Page 144 of The Convict Gets His Girl

"He told my friends about that night," Destini continued, her voice dropping. "The entire story. Not just snippets, but... everything. How he ended up there, what really happened."

"What did he say?" she asked softly, her thumb tracing small circles on Destini's hand.

Destini's voice was quiet, almost reverent. "He told them about how he was a goody two shoes, how he'd only sip one beer when he'd go to high school parties and always left at exactly the one-hour mark. He told them how he was tutoring nine people and working his ass off to earn enough money for college, all while working the ranch and doubling up on classes so he could graduate early."

Jewel's eyes teared up, knowing that he'd done that so they could be together. It was so obvious now, and she wondered—if she'd talked with Chase, told him she'd wait for him, made sure he didn't work himself to the bone trying to get out of Crimson Creek—would he have made the same mistakes?

"He said that a guy he tutored paid him in beer and pot, and that he'd dump it on the side of the road even though he knew how to make money selling it. He said that doing the right thing isn't always a black-and-white, clear-cut decision. Sometimes doing the right thing means making impossibly scary choices, like tonight when he ran into the barn."

The words hung between them, loaded with unspoken meaning. "He told us that we could've easily been arrested tonight or worse, like what happened with him."

Jewel squeezed her hand. "That's true. It's why I peeled out of the clinic to get here. I was so worried about you."

"And Dad," Destini said it like it was a fact, which it was.

Jewel nodded, admitting the truth in the dark. "There will be consequences from tonight though and not just with us at home. You're going to have to talk to your Uncle Gunner to see if you're in trouble with the law, and you and your friends will probably have to do something for the Millers to pay back the property damages."

Destini grew quiet, her grip on Jewel's hand tightening. Her breathing slowed, becoming steady and deep. "That's alright, Mom," she murmured, her voice soft and drowsy. "At least we're all safe. I'll work off whatever I need to for as long as it takes."

Jewel laid there for long moments until Destini's breathing shifted into the rhythmic pattern of sleep, her body relaxing into the mattress. It reminded her of fifteen years before when she'd wait for Destini to fall asleep before she'd drift off too. Jewel watched her daughter's face, seeing the vulnerability that usually remained hidden behind teenage defiance.

Heavy footsteps echoed up the wooden stairs—a familiar cadence that could only belong to Chase. Each step carried the weight of the world, heavier than normal.

She could easily slip into sleep next to her daughter and ignore him and their feelings. It was what she was good at.

But the time for running was over. She could've lost him tonight. Tears pricked her eyes, and she screwed up her courage to talk with him.

Jewel carefully extracted her hand from Destini's, making sure not to disturb her now-sleeping daughter. She pulled the blanket up, tucking it gently around Destini's shoulders. With a soft click, she closed the bedroom door, turning to follow Chase into their bedroom, bracing herself for whatever storm was about to break.

ChapterFifty-Two

Chase peeled off his blackened shirt, each movement sending sparks of pain through muscles that had been pushed past their limit. The smoky fabric dropped into the hamper with a heavy, wet thud. His hands trembled slightly—residual adrenaline, pure exhaustion.

The cold water hit his skin like a slap, shocking and sharp. Chase didn't care. The smoke from the burning barn clung to him like a second skin—ash in his hair, char marking his forearms, the acrid smell saturating every pore.

When Jewel appeared, her reflection fractured through the shower's textured glass, he froze. Her shape shifted, moved closer. Through the distorted glass, her face was a kaleidoscope of emotion—worry, something deeper. Something that made his chest tighten.

He stared back, feeling more exposed than the steam rising around him. Tonight's rescue, the burning building, the risks he'd taken—they'd stripped away his carefully constructed walls. He was just a man with a complex past, vulnerable beneath the water's unforgiving spray.

Raw. Stripped down. Seen for the second time in a month.

Jewel perched on the tub's edge, her leg bouncing with a nervous rhythm that matched the staccato of water droplets against tile. Her fingers twisted in her lap, a telltale sign of the anxiety churning inside her.

"Ana called me," she started, her voice tight. "When she said you'd dropped Skye off, she explained a bit of what happened. You got the girls out of that situation, then ran into the burning barn."

Her breath caught, a sound between a gasp and a sob. "You went in like some damn hero."

Chase stood motionless, water sluicing down his back, stinging on the peeling skin and washing away soot but not the memories. His muscles ached with the remembered intensity of pulling someone from the flames.

"I'm not a hero," he said flatly, turning to face her directly. Water streamed down his face, masking any emotion. "I'm a convict."

The words hung in the steam-thick air, a challenge. A confession. A line drawn between who she thought he was and who he believed himself to be.

His mind flickered with images—prison walls, steel bars, the years that had defined him before this moment. Before her. The water continued to pour, washing, always washing, but never quite cleaning everything away.

Jewel's back stiffened, a spark of defiance cutting through the humid bathroom. "You can be two things, Chase. It's called being well-rounded."

The words landed like a challenge. Chase tipped his head to the side, water cascading over his shoulders, rinsing away the last remnants of smoke and ash. His fingers pressed against the tile as he turned to the side, feeling its cold solidity—something real, something definitive in a moment of emotional uncertainty.

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