Chapter Forty Four
Guilt Grows Like Weeds
I t’s been just over a month since the fire, and the farm’s finally starting to feel like it’s breathing again.
After the cameras went up, rigged top to bottom by the best guys I know, the vandalism stopped cold. Not a single gate left open. Not one damn fence knocked down. No tools missing. Nothing.
And maybe it’s just my gut. Maybe it’s the years I spent hunting patterns in places most people couldn’t survive, but the sudden silence is too clean. Too deliberate.
If it was just bad luck, bad timing, or animals leaning too hard, it wouldn’t have stopped just because we rolled in with surveillance, intentionally loud and obvious.
Which means someone out there saw the cavalry roll in, and they decided to back the hell off.
It wasn’t random. It wasn’t chance. Somebody’s targeting Honey Bea.
And I’ve got no idea who.
The farm’s been busy as hell ever since.
Between Aurora, Georgia, and the everyday grind, I’ve been spending most of my time working the land again.
Fencing, irrigation checks, helping Ridge rotate feed, brushing down Dusty and easing him back into saddle work.
There’s something honest about the labor.
Forgot how much I missed it—the blisters, the ache in my shoulders at the end of the day, the smell of dirt and sun and sweat clinging to my skin like proof I’m still alive.
Didn’t see it for years, but I was rotting away in that tiny crap-studio. Wasting my life in a ten-by-ten box with no connection to the outside world beyond small bits of town, my family, and work.
I missed this. Missed them. More than I ever let myself admit.
It’s not perfect yet, but the anger between Hazy and me has started to soften.
Every Sunday, Georgia and I bring Aurora to dinner at the big house, and little by little, I’ve stopped flinching when I walk through the door.
The chair at the head of the table still stays empty—Mom won’t let anyone touch it—but I’ve learned how to look at it without the guilt wrapping around my throat like barbed wire.
The grief’s still there. Always will be.
But being here, staying here , has made it quieter. More manageable. Avoiding this place for so long made it grow teeth. Made it bigger, meaner than it had to be.
But facing it? Sitting across from Hazel while she passes the mashed potatoes and teases me like no time passed? Listening to the twins never ending thoughts about their upcoming senior year while Mom stares at everyone with love and a little sadness in her eyes.
And doing it all with Georgia at my side, holding Aurora while she smashes honey-glazed carrots into her hair…
It’s made things surprisingly easier.
I sigh as I pull into an empty parking spot downtown, my eyes drifting to the vacant building before me.
Griff’s already here—leaning against his truck like a fuckin’ ad for the feed store.
Carhartt jacket stretched over his barrel chest, worn jeans slung low on his hips, boots still covered in Tennessee horseshit.
The only thing he’s missing is a cowboy hat to tip and a “ma’am” to go with that thick drawl I love to talk shit about.
And emulate.
Only with Georgia.
Wilder’s still out in Washington on a long solo detail he picked up, running protection for a senator’s daughter with a stalker. Job he took on his own, freelance, after he walked from Iron Shield—something I still can’t wrap my head around.
True to his word, Griff sold off his land in Tennessee to chase this new dream.
A dream far away from the demons he left back home.
I haven’t seen him much lately. He’s been bouncing back and forth, tying up loose ends out east. And me? I’ve been buried in this new life I didn’t see coming.
I climb out of my truck, slamming the door behind me.
“Jesus,” I mutter, walking over. “You ever think about shrinking?”
Griff smirks. “You ever think about growing?”
“You’ve got three inches on me, asshole. Relax.”
We clap hands and pull into what Colby claims is bro-hug.
“You good?” I ask.
“Better now that I’m here,” he says roughly, eyes trailing downtown. “Tennessee’s a mess. Final papers are signed though. I’m all in now.”
“Never doubted you.” I glance around the lot, then up at the building that sits on the corner of two main streets. “Where’s the realtor?”
Griff chuckles, pulling a ring of keys from his pocket. “Didn’t need one.”
I blink, jaw unhinging. “You bought the fuckin’ thing? Christ, Sarge.”
“Rented,” he grunts, bearded face tipping with a smirk. “Long-term lease. But yeah. It’s ours, man.”
I gape at him as he unlocks the front door and pushes it open. Sunlight spills into a wide, open space that smells like old paint and drywall dust. It’s dated, sure—but it’s got good bones. Room for desks and a few private offices. Even space for the tech setup we’ll need.”
“Damn. You did good.” I shoot him a look. “Hope you kept all the shit I gave you from working remotely. Just sprung for a surveillance system at the farm.”
He waves me away. “I’ve got it all. No worries.”
Gratitude washes through me. “Can’t believe you really pulled this shit off, man. And fast.”
“Yeah, well... now I just need a place to live.”
“You can crash at the farm,” I offer, leaning against a wall, arms and ankles crossed. “Mom loved having you and Wild in the big, empty house.”
He scoffs. “I’ll be damned if I move in with Mrs. A, Kade. I’m forty fuckin’ years old.”
I laugh, and he just shakes his head, dragging his fingers through his long, messy hair.
“So how are you?” he asks. “How are your girls?”
I smile before I can stop it, everything in me soaring. “Good. They’re really fuckin’ good.”
Griff studies me. “You gonna marry her?”
My heart skips a beat. There’s a lot I haven’t said—not out loud, not even to myself. But I meet his eyes and grin, because yeah, if she lets me, I’m gonna marry the fuck out of that woman.
