Chapter 2
Karissa
My heart’s been racing since I left, I’ve been stuck in survival mode. And when I ran into Cody…it was the first time it slowed. The first time I could actually breathe.
Devon’s always had a temper, but he’d never done anything like that before.
Not that bad, at least. He’s grabbed me before—shaken me up a little—but he never left marks.
I’ve seen him throw punches, sure, but never at me.
It was always some drunk guy at a bar or concert, usually on my behalf.
And, to be fair, they usually deserved it.
But this…this was different.
When he finally let go and saw what he’d done—really saw it—he was quick to apologize. Said it was the baby. The stress. That he was just trying to provide a good life for us. For her and me.
The whole time he talked, I was shaking. I was terrified to be in the same room with him, but I tried not to let it show. I knew I had to wait it out, play it smart. If I tried to leave while he was still there, watching me, I was afraid it would set him off again. Afraid he’d hurt me worse.
I’ve seen the documentaries. People lose it when their life starts slipping through their fingers.
So we went to bed, like always. Except I didn’t sleep. I laid there, still as I could, mind racing with everything I’d need to grab the second I had the chance.
And I waited.
At 7 a.m., he kissed my forehead goodbye like everything was fine. I kept my eyes shut, pretending to sleep, heart pounding. The second his truck pulled out of the driveway, I moved. It was go time.
I grabbed as many of the clothes I cared about as I could.
My passport, my birth certificate, insurance, the only cash I could find.
I grabbed some of the baby stuff—the heirloom blanket that was mine, the ultrasound pictures, some of the clothes I already had for her.
I took a few blankets, a pillow, nearly the entire pantry.
I knew I’d stop at some point, but depending on the cost of a hotel room or something, I was prepared to stay in my car.
I really wanted to save as much money as I could.
I left a note. I didn’t want to, but I wanted the last word. So I wrote, “I refuse to let MY daughter grow up thinking this is love. Don’t come looking for me. I’ll press every possible charge I can against your coward ass.”
And instead of signing my name, I grabbed a steak knife and drove it straight through the paper. Right into the kitchen table. Then I left.
My car was still in the garage when I loaded it, stuff pressed up against the windows like I was fleeing a war zone. And I kinda was. I shoved everything I could into bags and boxes, barely organized. Just the things that mattered, crammed in tight.
Then I opened the garage door, closed it behind me, and pulled out slowly, praying no one would notice how packed my car was. Praying I could slip away before anyone realized I was leaving for good.
Cody clears his throat. “You should be proud of yourself.”
“I know,” I mutter.
Saying it all out loud…helped. Like I talked myself through it, made sense of it somehow. And now, for the first time, it actually feels right.
My stomach drops when I see a sign lit up ahead: Bellamy Police Department.
I sit up straighter, my heart picking up its beat. “Wait, Cody, no. I’m not going in there.”
He doesn’t answer, just pulls into a spot and throws the truck in park before cutting the engine.
“Seriously,” I say, voice low. “I’m not doing this.”
The interior lights flick on, casting a soft glow across his face. His brown eyes are locked on me, jaw tight, like his mind’s already made up.
“Yeah, you are.”
I blink, heart kicking up again. “I need to lay low. If I file something, he’ll come after me—”
“He already came after you.” His voice is sharp, flat. “You’re seven months pregnant. Layin’ low ain’t gonna work.”
“But I—”
“Karissa,” he snaps, wanting me to stop arguing with him.
I glance at the building, then back at him. “Is your brother here?”
“No. He’s off tonight. But there’s still someone inside who can take your statement.”
I cross my arms. “What if I say no?”
“Then I’ll carry you and that baby in there myself.”
I know he’s not lying. He put me in his truck like I was as light as a feather.
“Don’t test me.” He scoffs as he opens his door. “You wanna protect that baby or not?”
“Yeah,” I mutter, and without another word, he rounds the truck and opens my door.
I’m frozen. “I really don’t want to go in there.”
His cowboy boots scrape against the concrete as he shifts his feet and raises his forearm to lean against his truck.
Immovable.
His voice is low now, quiet. “I need you to stop thinking like a scared little girl,” he says, “and start thinking like a mom.”
That lands like a punch to my gut. My eyes sting instantly. He’s right. I press my lips together, trying not to let my jaw tremble. He’s not mad; he’s serious.
