Page 147 of Chasing Shelter

“Something’s always wrong,” Fallon muttered. “Nature of the job.”

That scowl deepened. “Did anyone give you a hard time? I can?—”

“No. Just a hard day,” Fallon said, lowering her voice. “It happens.”

A muscle in Kye’s jaw twitched as his grip on her bag tightened. “Come on. We saved you some dinner.”

As he guided her into the kitchen, I leaned back on the couch cushions and grabbed my phone. The screen was still glaringly blank.

“Still nothing?” Arden asked softly.

I shook my head. “I’m starting to get worried.”

“When Trace is on a case, he can have blinders on. Nothing but the task in front of him.”

I knew Arden was trying to reassure me, but doubt and worry still niggled at me.

The door opened again. I braced, but this time, Anson appeared, with Kye and Fallon—and a plate piled high with food—on his heels.

“Is Trace with you?” I asked instantly.

Anson’s jaw flexed before he spoke. “Still at the station. They’re trying to find his dad.”

“His dad?” I parroted.

“Jasper’s prints were in the vehicle. He’s the one who tried to hit you.”

I pulledthe blanket tighter around my shoulders as I sat on the back deck steps, Bumper nosing at my hand. It was past her bedtime, but I couldn’t find it in me to put her away in her little shed home quite yet.

“They say animals know when you need comfort,” I mumbled. “You’re pretty good at that.”

Bumper laid her head on my knee and let out a rumbling sigh. I scratched her head as a thank-you.

The door opened and closed behind me, but I didn’t look up. Maybe if I didn’t, whoever it was would go away. I didn’t want wordsof comfort or platitudes that fell flat. I was too worried about Trace, and too hurt that he’d shut me out.

Heavy footsteps sounded across the deck. Definitely a man. Since that was the case, my best guess was Linc. So, I was surprised when I saw scarred motorcycle boots hit the steps.

“Heard you had a goat back here,” Kye said as he sat next to me. He held out a hand for my animal friend to sniff.

“This is Bumper. Keely named her.” Even saying that hurt, a reminder of a simpler time.

The goat bumped Kye’s hand, and he chuckled. “Appropriate name.”

I gripped the blanket and stared out into the dark as Kye stroked Bumper’s head. Neither of us said anything for a while, but finally, Kye started to speak.

“He’s going to try to push you away. Don’t let him.”

I glanced over at Kye, but he didn’t meet my gaze, just kept petting Bumper.

“Trace and I…we have a different sort of bond than the rest of them.”

I frowned. “You all seem pretty close to me.” The Colsons shared the kind of bonds that showed what family should be. The kindness and care. The loyalty.

“We are,” Kye said. “But that’s not what I mean. All of us who came in through foster care have baggage. But mine and Trace’s…it’s darker.”

A hollow feeling took root inside me. “He’s told me some.” But I didn’t know what Kye’s story was or what sorts of scars he bore. The way he saiddarkertold me it was bad.

“That’s good. Good that he’s started to share. But I guarantee you it’s worse than what he’s told you. His old man was a piece of work. Never should’ve seen the outside of a jail cell or coffin.”

---