Chapter 38
thirty-eight
Bear’s palms were sweating on the steering wheel.
Full-on sweating, slipping against the leather every time he adjusted his grip.
The custody hearing was at eleven in Missoula, and he’d left Valor Ridge with two hours to spare because the thought of being late, of hitting traffic, of a flat tire— the thought of anything going wrong today made his ribs feel too small for his lungs.
Greta sat in the passenger seat, quiet, her leg pressed against the console where it could touch his. Not talking. Just there.
In the back, Logan stared out the window with his earbuds in.
The kid hadn’t said five words since they’d gotten in the truck.
Bear kept catching glimpses of him in the rearview— jaw set, shoulders drawn up, the careful blankness he’d worn since the phone call from Jennifer Hayes three weeks ago.
The day Bear had explained that his ex-wife’s great-aunt— a woman Logan had met twice in his life— was filing for custody.
He shifted his grip on the wheel and tried to breathe.
Greta’s hand settled on his thigh, warm through the denim. “You’re going to crack a tooth.”
He unclenched his jaw.
“Two more hours,” she said. “Then it’s done.”
He nodded. Couldn’t manage words.
In the back, Logan pulled one earbud out and leaned forward. “Are we almost there?”
“Forty minutes.”
Logan nodded and put the earbud back in.
Bear watched him in the rearview for another beat before he looked back at the road. Forty minutes to Missoula. Forty minutes of trying not to think about a judge with a stranger’s face deciding whether his son went home with him or back to a state Bear hadn’t set foot in since the funeral.
Greta’s thumb moved on his thigh. Small motion. Steady.
“He came back,” she said. Low. Just for him. “Remember that. When you’re in there. He came back on his own.”
Bear’s throat closed.
Three weeks after Logan had moved into the bunkhouse at Valor Ridge, the kid had packed a duffel bag and walked out at four in the morning. Bear had woken to King whining at the door. Found the bunk empty, the boots gone, a note on the dresser that said don’t come looking for me.
Bear had come looking anyway. Had driven every road out of Solace for six hours with his chest collapsed in on itself, certain his son had hitchhiked back toward Denver, certain he’d failed at the only thing that mattered to him.
He’d found Logan at the bus station in Hamilton at ten in the morning, sitting on a bench with the duffel at his feet and a one-way ticket to Denver in his hand. The kid had looked up when Bear walked in. Hadn’t said anything. Hadn’t gotten up.
Bear had sat down beside him on the bench and not said anything either.
They’d sat there for an hour. The 10:47 bus came and went. Logan didn’t move. At 11:30 he’d stood up, picked up the duffel, and walked out to the parking lot without looking at Bear. Climbed into the truck. Pulled the seatbelt across his chest.
Halfway home, Logan had said: I almost got on the bus.
Bear had said: I know.
That was it. They hadn’t talked about it since.
But Logan had come back. On his own. No one had made him.
Bear’s hand left the wheel and found Greta’s where it rested on his thigh. He covered her fingers with his and squeezed once.
She squeezed back.
Missoula in late morning was bright and clean, the river running fast on the south side of downtown. Bear took the exit for the courthouse and navigated through one-way streets he didn’t recognize, his GPS announcing turns in a voice that grated against his nerves.
The Missoula County Courthouse was a three-story brick building with a clock tower and a lawn full of mature elms. Bear pulled into the public lot across the street and killed the engine.
Nobody moved.
After a long beat, Logan pulled out his earbuds. “Is this it?”
“This is it.”
“Okay.”
Bear turned in the seat to look at his son. Logan met his eyes, and the careful blankness was still there, but something underneath it had gone tight. Scared, if Bear was reading him right. Which he was, because the same expression was sitting on his own face.
“Hey.” Bear kept his voice level. “Whatever happens in there, you’re coming home with me. You understand?”
“You can’t promise that.”
“I’m promising it anyway.”
Logan looked at him for a long moment. Then he nodded, but his expression said he still didn’t fully believe it.
Bear got out of the truck.
Greta came around to his side, her hand finding the small of his back as he locked up.
She didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.
She walked beside him up the courthouse steps with Logan trailing behind them, and Bear breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth and tried to look like a man who deserved to walk into a custody hearing and walk out with his son.
The courthouse lobby smelled like floor polish and old paper. A deputy checked their IDs at the security desk. They rode the elevator to the third floor and stepped out into a narrow hallway lined with wooden benches.
Jennifer Hayes was waiting outside Courtroom 3B with her portfolio under her arm and a paper coffee cup in her hand. She straightened when she saw them, and something shifted in her face — relief, maybe, or its professional cousin.
“Mr. McKenna. Logan.” She extended her hand. “Thank you for being early.”
Bear shook her hand. “Is there a problem?”
“No problem. Actually — there’s been a development. I tried to call you this morning.”
His phone had been on the dresser. He hadn’t checked it.
“What kind of development?”
Hayes glanced at Logan, then back at Bear. “Ms. Wexler withdrew her petition two days ago.”
