Shane pressed the pillow to his face and grinned like an idiot into the soft cotton.
He didn’t need to be in Vegas to know he’d just won the jackpot.
And this time, he’d do everything in his power not to squander it.
THIRTEEN
April woke slowly,surfacing through layers of sleep like rising through warm water.
Pre-dawn light filtered through her bedroom curtains, turning everything soft and blue. Her sheets were twisted around her legs, the pillow warm against her cheek. Outside, the river flowed, the morning air punctuated by the dawn chorus of birdsong. She felt... good. Rested. Safe.
Then memories of the night before crashed in like a wave.
Shane kissed me.
Shane stayed over.
He wants another chance and I told him to ask me again after the hike.
April waited for the panic to hit—the old voice that showed up around dawn in Vegas, whispering that she'd made a mistake, that she was fooling herself, that her luck would turn because nothing good ever lasted. She braced for the familiar clench of regret in her stomach.
It didn't come.
Instead, there was just... peace.
Hope, even.
I’ve forgotten how good hope feels.
April sat up, pushing tangled curls out of her face. Through the window, she could see the night sky through the trees brightening toward dawn, stars fading like they were making room for something new.
She slipped out of bed and padded down the hall to Kevin's room. The door was cracked open—she never closed it all the way, not since she found him hiding under the bed. Kevin was sprawled across his mattress, one arm flung over his head, mouth slightly open. That boneless, absolute surrender to sleep that only kids could manage.
April's chest squeezed. Kevin looked so peaceful. No nightmares. No fear. Just her boy, sleeping sound.
Is this what it could be like?she thought, leaning against the doorframe.Shane here, Kevin sleeping sound, everyone safe? No more looking over my shoulder?
Then she realized Pete was not in Kevin’s room.
April pulled Kevin's door almost closed and headed for the living room.
In the pale blue light, she could see that the couch was empty. The pillow she’d loaned Shane sat on top of the neatly folded blanket, corners aligned with military precision. The side table was clear. Both their mugs from last night sat in the drying rack on the kitchen counter, exactly where she would have put them.
He left.
The thought landed like a stone.
Unless he took Pete for a walk.
April moved to the window, pulled back the curtain, and looked out at the driveway. No Shane. No Pete. No SUV.
That sinking feeling opened up in her stomach—disappointment and a sense of inevitability tangled together in a knot she couldn't untie.
Of course he left. You didn't exactly make it easy to stay. You told him to wait for an answer until after the hike.
Not only that, she remembered thinking he’d only sent money because he felt guilty. She was ready to see him out after that. She didn’t need pity. She needed…
Never mind what she needed.
