Chapter 37 #2
“I know, Tink. I know.” He pulled in a breath and made himself look at her. “I’ll drive you. Every time. As many times as it takes.”
Her face crumpled.
He pulled her in, his arms going around her again. “I’m not letting you sit in that room without me in this parking lot. You’re not walking out of there to a rental car or a deputy or anyone else. You’re walking out to me.”
Her breath hitched against his chest.
“He kept saying he loved her,” she said quietly. “Over and over. Like the word meant the same thing in his mouth as in anyone else’s.” She pulled back enough to look up at him. “It doesn’t.”
“No,” Bear said. “It doesn’t.”
He cupped her face in his hands, his thumb brushing away a tear track on her cheek. He wanted to say it—wanted to give her the words she deserved—but his throat had closed completely, emotions too big for language crowding his chest.
“Greta—”
She shook her head and pressed her finger to his lips. “Don’t say it here. Not for the first time. I just... needed you to know that I see the difference.”
The difference.
Between what Cody had done and what existed between them. Between captivity and choice. Between possession and partnership.
So he didn’t say it. Instead, he leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers. He didn’t kiss her. He wouldn’t—not here, not like this. He just held her gaze and let her see everything he couldn’t say.
After a moment, she stepped back. Her breathing had steadied.
“I’m going to call Tasha’s family tonight,” she said. “I’ll call for all of them when I have their names.”
Bear’s hand slid from her face to her shoulder, squeezing gently. “You don’t have to do that alone.”
“I know.” Her smile was small but real. “But I need to. I need to do it so we can all...”
She stopped, searching for the word.
“Move forward,” Bear supplied.
She nodded. “Yeah. Move forward.” Her hand found his, fingers intertwining, and she exhaled a long, slow breath. “Now, can we get out of here? Please? I need to get the hell out of this parking lot.”
The ranch house glowed as Bear’s truck pulled up the drive.
Greta pressed her forehead against the cool window, watching as the evening light caught the metal roof of the barn and turned it burnished copper.
Through the front window, she could make out a scene that made her chest ache — Jonah cross-legged on the worn rug with Atlas in his lap, and Alice bundled in a blanket on the couch, a mug between her hands, her face lifted toward the door as if she’d been watching for headlights.
Bear cut the engine but didn’t move.
The sudden quiet pressed against Greta’s ears, broken only by the ticking of the cooling truck and King’s soft panting from the back seat.
Three hours at the sheriff’s station had wrung her out, left her hollow, and now, faced with the reality of walking back into the house, of telling Alice what she’d done and what she’d heard, she couldn’t make her hand reach for the door handle.
Bear leaned across the console. His hand came up to cup the back of her head, gentle around the knot where Cody had hit her, and he pressed his mouth to her temple. The contact was brief — just a touch, no more — but Greta felt it all the way down to her toes.
“I’ll be in the barn,” he said. “Take your time.”
He slid out of the truck without waiting for a response.
King followed, his massive body squeezing through the space between the seats and the door frame, and Bear snapped his fingers once.
The dog fell into step beside him, and they walked across the yard toward the barn, two dark silhouettes against the darkening sky.
Greta watched them go.
Bear’s shoulders were rigid, the careful control of a man holding himself together when he wanted to break something. He’d spent three hours in the parking lot waiting for her, pacing circles with King, checking his phone every thirty seconds. Now he was walking away because she needed him to.
Her throat closed.
She made herself open the door. Made herself step down from the truck and walk across the yard to the porch. The wood steps creaked under her boots — two steps up, the familiar sound that meant home — and her hand found the doorknob without her looking for it.
The door swung open, and Alice’s head came up.
Her eyes — pale green, the exact mirror of Greta’s — found her sister’s face. The mug froze halfway to her lips. Her mouth opened, closed. The blanket slipped off one shoulder, the wool puddle falling to the couch without her noticing.
Jonah stood. Atlas’s head came up with him. The dog’s jaw was still wrapped in the specialized muzzle that kept his broken bone stable while it healed. He’d been napping with his head in Jonah’s lap, but now his ears swiveled forward, his body tensing as he caught Greta’s scent.
“I’ll take Atlas outside,” Jonah said.
He picked up the leash from the end table and clipped it to the dog’s collar.
Atlas stood, his movements still too careful. Greta’s boy was healing, but it still broke her heart to see.
The two of them crossed to the door, and Jonah touched her shoulder as he passed.
“Take your time,” he said, echoing Bear’s words exactly, and then the door closed behind him.
Alice hadn’t moved from the couch. Her hands were still wrapped around the mug — tea, the steam long gone but the scent of chamomile still hanging in the air. Her eyes tracked Greta across the room, wide and fixed and terrified.
Greta crossed to the couch and knelt on the worn rug in front of her sister. The floorboards were hard under her knees, the rug too thin to cushion properly, but she didn’t care. She put both hands on Alice’s knees through the blanket and felt the sharpness of bone under her palms.
“He is never seeing daylight again,” she said. Her voice came out steadier than she’d expected. “He’s going to die in a cell. He’s never going to touch anyone, ever again.”
Alice’s chin trembled. A single tear tracked down her cheek, then another, and another, until they were coming too fast for her to wipe away. She set the mug down on the side table with hands that shook so badly the tea sloshed over the rim.
She wrapped her hands around Greta’s wrists, surprisingly strong for someone so thin. She held on like she was drowning, like Greta was the only solid thing in reach, and Greta stayed on her knees on the rug and let her.
Outside, the barn light came on — a warm yellow square in the gathering dark.
Bear was in there with King and the horses, giving them space, waiting without being asked.
Greta could picture him exactly — sitting on the bench by Titan’s stall, one hand scratching King’s ears.
Staring at the wall. Thinking about Cody, about the interview, about what Greta had heard and seen.
Waiting for her to come find him when she was ready.
Alice’s fingers tightened on her wrists. Her throat worked — once, twice, the tendons standing out under her skin — and Greta watched her try to form words and fail, try again and fail again. Her mouth opened, closed, opened again, and finally, after a long moment, she managed two words.
“Love you.”
The words came out broken and rough, barely louder than a whisper.
Greta folded forward, pressing her forehead against Alice’s knees, and let out a sob.
And for the first time since she was sixteen years old, she relaxed.