The words took a second to land.
“She what?”
“Withdrew. She no longer wishes to pursue custody.”
Bear had to brace a hand against the wall. “Why?”
Hayes’s mouth did something that wasn’t quite a smile. “She saw the news coverage of the flood rescue last month. The piece about Valor Ridge and the evacuation. Apparently she watched you carry a child out of waist-deep water on KPAX, and her attorney called me the next morning.”
Bear stared at her.
He hadn’t thought about cameras during the flood. He’d just done the work in front of him and—
X.
No doubt the bastard had pulled footage from somebody’s phone and made sure it got to the right news desk. That was exactly the kind of thing X did and never mentioned afterward.
Bear had no idea how he’d ever repay him.
“She said—” Hayes glanced at Logan again, weighing what to share. “She said it didn’t look like a boy who needed rescuing.”
Logan’s face was carefully blank, but Bear could see the muscle jumping in his jaw.
“The judge still wants to hear from you,” Hayes continued. “Even with the petition withdrawn, the placement needs to be confirmed. He’ll want to be satisfied that Logan is in a stable home before he closes the file.”
Bear nodded. His throat had stopped working.
“Just be honest. Answer his questions. Don’t oversell anything. Judge Marston has been on the family bench for fifteen years. He’s heard every speech a parent can give. He responds to plain talk.”
The courtroom door opened, and a bailiff stepped out. “McKenna matter?”
Bear raised his hand.
“Come on in.”
Greta squeezed his hand once before he stepped through the door. Logan followed close behind him.
The courtroom was smaller than Bear had expected. Maybe twenty seats in the gallery. A raised bench for the judge. Two tables in front. Pale wood paneling that had probably been there since the building went up.
Hayes guided him to the right-hand table and took the seat beside him. Greta and Logan settled into the front row of the gallery, close enough that Bear could feel them at his back.
Judge Marston came in through a door behind the bench. Sixties. Gray hair cut close. Wire-rimmed glasses. He sat down, adjusted his robe, and flipped open the file in front of him without looking up.
“Mr. McKenna.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“I have a notice of voluntary withdrawal from petitioner’s counsel, dated two days ago.” He turned a page. “I also have a home study filed by Ms. Hayes, the recommendations from Logan’s school in Solace, and a report from his caseworker. Have you seen these documents?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Anything you’d like to add to the record before I confirm placement?”
Bear had rehearsed an answer to this question for three weeks. Income figures. The job Walker had given him running ranch security. The school district. Logan’s grades, which had come up a full letter in two months. He had the whole speech ready.
He opened his mouth and what came out was:
“He’s my son.”
Judge Marston looked up over the rim of his glasses.
“Go on.”
“He’s fifteen.” Bear’s voice came out rougher than he meant it to.
“He’s smart. Reads constantly. He knows more about engines than anyone I’ve met, and I worked in a Ranger battalion full of guys who could rebuild a Humvee in a sandstorm.
He’s stubborn. The kind of stubborn that makes him put his head down and just go, whether the road’s there or not. ”
The judge’s pen was moving across the paper now, but his eyes hadn’t left Bear’s face.
“He’s angry. He’s got a right to be. His mother died and he got handed to a father he barely remembered, with a record and a temper and not much to recommend him. He ran away after three weeks. Packed a bag at four in the morning and walked out.”
Behind him, Logan shifted in the gallery.
“I found him at the bus station in Hamilton with a ticket to Denver in his hand. He didn’t get on the bus. He came home with me.” Bear had to stop and breathe. “He came back on his own. Nobody made him.”
The courtroom was quiet.
“I served four years in Deer Lodge for aggravated assault,” Bear said.
“That’s in the file. I’m not going to dress it up.
I hurt a man who deserved hurting and I hurt him too much.
I’ve spent every year since I got out trying to be a man my son could live with.
I’m still trying. I’m going to keep trying. ”
He stopped. Looked at his hands flat on the table.
“He’s my son,” he said again. Quieter. “I love him. I’m going to do whatever I have to do to keep him safe and happy.”
The pen stopped moving.
Judge Marston looked at Bear for a long beat. Then he looked past him, into the gallery. “Logan.”
Bear heard his son stand up behind him.
“Yes, sir.”
“You’ve heard everything your father just said.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is there anything you’d like to tell the court?”
A pause. Bear didn’t turn around. Couldn’t.
“He came looking for me,” Logan said. His voice cracked once and steadied. “When I ran. He didn’t yell. He didn’t punish me. He just… hugged me.” Another pause. “I want to stay with him.”
Judge Marston nodded slowly. “Thank you, son. Go ahead and sit back down.”
He picked up his pen. Signed the bottom of the page in front of him. Closed the file.
“Mr. McKenna, I’m confirming sole legal and physical custody of Logan McKenna to you, effective immediately. Ms. Hayes will file the final paperwork with the clerk’s office this afternoon. You should receive certified copies within ten days.” The gavel came down. “Court is adjourned.”