Page 162 of Jensen

Hope.

I sleep on and off, Landis snoring in my arms, until we touch down at a private airport in Montana. Jensen helps us out and thanks the pilot. He says something to him, but I can’t hear it over the engine still running. Then, he strides across the tarmac to us, and the plane rises in the air.

We don’t speak. I just touch his chest, and he leans down to kiss my temple.

He takes us from the airport in a rental truck. There’s no car seat, so I lay in the back against the door, my arms wrapped around Landis. He sleeps soundly, his head on my chest. Jensen is silent as the grave the entire drive out to his ranch. His thumb moves on the wheel, tapping the entire time until we pull up the driveway.

He cuts the engine.

“You okay?” I ask.

He nods,running a hand over his face. His stubble is growing in, giving him more of a beard than just a mustache. The eyes that meet mine in the rearview mirror are so damn tired.

“Let’s get the kid to bed,” he says.

He gets out, opening the side door. Gently, reverently, he accepts Landis into his arms. The way he holds my son is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, like a new morning, a new gasping breath on Earth. It’s what I wanted to see the day I gave birth to him.

He carries him inside, locking the door. Landis sleeps hard, his cheek squishing on Jensen’s shoulder.

“Where should I put him?” he whispers.

“Do you have a guestroom?” I turn the hall light on.

He nods. “It’s next door to mine.”

“That’s perfect,” I say, moving to the stairs. “If he wakes up, we can leave the door open.”

He follows me, and all I can think about is how much has changed since I was last in this house. I was desperate and scared. Now, I’m hopeful for the first time since eighteen. My heart flutters as I stand in the doorway and watch Jensen lay Landis down in the big bed against the far wall. He comes back, touching my waist and pulling me near.

“Do you want to sleep here with him?” he asks.

I shake my head. “He’s not used to it. I’d like to sleep with you, if that’s alright.”

“Yeah,” he says. “We’ll be able to hear him if he calls out.”

I nod, stumbling a little as we back into the hall. My legs are so wobbly, it’s a wonder I’ve been upright this entire night. He guides me to his bedroom and closes the door. I turn, and he grips my wrists gently. His face hovers close to mine, eyes heavy lidded.

“What happened?” he rasps.

“What?”

“How did Leland die? Did he touch you?”

Disgust churns in my stomach, and I have to force my mind not to spiral. I shake my head.

“What happened?” he presses.

My tongue flicks out to wet my cracked lips. “He took me back to his bedroom and…I drugged him.”

That crease appears between his brows.

“I cut—oh God, I cut his head off with the knife above the bed,” I burst out, tears erupting for the first time in hours. “I’m a murderer, I killed him, I killed someone.”

His arms are around me, pressing my head to his shoulder. He’s shushing me, the sound rumbling in his chest. The sobs rip through me, so violent it’s painful. But at the center of it, he’s burning as warm as summertime back home on the front steps of my trailer, golden, bright.

If I just close my eyes and sink into him, the world outside seems so much kinder.

I sob until I’m spent.