Page 46 of Finding His Redemption

Echo watchedJax from the corner of her kennel, mismatched eyes fixed on his every movement. Jax knelt on the concrete floor, his knees aching against the hard surface, and waited. The kennels smelled of disinfectant and wet fur, with undertones of fear that no amount of cleaning could erase.

A week had passed since Nessie had shown up with that ridiculous green muffin. A week of avoiding most of the other men, of keeping his head down during meals, of spending every free moment here with Echo while the rest of the world decided whether or not he was a murderer.

He’d learned that Ghost was right about the dead girl’s name: Bailee Cooper. Learned that she’d been stabbed multiple times. Learned that the sheriff had already been by the ranch twice to question Walker about his newest resident.

But here in this kennel, none of that mattered. Here, it was just him and Echo and the slow, patient work of trust.

“Not hungry today?” he asked quietly, nodding toward the untouched food bowl, which he’d sprinkled with meatballs. “Can’t say I blame you. Bear’s on kitchen duty again. Those meatballs look questionable.”

Echo’s nose twitched. She still hadn’t moved from her corner, but her body wasn’t as rigidly tense as it had been the first day.

Progress.

Slow progress, yeah, but real.

He shifted his weight, careful not to make any sudden movements. Echo’s eyes tracked him like she was trying to determine if this was the moment he’d finally reveal himself as a threat.

“I’m going to move the bowl closer to you,” he told her, narrating his actions before he made them. “Just the food. Not trying to touch you.”

Her lips pulled back from her teeth in a silent warning as his hand stretched toward the bowl. But she didn’t growl. That was new.

Jax slid the bowl six inches closer to her, then returned to his spot by the kennel door. “Your call.”

A beam of sunlight slanted through the high window, catching the dust motes in the air and turning them to gold. Outside, he could hear the muffled sounds of the ranch—a truck engine starting, men calling to each other, the occasional bark from another dog or whinny of a horse. And of course, General Mayhem was crowing like a demon, announcing his displeasure to anyone who’d listen.

But inside the kennel, time seemed to stand still.

“There’s a whole world out there, you know?” He leaned his head back against the cinderblock wall and rested his arms on his drawn-up legs. “It’s not all scary, I promise. Some of it’s actually pretty good. There’s this kid, Oliver, and he makes these fire truck noises that sound like dying cats, but he’s so damn proud of them. And his mom...” Jax trailed off, his throat tightening unexpectedly. “His mom makes coffee that doesn’t taste like motor oil, and she smiles at you like you’re not a complete waste of space.”

Echo’s head tilted slightly, one ear rotating toward him like a satellite dish picking up a signal.

“Course, that was before everyone decided I’m a killer.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Maybe you’ve got the right idea, staying in that corner. People are shit, Echo. They’ll hurt you just because they can. And I can’t lie, I used to be one of those people. I was hurting and wanted the whole world to hurt with me, so I went after the people I should’ve been leaning on. And I hurt someone. Bad. I keep telling myself I’m different now, but maybe that’s bullshit. Maybe we are what we are, and all this...” he gestured vaguely at the kennel, “is just pretending. But I’m trying—” His voice caught, surprising him with its sudden roughness. “I’m trying to be better. So maybe you can try to come out of that corner, huh?”

Echo watched him for another long moment, then slowly, cautiously, unwound from her defensive ball. She inched forward, belly low to the ground, eyes never leaving his face. One careful paw, then another. Her ribs showed through her patchy coat—she needed the food, but so far, fear was a stronger motivator than hunger.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he murmured. “No rush.”

Jax kept perfectly still, barely breathing, as the dog stretched her neck toward the bowl, sniffed once, and took a small bite.

“Good girl.”

Her ears flicked back, then forward again at the praise. She took another bite, then another, her eyes never leaving his face.

For days, he’d been coming here, sitting with her, talking to her. At first, she’d cowered from his voice, trembling so hard he could hear her teeth rattling. But he’d kept talking, telling her about his day, about the ranch, about the nightmares that still jolted him awake at 3 a.m.

He’d never expected her to listen. But somehow, she did.

Echo finished the last of the food and looked up at him, something new in her gaze. Not trust, not yet. But maybe curiosity.

“Finished already? Good job.” He extended his hand, palm up, and laid it flat on the floor between them.

For several heartbeats, nothing happened. Then Echo took a step toward him. Another. She stretched her neck, nostrils flaring as she sniffed his fingers.

And then?—

She bumped her nose against his hand before darting back to her corner.

The touch lasted only a split second. But it was electric. Something warm and unfamiliar bloomed in Jax’s chest, cracking open a space he’d thought had calcified years ago.