“I didn’t want to love again,” I say, voice thick. “Then she stormed into my life, all fire and fight, and suddenly…” My hands flail helplessly. It’s exactly how I feel. “I couldn’t help myself.”
Griff’s face softens. He closes the distance between us and claps a heavy hand on my shoulder, squeezing hard. “She’s damn good for you.”
I nod, throat thick. “You never said that about Marlee.”
“Yeah, man. I didn’t.” His expression darkens. “She wasn’t good for you. You deserved a hell of a lot better.”
“You knew something I didn’t,” I say quietly, staring out the window so I don’t have to see the look in his eyes. “Saw through all the charm, the golden blonde hair, and fake smiles. All the lies. I was too young and too damn stupid to notice what she was hiding.”
“What’re you talking about?”
I sigh, running a hand through my beard. Need to clean it up again, but Georgia and Aurora like tugging on it too much and I’m weak where they’re concerned.
“Kade?” he prompts, voice and expression serious.
“The day the social worker brought Aurora…” I swallow thickly, heart twisting along with my insides. “Ethel told me things. About Marlee. Her husband. The accident. Stuff I didn’t know. Stuff I wish I didn’t know now.”
And for the first time, I let it all out.
Tried to bury it. Pretend the past didn’t matter.
Told myself the things I wasn’t there to see or stop aren’t on me—and logically, I know that. Had no idea Aurora even existed.
And still, I don’t know exactly what happened to her. If the abuse was done by Marlee or Travis, or both. Fuck, maybe neither, but the asshole’s record would suggest otherwise.
And Marlee…
I know not all abuse is cyclical. I know people can stop it if they want to. Know that just because her grandma Kim and her mom were awful and solved shit with open hands and closed fists, doesn’t mean Marlee followed the pattern with her own kid.
But then I think back to the fights we’d get in when we were young. I think about the way she didn’t shy away from hitting me or slapping me when she was pissed.
She’d be crying and raging and burning, and I’d see those tears and soften, every damn time.
I’d grab her up, ignoring the sting of her hands, and hug her tight, telling myself it was just the trauma, just the hurt she was working through.
I’d comfort and love on her, and she’d cry some more, tell me she was sorry and she wouldn’t do it again.
That never stuck either.
But, we were young, and I had myself convinced it was passion, not…
Not something ugly .
When I’m done rambling, sharing more than I meant to, Griff is still as a statue, eyes burning, jaw ticking. “You learn anything else?”
“Nah. But... does it really matter anymore? Aurora’s adjusting. We even caught her trying to walk the other day. She’s sleeping better now, too.” My throat constricts, and I mutter, “Thought it was just her teeth, but I think maybe it was nightmares. The trauma of all the shit she’s been through.”
Griff doesn’t say anything for a long time, but when he speaks, it’s soft and measured like he’s worried I’ll get mad. “You tell Georgia all this?”
I shake my head, stomach twisting with the amount of shit I’m keeping from my girl right now. Wasn’t intentional, I’m just… delicate with her.
“She’s got a lot going on. And she’s finally settling in. Working her ass off at her day job, and on this thing for my mom. Been over a month since that night in the field. Since I told her she was mine. She hasn’t tried to run.”
“But?” he asks.
“But sometimes, I can still see her fingers twitch and her eyes dart to the door when things get heavy, like she’s checking for an escape plan.”
He frowns. “She alright?”
I nod, pulling my phone from my pocket, more guilt and sadness eating at me.
“Yeah. Just... scared, I think. She’s like Aurora. Been through a lot.” I bring up the file and hand it over. “Remember how I told you her mom was born here?”
He nods, gaze flicking to the screen.
“I’ve been digging. Trying to help her find her family.”
He scrolls, brows drawing together. “Fuck. They’re all dead?”
“Every single fuckin’ Walker,” I say, voice low. “Mom. Grandparents. Even a brother. All buried out in Serenity Falls.”
“What about her dad?”
“Don’t know who he is, and trust me, I looked deep.
” I shrug, grimacing as my mind flits through all the connections I reached out to for information.
“Lorna had a rough upbringing. Parents were religious, but the kind of religious where they lean on God and use it as an excuse for the bad shit they did.”
He scoffs, nodding, no doubt thinking about his late father who was the same.
“Anyway, from what I could dig up,” I continue, referring to the locals in Heart Springs and Serenity I regrettably talked to.
“Lorna escaped from home the only way she could, lookin’ for love or happiness or whatever, in all the wrong places.
Had a lot of boyfriends—a lot of them were older men, too.
When she got pregnant, I assume it went badly at home, so she ran. ”
Though, I can’t prove any of that. At this point, it’s speculation.
From what gossip suggested, Lorna was a promiscuous young girl from a bad home. When she ran away, her parents wrote her off as no longer being their child—a pregnant, unmarried seventeen-year-old high school dropout.
They went on with their lives, never looked or asked for help, and Lorna…
Lorna died alone a few states over.
And Georgia… my Georgia, paid the price of everyone's mistakes.
“Damn,” he breathes, handing my phone back. “That’s gonna kill her.”
I nod, slipping it into my pocket. “She wanted roots. Answers. Now there’s no one left to ask. No one to tie her to this place. And when her contract’s up in a few months... I don’t know, Sarge. I’m terrified she might go if she knows what she came here for is all dead and buried.”
“You think she will?”
“I hope not.” I glance at the empty room around us. “All I can do is keep building something here that feels like home. Something worth staying for.”
And pray like hell it’s enough.
That Aurora and I are enough.