Page 23 of Surrender

“Are you saying my children and I are like dogs?” I quirk an eyebrow.

He rolls his tongue around the inside of his cheek, biting back a laugh. “You are a little like a stray right now, huh?”

“Watch yourself, Powell,” I gasp in fake outrage.

“You said it, not me.” He swipes his hand through the top of his hair and turns his head away. “So no, I don’t need you to replace the couch for an accident that happened on my watch. I don’t need you to pay to replace anything in here at all.”

Little does he know I already have an envelope with a few bills I plan to leave behind to replenish the groceries we eat.

I open my mouth to respond, but a beeping sound from the kitchen spoils my retort.

“That’ll be the lasagna.” He leaves the room to silence the noise.

Swallowing down the last ounce of guilt, I gather my kids and follow.

Jack has pulled plates and is cutting the lasagna into huge squares by the time I get Lucy seated. A fresh shirt has replaced the towel she was wearing. The sparkly unicorn horn on her chest throws lights onto the table from the overhead chandelier. The smell of warm tomatoes, garlic, and basil permeates the kitchen, and my stomach growls.

“Can I help with anything?”

Jack turns around with two plates in his hands. He jerks his head toward a chair. “Sit. I got it.”

What am I to do but obey? I’m dead on my feet after not sleeping last night, and I can’t lie, the food smells divine. I can’t remember the last time I ate a meal I didn’t have to cook. Without a complaint, I sag into the nearest chair.

* * *

Dinner was an uneventful affair. A first since my little family returned to Fairview Valley. Jack dished the food, served the plates, and promptly plucked Bennett out of my arms before ordering, “Eat,” and sat down in his own chair. Our forks scraping against the ceramic plates serenaded us through our Italian cuisine.

Before I could even finish my final drink of water, Jack had our plates rinsed and loaded in the dishwasher. All the while holding my son and only using one hand to accomplish his tasks.

“I should go.” He gazes out the kitchen window where the sun has long since set. His reflection is clear, his brows dipped in a concentrated furrow.

How he can even see outside, I’m not sure. From my position, all I can see is darkness beyond the glass.

“I’m sorry for keeping you.”

He moves from the window and settles Bennett back on my lap. I watch as he disappears down the hallway.

“Where are your keys?” he calls, then reappears wearing a thick black winter coat. He drags on heavy-duty gloves. “I want to put your car in the garage before I go.”

“They’re on the hook by Lucy’s jacket.”

I’m not sure why, but I follow him into the hall. I should probably lock the house when he goes. At least that’s what I tell myself. Bennett feels like a brick in my tired arms, but I don’t set him down. Almost like his little eighteen-pound body is a shield.

A blast of icy air hits us when Jack opens the door to the garage. I watch from the entrance, listening to the whirr of the motor raising the door. Higher and higher, revealing more snow as it goes before the white gives way to darkness and fat snowflakes blowing sideways in the frigid wind.

“Shit,” I mumble.

“Fuck,” Jack says.

He doesn’t look back at me as he walks forward and picks up a shovel leaning against the wall. As he begins clearing the driveway, the shovel scrapes against the asphalt and ice beneath the powdered snow.

The snow nearly reaches his knee by the cars, but some areas have already started to form drifts from the high winds. He battles his way into the storm with his chin tucked tight to his chest.

This is bad. Worse than I could have imagined. The temperatures have to be nearly twenty degrees below freezing. The winds are causing whiteout visibility. Even if Jack’s SUV can handle the twenty-minute trek back to the motel, it’s dangerous. There’s no way of knowing what kind of ice lies beneath the thick layer of snow. He could slide off the road and be stuck until morning.

Or worse.

If something happened to him, I’d be liable.

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