Lina
The drive back to Ravenshollow stretched longer than the drive to Pine Valley had. Or maybe it just felt that way because the sun had set and the roads were dark and quiet, nothing but trees and the occasional flash of headlights from passing cars.
I pressed my forehead against the cool window and let my thoughts drift.
Knox.
My past self had chosen to stay with him. Had chosen to forgive him after years of raising twins alone, after he’d rejected her cruelly and walked away. She’d not only forgiven him but married him, had another child with him, built an entire life around him.
She must have seen something worth fighting for. Something worth the pain and the struggle and the risk.
I wanted to know what that was. I wanted to understand. I wanted to ask him about their past, about the rejection and the reconciliation and everything in between. But not yet.
The car slowed and I looked up as Knox turned onto a smaller road. Trees gave way to a clearing, and then I saw it.
The pack house.
It was beautiful. Not too big, not ostentatious, just a well-built home with warm lights glowing in the windows and a wraparound porch that looked perfect for morning coffee. It felt cozy, welcoming, even with the guards positioned around the perimeter.
“Home,” Knox said quietly as he parked.
Home. I tested the word in my mind. It didn’t feel wrong.
“The guards will be here around the clock,” Knox continued, turning off the engine. “My parents’ property is nearby, and Sarah has a place here in Ravenshollow too. Everyone is close. Everyone is protected.”
Relief washed through me. I was glad they were safe. All of them.
We got out of the car and Knox moved to the trunk, pulling out suitcases I hadn’t noticed before. All the clothes and supplies he’d kept at the hospital during the month I was unconscious. He really had moved there with me. Had lived in that hospital room, sleeping in that chair, waiting for me to wake up.
The thought made my chest tight.
He carried the suitcases inside and I followed, taking in everything. The entryway with its coat hooks and shoe rack. The living room with its comfortable couches and fireplace. The kitchen with its large island and modern appliances.
Knox took my hand and led me through the house, showing me each room. The kids’ bedrooms, bright and cheerful, filled with toys and books. A home office with two desks, one neat and organized, one covered in papers and coffee cups. A bathroom with a huge tub that made me want to soak for hours.
And then the nursery.
I stopped in the doorway, my heart squeezing.
A crib sat against one wall, draped with soft blankets. A rocking chair was positioned near the window. The walls were painted a gentle sage green, and there were little animal decorations everywhere. Bunnies and foxes and deer.
My daughter’s room. A daughter I had given birth to but hadn’t met yet. A daughter who was waiting somewhere, being cared for by people who loved her, while I tried to piece together the fragments of my shattered memory.
I wondered what she looked like. If she had Knox’s gray eyes or my brown ones. If she had his dark hair or something softer. I wondered if she would know me when she saw me, or if I would be just another stranger.
We continued the tour. Knox pointed out little details as we walked. The bookshelf I had insisted on installing. The cornerwhere I liked to read. The kitchen gadgets I had bought but never used.
Finally, we reached the master bedroom.
It was large and comfortable, with a king sized bed covered in soft blankets, big windows that looked out onto the backyard, and an attached bathroom. The closet doors were open, revealing clothes on both sides. His and hers.
Knox cleared his throat. “You should take a shower. Get some rest. I’ll make dinner.” He paused, his jaw tightening. “And don’t worry. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
I opened my mouth to respond but he was already turning away, heading back down the hallway before I could say anything.
I bit my lip and watched him go.
The shower called to me and I stepped into the bathroom, stripping off my clothes and turning on the water. Hot spray cascaded down and I sighed in relief, letting the warmth seep into my tired muscles.
