Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
AINSLEY
"He's dead."
Knox's voice cuts through the thick fog in my head, sharp and certain.
I'm sitting in the back of the truck, Owen asleep in my arms, his tiny body warm and heavy against my chest. Jax is beside me with his good arm wrapped protectively around my shoulders, his breathing labored and uneven.
Everything feels distant. Muffled. Like I'm underwater and the world is happening somewhere far above me, rippling and distorted.
"Ainsley." Knox's voice again, firmer this time, pulling me back. "Justin's dead. It's over. He can't hurt you anymore."
I nod mechanically, but I don't feel it yet. The words don't land. They float around me, meaningless.
The drive back feels endless, like we're trapped in some kind of purgatory. I watch the trees blur past the window, their branches creating shadowy patterns in the dim light. My mind keeps replaying the moment over and over, stuck in a loop I can't escape.
The weight of the gun in my hands. Justin's face, surprised, angry, then blank. The shot ringing out, echoing in my ears. The terrible, crushing silence that followed.
Jax's hand tightens on my shoulder, grounding me. "You with me, baby?"
I turn to look at him. His face is pale, drained of color, his shirt soaked through with blood that's still damp and sticky. But his eyes are steady, focused entirely on me.
"You should be at the hospital," I whisper, my voice hoarse and raw.
"I'm staying with you," he says firmly, leaving no room for debate.
Knox pulls into the driveway of our house, the one on club property, the one we moved into after the first threat came through. The one that was supposed to be safe, surrounded by brothers who would protect us.
Home.
We're home.
Knox kills the engine and the sudden silence is deafening. He comes around to open my door, his movements careful and deliberate. He helps me out, his hand steady and warm on my back.
"Can you walk?" he asks gently.
I nod, though I'm not entirely sure it's true.
Jax climbs out slowly, his face contorting with pain with every movement. Tiny rushes over to help him, hands outstretched, but Jax waves him off with his good arm.
"I'm fine," he growls, stubborn as ever.
"You're not fine," Tiny argues, his voice tight with worry. "You need a hospital. You need stitches, antibiotics, a doctor—"
"I'm staying with my family," Jax says, his voice leaving absolutely no room for argument. His jaw is set, his eyes hard.
Knox carries Owen inside while Jax and I follow behind at a slower pace. The house is quiet. Dark. But it's ours. It's safe. The familiar scent of home, coffee, laundry detergent, the vanilla candles I like, wraps around me.
Knox takes Owen straight to his room, his actual room, with the hand-carved crib that Tiny spent weeks making and the colorful dinosaur decals that Tessa put up last month. He sets him down gently in the crib, adjusting the blanket around him, and Owen doesn't even stir. He's completely exhausted.
I stand in the doorway, watching, my heart aching with a complicated mix of relief and guilt and love so overwhelming it hurts.
This is real.
This is our home.
Our son is safe in his own bed.
Knox turns and sees me standing there. "Come on," he says softly, his voice full of understanding.
He guides me through the house, his hand never leaving my back, and out to the front porch. Jax is already there, sitting heavily on the steps, his head in his hands, shoulders hunched with pain and exhaustion.
I sit beside him carefully. Knox sits on my other side, creating a protective circle around me.
The sun is coming up, painting the sky in shades of soft pink and brilliant gold. Birds are starting to sing. The world is waking up, continuing on like nothing happened.
Nobody talks.
We just sit there in companionable silence, watching the light spread slowly across the horizon, chasing away the darkness.
My hands won't stop shaking. They tremble in my lap like they have a life of their own.
"I killed him," I whisper, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.
"You protected your son," Knox says immediately, his voice steady and sure.
"I took a life." The weight of it settles over me, heavy and suffocating.
"You saved four,” Jax adds quietly, his voice rough with pain and emotion.
I look at him, confused. “Four?”
"Yours. Owen's. And mine." He reaches for my hand with his good one, his fingers wrapping around mine. "If you hadn't done it, he would have kept coming. He would have found a way. And next time, one of us might not have been so lucky. Next time, he might have succeeded."
I lean into him carefully, mindful of his injuries, trying not to hurt him. "I thought you were dead. When I saw you on the ground, all that blood, I thought I'd lost you."
"I know."
"I thought I'd gotten you killed. That this was all my fault."
"You didn't."
"But I—"
"Ainsley." Knox's voice is firm but gentle. He turns my face toward him with careful fingers. "Listen to me. You didn't do this. Justin did. He made every single choice that led to this moment. He chose violence. He chose obsession. He chose to keep coming after you. Not you. This is on him."
Tears stream down my face, hot and fast. "I don't know how to live with this. I don't know how to be the person who killed someone."
"You don't have to live with it alone," Jax says, his voice fierce despite his weakness. "We're here. We're not going anywhere. Ever."
Knox pulls me against his chest, and Jax wraps his good arm around both of us, creating a cocoon of warmth and safety.
We sit there as the sun rises higher, painting the sky in deeper shades of orange and gold, the colors bleeding across the horizon like watercolors.
Inside, Owen starts to fuss. I hear him through the baby monitor clipped to Knox's belt, his soft whimpers growing louder.
"I'll get him," Knox says, standing smoothly.
He comes back a few minutes later with Owen in his arms, our son rubbing his eyes with tiny fists, still half-asleep and confused.
"Mama," he babbles when he sees me, reaching out with grabby hands.
I take him from Knox, holding him close, breathing in his sweet baby smell. "I'm here, baby. Mama's here. I'm always here."
Owen rests his head on my shoulder with complete trust, and I kiss his forehead, his soft hair, his chubby cheek.
Jax leans his head against my shoulder, his breathing evening out. Knox sits beside us, his large hand warm and reassuring on my back.
For a long time, we just sit there. Watching the sunrise paint the world in new colors. Holding each other. Being together.
Finally, after what feels like hours, I take a deep breath.
It's shaky. Uncertain. My chest still feels tight.
But it's there.
"I think I can breathe," I whisper, almost surprised by the realization.
Knox reaches over and takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine. "Good. That's good."
Jax kisses my temple softly, his lips lingering. "We've got you. Always. No matter what comes next."
I close my eyes and let myself believe it. Let myself accept the truth of it.
For the first time in my entire life, I'm free. Free from fear. Free from Justin. Free from running.
And I'm home.
Finally, truly home.