Page 63 of Tracking Safety

The house had been warm and full, and she was grateful for every person in it. But the walls had been pressing in since she’d climbed into bed and realized that sleep wasn’t coming.

She needed some fresh air.

She started to close the door and froze.

Someone was there.

Behind her.

Had one of Roderick’s men found her?

Slowly, she turned, her entire body tense.

The air left her lungs in a whoosh.

It was Luke. Luke stood behind her.

She hadn’t heard him follow her—and she thought she’d trained herself for these types of things.

She was so thankful to see him, to know it wasn’t an assassin sneaking up on her.

Then she saw the look on Luke’s face. His jaw was set, and his eyes were dark and flat with accusation.

“How could you?” His lips barely moved as he asked the question.

She stared at the blame on his face and understood in an instant exactly what he thought he was seeing.

“Luke.” She kept her voice quiet and calm. “I’m just stepping outside to get some air.”

The accusation didn’t fade from his gaze.

“That’s all,” she continued. “I couldn’t sleep. The walls were closing in, and I needed five minutes outside. I was being quiet so I wouldn’t wake anyone.”

He held her gaze another moment. The accusation hadn’t fully left his eyes. Instead, it had shifted into something more complicated—doubt layered over anger layered over something else she couldn’t name.

Jenna stepped toward him. “Luke, I’m not leaving. I won’t do that to the kids. I won’t do that again. I promise you.”

She watched him turn her words over. Watched him weigh what she’d said against all his hurts.

She didn’t rush him.

Slowly—so slowly she almost missed it—the rigid line of his shoulders eased.

He nodded once.

She exhaled. Maybe there was hope for their relationship. Not that they’d ever act as husband and wife again. But maybe they could at least be friends.

When Luke spoke, his voice was quiet and even. “It’s going to take time before I can trust you again.”

She held his gaze. “I know.”

She heard what he’d said. But she also heard what lived underneath it—the honesty of his tone, the pain haunting him, the acknowledgment that the road ahead was long and uncertain, that it would require more from both of them than one day could hold.

Before I can trust you again.

Not I’m never going to trust you again. Not I don’t know if I can. It wasn’t a door swinging shut the way she’d been bracing for it to swing shut.

He’d said before. Maybe that meant there was a chance of restoration.