Page 46

chapter

thirty-three

Once Oliver received a clean bill of health from the pediatrician, Ghost drove them back to Nessie’s. Jax carried the exhausted kid upstairs to the apartment and laid him out on the tiny bed covered with little cartoon dinosaurs.

He was already asleep.

Jax wanted to linger, but as Nessie started to pull off Oliver’s muddy shoes, he backed away. She’d made herself plenty clear the other day, and now that the emergency was over, she’d probably want him gone.

He turned to leave, but Nessie stopped him at the doorway.

“Jax? Please stay. I… can’t be alone tonight.”

He froze, his hand tightening on the frame. After everything that had happened—after she’d told him she couldn’t have him around Oliver, after the way she’d looked at him like he was something dangerous—she was asking him to stay.

He turned slowly, searching her face in the dim light spilling from the hallway. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying, her hair still damp from the rain, and there was a fragility in her expression that made his chest ache.

“You sure about that? Last time we talked, you made it pretty clear where you stood.”

She flinched, and he immediately regretted the edge in his tone.

Christ, the woman had just spent hours thinking her son was lost in the woods in a storm. The last thing she needed was him taking his hurt feelings out on her.

“I’m sorry. That was... I shouldn’t have said that.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly looking small and lost standing next to her son’s bed. “No, you’re right. I said terrible things to you. Things I didn’t mean.”

“You were protecting Oliver. I get it.”

“Was I?” Her voice cracked. “Or was I just being a coward?”

He wanted to go to her, to pull her into his arms and tell her it was okay, that he understood. But the space between them felt charged with everything they hadn’t said, everything that had gone wrong.

“Nessie—”

“I promised you an explanation.”

He searched her face, looking for… he wasn’t sure what.

“Please,” she whispered. “Stay.”

Finally, he nodded. “Let me go tell Ghost.”

In the alleyway behind the bakery, he found Ghost leaning against the side of his truck, a lit cigar between his teeth as he watched a calico cat clean its face with one paw.

“Those things will kill you.”

A flicker of a smile crossed Ghost’s lips as he removed the cigar and blew out a puff of smoke. “What, cats? I believe that. They’re evil little shits.”

“Look at you with the jokes. River would be proud.”

“Don’t tell him. He doesn’t need to know I have a sense of humor.” Ghost’s gaze went to the windows of the apartment, glowing soft yellow against the night, and his expression turned serious. “You laid some heavy truths on that kid tonight.”

“He needed to hear it.”

“Yup.” He didn’t seem inclined to say more on the subject, which was one of the reasons Jax liked the guy so much.

They fell into silence.

Jax leaned against the truck beside Ghost and looked up at the sky. The storm had cleared, leaving a winter-like chill in its wake.

Thank God Oliver wasn’t still out in this.

He cupped his hands and blew into them. “It’s May. Why is it so fucking cold?”

“Sometimes I forget you’re a California boy. Welcome to Montana.” Ghost took another deep inhale of his cigar. “So, you staying?”

“She asked me to.”

“Figured as much.”

“She says she owes me an explanation.”

More silence. Ghost continued to smoke. He gave nothing away, but something pinged against Jax’s instincts, and he sent the guy a sideways glance. “You know, don’t you? What that explanation will be?”

Ghost exhaled a cloud of smoke, then pinched out the ember before sliding the cigar into a slim case and putting it in his coat pocket. He pushed off the truck and faced Jax. “I’ve known for years.”

The bitter taste of jealousy coated Jax’s tongue. “Did she tell you?”

“No. Like I said before, I make it my business to know things. That woman has been through hell.” He nodded toward the apartment. “So why the fuck are you still standing here talking to me instead of in there comforting her?”

He honestly didn’t know why he was hesitating. Maybe because a part of him knew if he went back in there, that would be it. He’d have to crack his chest open and show her all of his vulnerable parts, then she’d do the same, and there would be no going back. Was he ready to let someone in like that?

But there was no way he was leaving her alone tonight.

And, who was he kidding? She was already in; she and the boy were both deeply rooted in his heart.

“Can you tell Walker?—”

“Don’t have to,” Ghost said. “He already knows and approves. If you left them alone tonight, he’d kick your ass all the way back to California.”

Jax nodded and pulled open the back door of the truck. Echo sat there, watching him with her mismatched eyes, her head cocked. “You want to come with me, girl?”

