obliged, scratching the spot under King’s chin that always made his leg thump.
With his free hand, he reached for his wallet, tucked into the back pocket of his jeans. He flipped it open and slid out the worn photograph he kept there behind his driver’s license.
Logan. Five years old, balanced on Bear’s shoulders, both of them grinning like fools at Amber, who was taking the picture.
Logan’s small hands gripped Bear’s hair tightly, his face split by a gap-toothed smile.
Bear’s own face looked alien—younger, relaxed, no beard, free of the lines that now bracketed his mouth and eyes. He barely remembered being that man.
It was the last picture taken of them together.
Two months later, Bear had gone into a bar, trying to drink away the nightmares that had chased him home from his last deployment, and everything had changed.
He’d gotten into a fight with another patron, and the man had hit his head on the edge of the bar on the way down. Died on the way to the hospital.
Amber had moved Logan to Denver before Bear even went to trial.
When he was sentenced to fifteen years for Voluntary Manslaughter, she promised to make sure he never saw his son again.
But he’d kept the photo through prison and took it out during the darkest nights and dreamed of the day he could see his son again.
And now Logan was here.
But he wasn’t that tiny boy anymore, the one who had once looked at Bear like he was the center of the universe. Now he was a sullen teenager who looked at Bear as if he were a stranger.
Worse than a stranger. A monster.
“Is this a solo moping sesh, or can I join in?”
Bear’s head snapped up.
Greta stood at the bottom of the porch steps, arms crossed, head tilted to one side.
Atlas sat at her heel, the black Lab’s ears perked forward with interest. The porch light caught in her wild strawberry-blonde hair, turning it to copper.
She wore her standard uniform—cargo pants, fleece jacket, muddy boots—but something was different.
Her eyes. They were softer than he’d ever seen them, lacking their usual challenging edge.
The photo disappeared into his pocket in one quick motion. “Anyone ever tell you not to sneak up on an ex-soldier in the dark?” he growled. He always seemed to growl around her. Couldn’t help it.
“I didn’t sneak. You were just too busy brooding to notice.” She mounted the steps without waiting for an invitation, dropping down beside him. Close enough that her shoulder brushed against his, the heat of her seeping through his flannel shirt.
Atlas trotted up and gave King a polite sniff before settling on the step below them like he’d been invited.
“Rough day?” she asked.
Bear grunted, not trusting himself to form actual words. The scent of her—pine and trail dust and something sweet, maybe vanilla—filled his nostrils and made his chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with his son’s anger.
She bumped her shoulder against his. “Wanna try that again with words this time?”
“Not really.”
“Want me to go away?”
“That depends.” He shot her a sideways look. “Are you planning to keep annoying me?”
Her lips quirked. “Pretty much.”
“Then no.” He was surprised to find he meant it. “Stay and annoy me.”
“Was planning on it.” She stretched her legs out in front of her, crossing them at the ankle. “So what’s got the big, bad Sasquatch hiding on his porch in the dark? Let me guess—teenage angst?”
He grunted.
“That’s a yes.”
He groaned and rubbed his face with both hands. “He doesn’t want to go to school tomorrow.”
“Oh, the horror.” She pressed a hand to her heart in mock dismay. “A teenager who doesn’t want to go to a new school where he doesn’t know anyone? Call the National Guard.”
“You’re not helping.”
“I’m not trying to help.” She turned to look at him, her eyes serious despite her teasing tone.
“I’m trying to get you to see how ridiculous you’re being.
The kid lost everything. His mom, his home, his friends.
And he got dumped on a dad he doesn’t know.
Of course he’s acting out. He’s angry and scared and has nowhere to direct that anger except at you. ”
“I know that.”
“But you’re still taking it personally.” She shook her head. “You’ve got the emotional intelligence of a rock sometimes, Sasquatch.”
Says the woman who practically lives in the wilderness, searching for a ghost.
He bit down on the thought before it could become a sentence. Last time he’d said something like it, she’d slapped him. He wasn’t eager for a repeat performance.
“I don’t know how to fix it for him,” he said instead.
“Maybe you can’t.” She shrugged. “Maybe you just have to let him be angry until he runs out of anger.”
Bear stared at her. “That’s your advice? Let him be angry?”
“It’s better than trying to force him to be okay. You can’t control how he feels, Bear. You can only control how you respond.”