“Jojo can take the baby,” he said. “He’s got a sixth sense for those meltdowns.”
“I’ll text him,” I said. “We leave in five.”
He nodded, then grabbed the post and set it upright against the workbench, careful not to let it fall. “You want to tell me what this is about?”
I hesitated. “We’re going to get married.”
He didn’t even smile. “Good. That’ll fuck up their legal case.”
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s the point.”
He nodded again, the decision locked in place. “I’ll call Burke and Macon. They’ll be at the truck in five.”
I turned to leave, but Rawley stopped me with a single word, “Hooper.”
I paused.
He looked at me, and for the first time since we’d met, I saw something that wasn’t calculation in his eyes. It was something older, like regret or relief, but not enough of either to slow him down.
“If it goes bad in town,” he said, “call the ranch and hang up. Once. I’ll know.”
I nodded. “Copy that.”
I left the barn and walked back to the house. The wind had started to pick up, flinging crystals of snow at my face, but I didn’t bother with the hat or the scarf. I let the cold do its work.
Inside, the kitchen was empty except for a bowl of baby bottles and a sticky note with a list of feeding times. I climbed the stairs, boots thumping hard enough that the old pine boards barked a complaint.
My room was what passed for home these days—a queen sized bed, a dresser scarred by fifty years of hard use, and a window that looked out over the fields to the highway beyond. The air was stale with yesterday’s sweat and this morning’s nerves.
I shrugged off my jacket and hung it on the hook behind the door, then went to the dresser. The top drawer was a messof socks and old receipts, but I knew exactly where to reach. Underneath the stack of t-shirts, right where I’d left it: a cigar box, the lid sanded soft, a faded baseball sticker half-peeled from the top.
I set it on the dresser, turned the latch, and lifted the lid. The black velvet bag inside was still tied in a perfect knot, the way the jeweler had handed it off. I untied it, tipped the contents into my palm.
Two gold bands, heavy for their size, each engraved with a simple pattern on the inside. I didn’t read the inscription. I didn’t need to. They felt warm against my skin, warmer than the room, and for a second I just let them sit there, weighing the moment against what it meant.
Then I dropped them back into the bag, cinched it shut, and slid it into the inside pocket of my jacket. I shrugged the jacket back on, zipped up to the collar, and looked in the mirror over the dresser.
The face that looked back was tired, red at the nose and ears, the scar on my jaw gone white against the cold. I pressed two fingers to the pulse in my neck, felt it hammering away like a nail gun.
I took a breath, then turned for the stairs. The house was quiet except for the baby, still asleep in the bouncy seat, his hands curled into fists on either side of his head. I watched him for a second, then texted Jojo:Need you at house in 2 minutes. Bring bottle.
He replied before I’d even put the phone down:On my way.
I glanced out the window. The truck was already idling in the drive, exhaust curling in the hard light. Rawley must have called Burke before I even made it out of the barn.
I made a mental checklist: Baby with Jojo. Rings in jacket. Plan with Rawley set.
It wasn’t going to be a fair fight, but that was the only kind I’d ever won.
Jojo met me at the kitchen door, eyes already wide with question, but I cut him off by handing him the baby and launching into a checklist: “He just ate an hour ago. If he fusses, try a finger first, pacifier if that doesn’t work. Change at ten and noon, and you gotta hold him at a slight angle or he’ll squawk like an air raid. Rawley’ll be here in a minute if you need backup.”
He took Emilio with both arms, adjusting his hold with a practiced twist that made the motion look as natural as folding bread dough. Jojo made a face at him, then snuggled into the crook of his elbow, completely unaware that the axis of the universe had just shifted. Jojo nodded once, solemn as a judge, and I knew he had it under control.
I found Liam still on the couch, exactly where I’d left him, the color of his knuckles just a shade brighter than the upholstery. I didn’t bother with a speech. I just grabbed his arm and steered him into the mudroom, grabbed his jacket off the hook, and put it over his shoulders with the efficiency of a man suiting up for a jobsite.
He let himself be moved, moving stiff and uncertain, like he was waiting for the floor to fall out from under him. We stepped into the hard daylight together, the front porch slick and shining, and I kept my grip on his elbow as I led him out.
Burke and Macon were already waiting at the truck, the quad cab idling like an angry animal. Macon leaned against the front fender, arms crossed, eyes flicking from us to the road and back. Burke was in the bed of the truck, double-checking the tarp straps, but he hopped down as soon as he spotted us. Both of them looked like they’d been awake for a week, but neither said a word about it.