“I don’t care if you hate me for it”—he nods toward the station—“but you’re going in.”
So, I let out a shaky breath and step out of the truck. Because even though I just met this man, I’ve already learned that he’ll stand here all night if he has to.
He has his hands out in case I want help down but he doesn’t touch me.
The inside of the station is quiet. One lamp glows on the front desk and a middle-aged man looks up from whatever he’s working on.
His eyes flick from mine to my stomach to Cody. “Everything alright?”
“She needs to file a report,” Cody says, stepping aside and letting me in front of him.
The officer nods and starts typing on the computer. “Name?”
I clear my throat, but nothing comes out. My tongue feels like sandpaper. My hands won’t stop shaking.
“Ma’am?”
“She’s scared, you moron. Would you just be patient?” Cody spits.
I try not to laugh. The officer’s demeanor softens, though, and he pulls a chair out from behind the counter. “Alright, then come sit. Take your time.”
I sit down slowly, like I still can’t decide if this is the right thing to do or not. I have to remind myself that I’m eight hours away from home and there’s no way Devon is going to come through the front doors of this police station right now. Even if he did, I’m safe.
Cody stays beside me, arms crossed, tattoos staring at me.
The officer clicks a pen and brings it to paper. “Start with your name, if you can.”
The thought crosses my mind to make one up, but I know that sorta defeats the purpose. After I admit that to myself, the words slowly start to come.
I tell him everything I told Cody already…and more. Like where he laid his hands. I show him all the marks I can remember and find. I tell him how I stayed as normal as I could all night and left in the morning.
The officer writes steadily, not interrupting. Just listening and nodding.
“I’m obviously pregnant,” I add, my voice now full of emotion. “I’m due in six weeks, and he didn’t want this baby. It’s been the topic of nearly every fight and she’s not even here yet.”
Cody’s demeanor shifts, along with his feet, and he’s now standing straighter.
By the time I finish talking and explaining more, my cheeks are wet. I didn’t realize how much I was crying.
I suck in a shaky breath and the officer slides a box of tissues across the desk.
“I’m glad you got out,” he says after a beat. “We’ll get this filed tonight. I’ll start the paperwork for a protective order. You have somewhere safe to stay?”
“She’s with me,” Cody says immediately. His tone leaves no room for argument. But it’s not overbearing, it’s protective. Which is exactly what I need.
The officer nods. “Good. I’ll walk you through the rest. We’ll take photos of everything and expedite it.”
Cody still hasn’t moved. Hasn’t touched me. But I can feel how tightly he’s wound. I know I just met him, but I can tell he’s itching to do something. Fix it, fight it, erase it all from my memory. Something.
When the officer gets up to get something from a filing cabinet, Cody leans in, his voice low in my ear.
“You did good,” he tells me, and I feel better already.
* * *
His truck rumbles down a long gravel road.
Darkness surrounds us; there are no streetlights wherever we are, and my mind is trying so hard to make me overthink that I’m getting freaked out.
Like, what if he’s secretly some crazy person who’s gonna lock me in his basement and make me give birth to this baby all alone? I’ve seen the movies.
“Yes or no?” Cody says, snapping me from my bizarre thoughts.
“What? Sorry.”
“I said, are you okay with dogs?”
“Big dogs?”
“Labs, yeah.”
“I mean…yeah, but it can’t jump on my stomach.”
“I won’t let them.” He shakes his head.
“Them?”
“There’s three.”
“Three?! Geez…” I mutter.
“They’re actually my brother’s dogs, but his wife had a baby a few months ago and it was too much.”
“Mason? The cop?”
“No. Jesse, the oldest.”
“Are you the youngest?”
“No, I’m the second oldest. It goes Jesse, me, Mason, then Addie.”
“Oh, there’s four of you?”
“Yup. Mom and Dad kept busy.” He laughs and I do too.
“How about you? Siblings? Where are your parents?”
“I’m an only child. And my parents died a while back.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“Both in a car accident, together, when I was twenty.”
“Shit, that’s awful.”
“Yeah. I mean, we weren’t that close, but it doesn’t stop me from missing them sometimes.”
“Course,” he says.
