I stand and look toward Jack.
He’s laughing—actually laughing—as Levi dramatically demonstrates a “ninja escape” that’s mostly jazz hands and enthusiasm.
Jack catches my gaze.
For a beat, everything else fades.
His eyes are warm, but there’s still that fierce edge underneath—like no matter how sweet this moment is, he’s still watching for danger.
Still protecting.
Still mine in a way that makes my heart do reckless things.
I swallow, forcing my smile to stay steady.
I can be brave.
I can keep teaching.
I can keep pretending my world isn’t shifting under my feet.
But as the day goes on and Jack never strays far, the question keeps pulsing in my mind like a bruise I can’t stop touching:
Why me?
And what happens if we find out the answer… and it’s worse than I can imagine?
NINE
JACK
By the time we get back to the cabin, the sun’s already sliding down behind the tree line, turning the sky the color of bruised peaches and fire.
Stella is quiet in the passenger seat.
Not the normal quiet where she’s plotting a joke or thinking about glitter glue crimes. This is the kind of quiet that comes after a long day of holding yourself together so you don’t crack in front of twenty-five five-year-olds.
I don’t push her. I just drive.
I keep scanning mirrors. I take the long way. I watch cars behind us, count the turns they make, feel for patterns in the road. Every time Stella shifts beside me, I feel it in my bones like a radar ping.
She’s safe. She’s here. She’s breathing.
That should be enough.
It isn’t.
She follows me inside without arguing, slips her shoes off by the door, and heads straight for the kitchen like she’s trying to reclaim normal. It’s almost funny—how she can be shaken to the core and still worry about routine.
I lock the door behind us and check the windows out of habit, then watch her open the fridge and stare into it like the answer to our problems might be hiding behind the milk.
“Okay,” she says, voice too bright. “We have eggs and… mystery cheese along with everything else Lone Star stocked.”
“Mystery cheese?” I ask.
She points. “This has no label. It’s either cheddar or ….”
I move up behind her, close enough to feel her warmth. “I’ll risk it.”
