Page 113 of Finding His Redemption

More silence. Ghost continued to smoke. He gave nothing away, but something pinged against Jax’s instincts, and he sent the guy a sideways glance. “You know, don’t you? What that explanation will be?”

Ghost exhaled a cloud of smoke, then pinched out the ember before sliding the cigar into a slim case and putting it in his coat pocket. He pushed off the truck and faced Jax. “I’ve known for years.”

The bitter taste of jealousy coated Jax’s tongue. “Did she tell you?”

“No. Like I said before, I make it my business to know things. That woman has been through hell.” He nodded toward the apartment. “So why the fuck are you still standing here talking to me instead of in there comforting her?”

He honestly didn’t know why he was hesitating. Maybe because a part of him knew if he went back in there, that would be it. He’d have to crack his chest open and show her all of hisvulnerable parts, then she’d do the same, and there would be no going back. Was he ready to let someone in like that?

But there was no way he was leaving her alone tonight.

And, who was he kidding? She was already in; she and the boy were both deeply rooted in his heart.

“Can you tell Walker?—”

“Don’t have to,” Ghost said. “He already knows and approves. If you left them alone tonight, he’d kick your ass all the way back to California.”

Jax nodded and pulled open the back door of the truck. Echo sat there, watching him with her mismatched eyes, her head cocked. “You want to come with me, girl?”

Nessie was still in with Oliver when he returned to the apartment, and he decided to give her this time with her son. She probably needed it, needed to hold him and know he was safe.

The apartment was small, and Echo had tracked mud across the hardwood floors from the door to the kitchen. Jax found a roll of paper towels under the sink and got to work cleaning her paws first, then mopping up the trail of dirt and water.

The familiar rhythm of the task—something simple and purposeful—helped settle the restless energy that had been building in his chest since they’d found Oliver. He’d gotten good at these kinds of mundane chores at the ranch. They kept his hands busy when his mind wanted to spiral.

As he worked, he found himself looking around the small kitchen, taking in all the details. The apartment was sparse but warm, with mismatched furniture that looked secondhand but well-loved. A few framed photos sat on the counter. Oliver atdifferent ages, always smiling, always in motion. No photos of a father anywhere.

He was wringing out the paper towels when his gaze landed on the refrigerator. The surface was covered in crayon drawings and watercolors held up with an assortment of magnets. Most were the typical kid stuff: stick figures under a yellow sun, houses with smoke curling from chimneys, race cars with oversized wheels.

But as he looked closer, he realized there was a pattern. Animals. Lots of them.

A purple cat with green eyes. A fluffy rat-like thing. Something that looked like a bulldog with wrinkles and its tongue hanging out in a permanent grin. A rabbit with floppy ears. A bird with muscled arms instead of wings. Even a lizard.

His chest tightened as he remembered their first meeting on the roadside. Oliver had been so excited to tell him about his pets—a whole menagerie of animals that lived with him and his mom. The bearded dragon named Toothless. Niblet the chinchilla, who hated Tuesdays. The cats…

They were all here, captured in crayon and watercolor.

And none of them were real, Jax realized.

The kid had been so convincing, so detailed in his descriptions, but all of it was just the longing of a boy who wanted something to care for, something that was his.

Jax’s throat felt raw. He thought about the way Oliver’s face had lit up when he’d met Echo, the pure joy in his voice when he’d announced she was painting with him.

Echo nudged his leg, and he looked down to find her watching him with those all-too-knowing eyes.

“You’re real, aren’t you, girl?” he murmured and rubbed her soft ear between his fingers. “I’m not imagining you, am I?”

“He draws them every day.”

Jax turned to find Nessie standing in the hallway, her arms wrapped around herself. She looked exhausted, her face pale and drawn.

“I was wondering where all his pets were,” Jax said quietly. “When he told me about them that first day, I thought they were real.”

She drew a breath and let it out slowly. “The cats are real.” She nodded toward the window. “The strays in the alleyway. He named them—the gray one is Trouble, the calico is Princess Jellybean, and the?—”

“Black and white one is Socks, because he has socks,” Jax finished. He’d seen those cats hanging around the bakery’s dumpsters so many times and never made that connection.

Christ, no wonder the kid had been so excited about Echo painting with him. For a few minutes, one of his animals had been real.

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