Nessie was still in with Oliver when he returned to the apartment, and he decided to give her this time with her son. She probably needed it, needed to hold him and know he was safe.

The apartment was small, and Echo had tracked mud across the hardwood floors from the door to the kitchen. Jax found a roll of paper towels under the sink and got to work cleaning her paws first, then mopping up the trail of dirt and water.

The familiar rhythm of the task—something simple and purposeful—helped settle the restless energy that had been building in his chest since they’d found Oliver. He’d gotten good at these kinds of mundane chores at the ranch. They kept his hands busy when his mind wanted to spiral.

As he worked, he found himself looking around the small kitchen, taking in all the details.

The apartment was sparse but warm, with mismatched furniture that looked secondhand but well-loved.

A few framed photos sat on the counter. Oliver at different ages, always smiling, always in motion. No photos of a father anywhere.

He was wringing out the paper towels when his gaze landed on the refrigerator.

The surface was covered in crayon drawings and watercolors held up with an assortment of magnets.

Most were the typical kid stuff: stick figures under a yellow sun, houses with smoke curling from chimneys, race cars with oversized wheels.

But as he looked closer, he realized there was a pattern. Animals. Lots of them.

A purple cat with green eyes. A fluffy rat-like thing. Something that looked like a bulldog with wrinkles and its tongue hanging out in a permanent grin. A rabbit with floppy ears. A bird with muscled arms instead of wings. Even a lizard.

His chest tightened as he remembered their first meeting on the roadside. Oliver had been so excited to tell him about his pets—a whole menagerie of animals that lived with him and his mom. The bearded dragon named Toothless. Niblet the chinchilla, who hated Tuesdays. The cats…

They were all here, captured in crayon and watercolor.

And none of them were real, Jax realized.

The kid had been so convincing, so detailed in his descriptions, but all of it was just the longing of a boy who wanted something to care for, something that was his.

Jax’s throat felt raw. He thought about the way Oliver’s face had lit up when he’d met Echo, the pure joy in his voice when he’d announced she was painting with him.

Echo nudged his leg, and he looked down to find her watching him with those all-too-knowing eyes.

“You’re real, aren’t you, girl?” he murmured and rubbed her soft ear between his fingers. “I’m not imagining you, am I?”

“He draws them every day.”

Jax turned to find Nessie standing in the hallway, her arms wrapped around herself. She looked exhausted, her face pale and drawn.

“I was wondering where all his pets were,” Jax said quietly. “When he told me about them that first day, I thought they were real.”

She drew a breath and let it out slowly. “The cats are real.” She nodded toward the window. “The strays in the alleyway. He named them—the gray one is Trouble, the calico is Princess Jellybean, and the?—”

“Black and white one is Socks, because he has socks,” Jax finished. He’d seen those cats hanging around the bakery’s dumpsters so many times and never made that connection.

Christ, no wonder the kid had been so excited about Echo painting with him. For a few minutes, one of his animals had been real.

“Why doesn’t he have any actual pets?” The question came out before he could stop it, and he immediately regretted it. “Sorry. That’s not?—”

“It’s okay.” Nessie moved closer to the refrigerator, her fingers tracing the edge of one of the drawings. “I’ve wanted to get him something, but...”

She trailed off, and Jax waited. He understood how hard this was for her and wanted her to tell him when she was ready.

“But pets leave paper trails,” she said finally. “Vet records, registration, licenses. Things that can be traced.”

Paper trails.

Things that can be traced.

And the pieces clicked together in his mind. “You’re in witness protection.”

She nodded, still staring at Oliver’s drawings. “For four years.”

Everything made sense now—the way she’d always seemed to be looking over her shoulder, the careful way she talked about her past, the fact that she’d never mentioned Oliver’s father. Even her name, probably.

How much of Nessie Harmon was real?

“What’s your name?”

She lifted her chin stubbornly even as tears shone in her eyes. “Nessie Harmon. I’m not that girl I used to be anymore.”

“But before Nessie?”

She swallowed and looked away, as if ashamed. “Genessa-Rae Sarkisian, trophy wife of Aleksandr Sarkisian.”

“Alek,” he said, remembering the name from earlier. “The one you’re hiding from?”

“Oliver’s father.”

Jax’s stomach dropped. The kid’s father was dangerous enough that the federal government had relocated them, given them new identities. No wonder she’d been so careful about getting involved with him. No wonder she’d pulled away when she’d realized how violent he could be.

“What did he do to you?”