Page 11 of Montana Justice

I wanted to stay awake, to permeate every second inside my mind for the years to come. But my body had other plans. Too many days of hunger and fear left me with no choice but to rest now that I’d found a moment of safety.

Sleep claimed me like a benediction, dreamless and deep.

The needfor water and to use the bathroom woke me up just before dawn.

Lachlan’s arm was still around me, his breathing deep and even against my neck. For a moment, I just lay there, soaking in the warmth of his body against mine, the impossible luxury of feeling safe. I wanted to stay here forever.

But wetting the bed would probably not come across as very romantic. I slid slowly and silently away from Lachlan and stood, loving how he reached for me, even in sleep.

I used the bathroom and got my water, deciding to get back into bed and sleep some more. I didn’t know if he had to work today, but I might as well enjoy this time while I could.

Then I saw it through the window.

A dark sedan sat across the street, engine running despite the early hour. The distance made it impossible to see details clearly—no license plate, no faces—but something about it made my blood freeze in my veins. The way it sat there, waiting. Watching.

My father drove cars like that. Stolen, borrowed, bought with cash from whatever con he was currently running. And RayMatthews was nothing if not patient when it came to hunting his prey. He’d taught me that patience was the difference between getting caught and getting away clean.

I told myself I was being paranoid. That it was just some early commuter waiting for a carpool or someone picking up a friend for work. But twenty-six years of survival had honed my instincts to razor sharpness, and every single one of them was screaming danger.

Even if it wasn’t him, it could be. And if my father found me here, with Lachlan, he wouldn’t just kill me. He’d make my life hell first. For daring to think I deserved this. Then he’d probably do something bad to Lachlan too.

I couldn’t let that happen. Not to Lachlan. Not to the man who’d given me the most beautiful night of my life, who’d made me feel like I might actually be worth saving.

Moving with the practiced silence I’d learned as a child—how to get dressed without waking an angry father, how to move through a house without making floorboards creak—I pulled on my clothes. Every movement was agony, not just from my healing ribs but from the knowledge of what I was about to do.

The T-shirt he’d given me went into my backpack. I couldn’t bear to leave it behind. I needed something to remember this by, some tangible proof that this night had actually happened.

In the kitchen, his wallet sat beside his keys like an accusation. My hands were shaking as I picked it up, each second of hesitation another stab of self-hatred. I opened it carefully, as if it might explode.

Three hundred dollars in cash, maybe a little more. His driver’s license with a photo that made him look younger, more optimistic. And tucked behind his insurance card, a photo of him with his family—parents, brother, sister—all of them smiling.

The kind of family that said “I love you” instead of “You’re worthless.” The kind of people who called each other on birthdays and worried when someone was late coming home.

I took all the cash and left everything else, telling myself it was mercy. That stealing his credit cards would have been worse, would have left a paper trail that could hurt him down the line.

But I knew what I was really doing. I was destroying the most perfect thing that had ever happened to me because that’s what the Matthews family did. We destroyed everything good we touched.

The coat closet by the front door yielded a heavy winter jacket that would keep me warm for the cold nights coming in. From the kitchen, a sharp paring knife that could serve as protection if I was desperate enough to need it.

Each theft carved another piece from my soul. I was murdering the woman who’d existed in his arms last night, killing her as surely as if I’d put a gun to her head. That woman had been soft and trusting and worthy of love. This woman—the one stealing from the man who’d shown her nothing but kindness—was exactly what everyone had always said she was.

Ray Matthews’s daughter. A thief and a liar who brought nothing but trouble wherever she went.

A note seemed necessary, though words felt impossible. What could I say?Thank you for the best night of my life before I destroyed it?I’m sorry I’m exactly the trash you always knew I was?

In the end, I managed only:I’m sorry. —P

It wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough to explain or excuse what I was doing. But it was all I had.

Then I slipped out the front door and into the gray dawn, leaving behind the only man who’d ever made me believe I might deserve love.

The sedan was gone when I looked back, which somehow felt worse than if it had still been there. Gone meant they were moving, repositioning, maybe getting closer. Or maybe it had never been my father at all, and I’d just destroyed the best thing in my life over shadows and paranoia.

Either way, it was too late now.

I pulled Lachlan’s stolen jacket tight around myself and started walking toward the highway, toward whatever waited in the darkness ahead. The jacket smelled like him—clean and safe, with a hint of pine. The memory of his hands on my skin, his voice whispering my name like I was something precious, would have to sustain me through whatever came next.

Because that was all I’d ever get. One perfect night with a man who’d seen something good in me, something worth protecting.

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