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In the kitchen, Bishop and Ash are leaning against the counter while Caleb sits at the small table, dozens of packets of jerky laid out in front of him. Before I can ask him what that’s about, Bishop smiles at me, and Ash holds out a mug of tea.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” Bishop says. His eyes are locked on mine, and I can’t look away, even as I reach out to take the mug from Ash’s hands.
“Good morning,” I say, surprised by how hoarse my voice sounds.
Bishop steps closer and leans his face down, presses a tender kiss against my neck.
“Could you not sleep last night?” Ash is asking. “You’re usually up before this.”
I feel Bishop smile against my skin. “Uh-huh,” I manage, heat rising up from my stomach. Bishop pulls back, one arm wrapping around me to rest on my hip. I let my gaze settle on Caleb and the table, which feels like the safest option. “What are you doing with all the jerky?”
Caleb looks at Bishop. “I told them we’re going back to Westfall,” Bishop says as I lift the mug to my mouth.
“Oh.” My sip of tea hits my stomach like a ten-pound rock. I’d almost forgotten about Callie and Westfall, about vowing to return, my mind too occupied with Bishop. Hearing it out loud makes it real, makes it a commitment I’m going to see through. “That’s too much jerky for us to take, though,” I say. “That’s almost all we have, isn’t it? You and Ash will need that for the rest of the winter.”
Now Caleb looks at Ash. “We’re coming with you,” he says.
Bishop stiffens next to me, his fingers digging into my hip. “No,” I say, before he can. “No, you’re not.”
“We are,” Ash says.
Caleb catches my eye. “We’re not asking, Ivy.”
Bishop’s arm drops from around me as he takes a step closer to the table. “The hell you aren’t,” he says. “We’re not letting you two do this. You have no idea what you’re walking into.”
Caleb shrugs. “Figure we’ve handled worse.”
“Maybe you have,” I say, voice unsteady. “But this isn’t your fight. You’d be risking your lives.”
“You’re our family now,” Ash says. “Both of you. You can’t expect us to sit back and watch you walk into a bad situation without our help.”
I shake my head. My hands are starting to tremble, and I turn to set my mug down on the counter. I thought I’d been so clever, making sure to keep Caleb and Ash at just the right distance. Close enough to feel affection for them, but not close enough to really love. But I was so stupid, because of course I love them. How could I not? They’ve been more a family to me than the one I was born into. “This is all because of me,” I say. “Because of things I did. Or didn’t do.” I look at Bishop. “It’s hard enough knowing that going back puts Bishop at risk. I can’t live with it if something happens to anyone else I care about.”
Caleb leans back in his chair, crosses his arms. He appears completely unmoved by my words. “Will us being there help you?” he asks. “Will it give you more of a fighting chance?”
“What…that’s not…that’s not the point,” I stammer.
“Will it?” He’s looking at Bishop now, and I can see something passing between them, the silent communication that began from almost the moment they met and has strengthened every day since.
“Yes,” Bishop says.
Caleb nods. “Then we’re coming. End of story.”
“Caleb,” I say, “please. You don’t need to do this.”
Something in Caleb’s eyes softens just a bit at my words. He gives me a small smile. “This time it’s not on you, Ivy,” he says. “It’s our choice. And we’re not letting you and Bishop go in there alone.”
I look at Ash, begging her with my eyes, but she only nods at Caleb’s words. “Besides,” she says with a grin, “I’ve always wanted to see Westfall.”
We spend the rest of the day preparing. Bishop and Caleb talk for hours with Tom, getting all the information and detail they can about exactly what’s happening in Westfall. Bishop returns in the late afternoon looking grim and exhausted, filled with stories about armed men ransacking the houses on my family’s side of town, pistol-whipping anyone who gets in their way. Stories of houses burning on his side of town, the powder keg underneath Westfall’s calm exterior finally catching fire. And it all started with me, my attempt to kill the president’s son. Tom said after I was put out, people allied with President Lattimer suspected my father of having more involvement than he’d admitted. They pushed, harder than they had before, and my father and his allies pushed back. Tensions already high were poised on the edge of boiling over. And then Callie was caught outside the gun safe.
“She’s in the cells in the courthouse,” Bishop tells me. I wonder if she’s in the same one I occupied. Just thinking of those cinder-block walls makes me feel claustrophobic. “Or at least she was.” I’m going through our meager collection of clothing, figuring out how much we can carry, what needs to go and what has to stay.
“So how do we get her out?” I ask.
“We have weapons,” Bishop says. He faces me across the bed, grabs a sweater to fold. “But it’s not like we can just burst into the courthouse, guns ablaze. There are only four of us. Maybe it would have been enough, before, when everything was calm. But now they’re going to be on edge, with extra men and guns. They’d take us down before we got ten feet.”
I hold up a shirt, debating whether it offers enough warmth to bother taking it with us, before tossing it aside with a sigh. My mind churns. “We need someone to let us in.”
