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CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

DEACON

Westin drives my truck. I sit in the passenger side with a handkerchief shoved in the hole in my leg. It’s right below the last place I got stabbed, but this time, it’s wider and not as deep. I’ll be fine once I get a chance to make sure there aren’t any wood splinters in it. I can just wrap it up and take an aspirin.

Jensen stayed behind to take Bittern in. His body was cold, breathing shallow but his vitals stable. We loaded him into his truck, and Jensen took off toward the hospital in South Platte, driving like hell.

I told him to make sure the doctors knew I wanted him put directly into rehab the minute he recovers. Freya loves him, so he’s getting better whether he likes it or not.

I can’t think of anything else but Freya. Keira called Sovereign as we were standing on the hill, watching the flames roar, to let us know Jack got her to Sovereign Mountain safely, but I can’t keep rolling through the same two questions in my mind.

If she’s pregnant.

If she’ll say yes to being my wife .

Morning is breaking as we pull the trucks up the driveway of Sovereign Mountain. Westin gets out and goes to unload the horses, leaving Sovereign and I standing in the driveway.

I hold out my hand, and he shakes it, always a man of few words and fewer emotions. “Better get inside,” he says. “You got somebody waiting on you. Maybe two somebodies.”

My stomach flips. He heads up the path, and we enter the front hall of the ranch house. It smells like breakfast, and that calms me. Surely, if something were wrong, Keira wouldn’t be cooking.

Sovereign leads the way to the kitchen. Keira is putting a pan of biscuits into the oven. She straightens, and relief passes over her face as her eyes fall on her husband. He wraps an arm around her, pressing his lips to her forehead.

“Everybody’s safe,” he says.

She nods, eyes moving to me. “Oh God, you’re bleeding.”

“It’s fine. Where’s Freya?” My voice cracks.

She untangles herself from Sovereign and skirts around the table, putting her hand on my elbow to push me toward the door. I go eagerly, but she stops me in the living room.

“Freya is alright. She’s sleeping,” she says, her voice lowering, “but she’s been through a lot. The doctor is coming at noon just to check her over.”

I nod, wordless.

“And Deacon, she wanted me to tell you she’s pregnant. She didn’t want you to have to wait until she woke up to let you know.”

My shoulders drop and my head falls back. Everything tingles, but maybe that’s from the blood seeping down my leg or the ringing in my ears.

I don’t remember leaving Keira, but she must have told me where to go, because my feet are moving. I’m floating up the stairs and down the hall. Every step seems to take forever. Then, I find the bedroom with an ajar door, and I push it all the way open.

Sleeping curled up with one of Sovereign’s dogs is Freya.

I swear, I almost fall to my knees. Part of me was so scared, despite my rage at Aiden and my mission to wipe them all out, that Jack wouldn’t pull through and get her out safe. But here she is, without a scratch on her.

That favor was worth every penny I spent on Exile.

Freya is sound asleep. The small dog lifts its head but lays back down. I limp across the room and push the curtain open. The sky is pale blue, the stars winking out between gathering clouds. It’s starting to snow, little flakes that swirl and fall lightly before hitting the frozen ground.

My eyes move up to the crest of the hill. I see it, a trail through the frost, leading in the direction of the mountains.

Jack Russell has come and gone. I’ll see him again when he decides to call on me, but for now, his work here is done.

I sink down into the armchair. My leg is halfway numb, the pain a dull throb that won’t quit. But in my chest, I’m whole. There’s no hoping, no longing anymore. Now, I realize as I sit, miles from the house I built, that home was never a place. It was always this woman.

It was the baby she’ll have when summer comes.

It’s all the years I get to love her and have her love me back.

A dog barks outside. Freya stirs, rolling onto her back. Her lids open, and her eyes move over the room and fall on me.

She sits bolt upright, and I’m by her side in a second.

“Hey, you’re okay. Sit back.” I take her shoulders.

Her face crumples, and she throws her arms around my neck, clinging to me as sobs wrack her body. I pull her into my lap, brushing my hand over her head, holding it against my shoulder. My hands move absently over her body, checking for injuries, but she’s whole.

“I’m having a baby,” she sobs.

I kiss her temple. “I know, sweetheart. It’s alright. I’ll take care of you both.”

She cries herself out. I just hold her, knowing how stressed she is after everything she’s been through. Finally, she lifts her swollen face.

“Please,” she whispers. “Promise me something.”

“Anything.” I cradle her chin in my fingers .

“Don’t leave me,” she begs.

“There’s no leaving,” I say. “Love me. Marry me.”

Her mouth shakes. She bites her lip and lets it go.

“I do love you,” she whispers. “And I’ll marry you, but only if you promise to never hate me or hurt me.”

She knows I wouldn’t, but I understand why she says it.

“I know he hurt you,” I say, my voice hushed, “but I’m not him. Been waiting all my life for you, sweetheart. I promise.”

Something about those words get right to her heart. The tension in her body eases, and she sags against me.

“I trust you,” she breathes.

I stroke her hair. “I’ve been lonely for a long time. But not anymore, not since the night you slept with me. I’ve been tired for years, but you make me feel like I’m ready to start at the beginning. I want to do this with you. I want you as my wife. Let’s go home, have some babies, just live for a while.”

She hiccups.

“You think you want that?”

“Yes,” she whispers. “I want that.”

Gently, I shift her around to lay in my lap and lean back against the pillows. My leg is bleeding through the handkerchief, but I don’t feel it. Maybe there’s nerve damage, but it’s more likely the warmth burning in my chest.

She lit a fire in me. My heart was nothing but an empty hearth, and no matter how hard I struck the tinder and fanned the flames, it was always so cold until I laid eyes on her.

I let my lips fall to her hair.

My family, right here in my arms.

“What do you think it is?” she whispers.

“I think it’s a boy,” I say.

She smiles, and I feel it against my chest. “I think it’s a girl.”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

A shuddering breath slips out of her. She wipes her cheek. “Bittern?” Her voice cracks .

“He’s safe, in the hospital,” I say. “He’s just fine, but I’m sending him to rehab outside the city as soon as it’s safe.”

“Deacon—”

“Freya, let me handle this.”

“Are they gone?” There’s a clear note of panic. “Ryland? Aiden?”

I bend in, holding her, and kiss her forehead. I keep my lips to her skin until her breathing slows.

“Yes,” I say. “But that’s not your worry. You need to rest and do what’s right for you and the baby.”

I see it in her eyes, the complexity of grief. I know it well. Grieving an abuser is grief all the same, even when it goes hand in hand with anger and relief.

“Okay,” she whispers.

There’s so much exhaustion in that word. She nestles her head against my shoulder, one arm slung over my neck. I close my eyes and lean back, my body exhausted from my fight with Aiden. I’m glad she’s in my arms, just letting me hold her, because I couldn’t move off this bed if I tried.