It’s quiet again. I run my hand over my stomach, feeling small movements. She’s pressing on my bladder again, her favorite thing to do.
“You good?” Cody asks.
“Yeah. Just have to pee.”
“Well, we’re almost home,” he says, shifting in his seat and stretching one arm across his chest with a yawn.
My eyes catch his waistband. “Is that a gun on your hip?”
He doesn’t even look down. “Yup.”
“You just…wear it all the time?”
“Yup.” His lips pop the P.
I blink. I’ve never been around guns before. It feels…weird. Not in a scary way exactly, just unfamiliar. Like it doesn’t belong this close to me. Like it’s part of a world I’ve never stepped into.
I watch the way his tattoos flex when he adjusts his grip on the wheel before glancing over at me.
“Glove box has one too,” he adds. “Rifle behind the seat. Got more at the house.”
“Oh. That’s…a lot of guns.”
He laughs and shakes his head like that’s the farthest thing from the truth.
“They scare you or something?”
“I don’t know, maybe a little. I’ve just never been near them.”
“Well. Rest assured, unless someone pulls the trigger, they don’t go off.”
“Right.”
“You’re not, like, anti-guns or something, are you?”
“No.” I snort.
“Okay, good.” He laughs too.
I stare out the window, silent for a minute.
“So it’s just you and three dogs? No girlfriend or wife?” I ask softly.
He’s quiet for a second too long.
“Nope,” he says finally, but it’s dry. A little tense.
I turn toward him. “That sounded like a lie.” I laugh.
“It’s not.”
“Well, you sound pissed about it,” I retort.
He exhales through his nose. “Would’ve been our seven-year wedding anniversary.”
My stomach drops. A widow? How sad.
My throat dries but I still manage to reply. “Sorry for your loss.”
“She didn’t die,” he scoffs. “She left me at the damn altar.”
I swallow, suddenly regretting the question I thought would be easy and lighthearted.
“Oh.”
“That’s why I was at the bar tonight. It’s kinda my tradition.” His tone is firm.
“I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry for asking.”
His jaw flexes. “It’s fine.”
I zip my lips. Even though I want to know more, I force myself to sit quietly as he continues down the rocky gravel road.
It isn’t until now that my exhaustion completely hits. I was tired before, but now? I could fall asleep right here.
He turns down another gravel road, except there was a house number at the end, so I’m guessing this is his driveway.
About a quarter mile in, he pulls up to a small cabin tucked between a few trees. A porch light at the side door is the only thing lit.
He cuts the engine and comes around to help me down. His hand is rough but his grasp is gentle.
“Thanks,” I say, and he proceeds to grab my bag from the back seat.
“Dogs shouldn’t jump; they’ll sniff you, though. Especially with a baby in there.” He laughs.
I follow him to the side door, which he pushes open without hesitation. I guess people don’t lock their doors around here.
And just like he promised, I’m met with three dogs, tails wagging, paws scrabbling on the hardwood floors.
“Oh, hi,” I say, holding out my hand. They swarm, sniffing like I’m the most interesting thing they’ve smelled all day. The yellow one licks my fingers, and I feel another one’s wet nose on my ankle.
“Alright, sit,” Cody commands, and they do, instantly. But their tails continue to wag. They’re about to sand the finish off the floor.
I follow Cody past the dogs to the main living space. It’s very basic, very rugged…rustic and masculine. It’s exactly what I would envision for a guy like him.
Everything’s wood—the floors, the walls, even the ceiling. There’s a dark green couch, a worn wooden coffee table, and a single end table stacked with magazines. In the corner, there’s a tall black gun safe with a duck mount perched on top.
Deer mounts are everywhere. Geese too.
It’s like a zoo, except everything’s dead.
The kitchen’s off to the side. It’s an open floor plan, decently sized. Clean, minimal, basic. There’s a small round table with three chairs that don’t match. Salt and pepper shakers sit in the center like a makeshift centerpiece, and a coffee mug stuffed with napkins finishes the look.
Cody sets my bag on the floor, then turns to face me.
“Welcome to the crib,” he says, gesturing around before resting his hands on his hips.
I smirk, because this could get interesting.
He’s all broad shoulders, strong build, sharp jaw…like someone who actually works out and doesn’t just talk about it.
Not that I’m noticing or anything.