Page 45 of Wynter's Second Chance

When I arrived, the front door was wide open. Taran was pacing the living room, phone pressed to his ear. His face was pale, eyes red, and his free hand trembled as he wiped it over his mouth.

“Thanks, Angie. Yeah, I’ll let you know. Bye.” He ended the call and dropped the phone onto the couch.

He turned to me, looking more lost than I’d ever seen him. “He’s not there. Where’s my boy, Wynter? Where could he have gone?”

I crossed the room and pulled him into my arms. He resisted for a second, stiff with panic, but then melted into me, his head dropping to my shoulder. His tears soaked into my jacket.

“I’ve called all his friends,” he choked out. “Even kids he hasn’t seen since Christmas break started. No one knows where he is. Did I—I don’t know—did I push him too hard? Was he pretending to be okay with us, but he wasn’t?”

“Taran, don’t do this to yourself,” I said, tightening my arms around him. “Rory loves you. You know that. Let’s not jump to conclusions before we talk to him, okay?”

He nodded against my shoulder, but his breath hitched. I could feel his panic like a live wire under my skin.

“Did he say anything strange lately? Ask anything unusual?” I stepped back and cupped his face, forcing him to meet my eyes. “Think, babe.”

He blinked rapidly, his thoughts clearly scrambled. “Last night—he, uh, he asked about the name of the bank where I applied for the loan. Said he was curious.”

The bank. I remembered him mentioning he was collecting surveys from Taran’s customers. I could just picture him working on the surveys, those earnest little hands scribbling down questions about cookies and cakes like they were plans for NASA. My stomach sank. I didn’t take him seriously at the time, thinking it was just wishful thinking on his part. I’d underestimated him; he was more determined than I thought.

“Taran,” I said carefully, “what if he went to the bank?”

His eyes widened, then narrowed in confusion. “Why would he— Oh, God.” Taran’s hand flew to his chest. “But the bank is miles away! And it’s snowing!”

“I’ll check the route and the bank,” I said, already moving toward the door. “You stay here in case he comes home. I’ll find him and bring him back to you safe and sound.”

Before he could argue, I kissed him quickly and sprinted to the truck.

The truck's tires screeched as I cut across an icy patch of road. The thing about Colorado weather was the day could begin with mild temperatures and clear skies, creating a false sense of security. But then by afternoon, temperatures could drop, and snow could begin falling unexpectedly, becoming heavy within hours. The clouds were looking dark now and it could start storming at any minute. That’s why Rory’s disappearance was of great concern.

I willed my mind to stay calm. My army training kicked in without hesitation. In war, I often directed troops into the worst situations, sending them into danger with no guarantee they'd come back. At times, I'd thought I was going to die, but the fear I felt then was nothing compared to this. This was different. It wasn’t my life at risk—it was Rory’s. And that made everything else fade into the background.

The engine hummed under me, but my thoughts roared. Rory’s face swam before my eyes—his warm smile, his suspicious eyes. I remembered the way he’d looked at me lately, like he was weighing me, uncertain of my place in his life. Maybe that was my fault. Did he run away because of me? Did I mess this up already?

No. I wouldn't believe that. Rory was a good kid, and he loved his father. He wouldn’t do this, not to Taran. I wouldn’t let myself believe it.

Please, God, let him be safe.

I gripped the wheel tighter, feeling the weight of the truck in my hands. The road seemed to stretch on forever, ice and snow flicking up from beneath the tires. Every minute felt like an hour. I tried not to think about what might be happening to him, but it was impossible. I couldn’t shake the image of Rory—alone, scared, far from home.

What was I supposed to do if I didn’t find him? My chest tightened, the pressure building. Rory was Taran’s only son. Losing him... that would break him.

And damn it—I loved the kid. He wasn’t just Taran’s son. He was mine, too.

I pushed the truck harder, the engine growling as I turned into the bank’s lot, tires screeching on the slick pavement. The bitter wind slammed into me as soon as I stepped out, but I didn’t care. My mind was focused on one thing: finding Rory.

The cold didn’t matter. His safety mattered.

I slammed the door behind me, my boots crunching in the snow as I sprinted toward the entrance.

Inside, the warmth of the bank hit me like a punch to the chest, and I shook it off. The lobby was quiet, with no sign of Rory. No sign of a kid who might fit his description.

I walked to the front desk, the receptionist barely glancing up as I approached. “Excuse me, miss,” I said, my voice gruffer than usual. “Have you seen a kid? African American, about twelve years old? Five-eight, five-nine?” I raised my hand to show the approximate height. “His name’s Rory.”

She shook her head, barely blinking. “No, sir. I haven’t.”

Frustration built in my gut, but I didn’t have time to waste. “Shit.” I ran a hand through my hair, pacing a few steps away. I’d been sure he’d be here. Had I missed something? Maybe Taran was right. Maybe Rory really did run away because of me. But I couldn’t—wouldn’t—believe that.

I turned to leave.

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