Page 17 of Finding His Redemption

“Echo Two,” Shane’s voice crackled faintly in his ear, weak and ragged with pain. “Fall back.”

“No! I’m not leaving you.”

“Steady, that’s an order. Get out of here,” Shane rasped. “Jax. We’re already dead.”

A dog barked from a nearby kennel, snapping Jax back to the present.

Steady. His teammates used to call him that because he’d never lost his cool no matter how hot the firefight got. Now the nickname felt like a cruel joke. He was anything but steady.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered and dragged a hand over his face, trying to wipe away the memory.

Boone turned. “Got a problem with her name?”

“No.” The word scraped out of him. “Not a problem.”

Boone’s gaze lingered, and he opened his mouth like he was about to say something more, but then he shook his head and let it drop. He stood, filling the space with his shadow. “Let’s give her a minute to get used to you. Meet me outside when you’re done.”

Boone’s heavy footsteps receded, leaving Jax alone with the trembling dog. Echo. The name hung in the air between them, loaded with ghosts.

“Hey, girl,” he said softly, careful to keep his tone neutral. Not threatening, not overly friendly. Just there.

One of Echo’s ears twitched slightly, the only sign she’d heard him. Her mismatched eyes—one ice blue, one amber-brown—remained fixed on him, wary and calculating. She’d been hurt enough to know better than to trust, but not quite enough to stop hoping. That razor’s edge of desperation was something Jax recognized all too well.

He settled onto the concrete floor, cross-legged. “I’m not going to touch you,” he promised. “Not until you’re ready.”

Echo’s tail tucked tighter against her body, but she didn’t growl. Progress, maybe.

“You and me,” he continued, keeping his voice low and steady, “we’re both just trying to survive, aren’t we?”

The dog watched him, waiting for the moment when kindness would reveal itself as cruelty, because in her world, it always did.

Jax pulled his duffel closer and unzipped it, rummaging until he found what he was looking for—an oat bar Walker had given him during the long ride from California. He unwrapped it slowly, breaking off a small piece. Echo’s nose twitched, but she didn’t move.

“Not much,” he admitted, “but it’s what I’ve got.”

He placed the morsel on the concrete and slid it toward her with one finger, stopping well short of her reach. Then he took a bite of his portion, chewing deliberately.

“Your choice,” he said, and turned his gaze away from her, giving her the space to decide.

For several long minutes, nothing happened. Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw movement—just a slight shift, the dog uncurling enough to stretch her neck forward, nostrils flaring as she caught the scent of oats and peanut butter.

Jax kept eating, kept his gaze averted, pretending not to notice as Echo inched forward, belly low to the ground. When she was close enough, she snatched the morsel and retreated quickly to her corner, gulping it down.

Something loosened in Jax’s chest. A tight band he hadn’t realized was there.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

Her ears flicked back, then forward again.

He broke off another piece and placed it closer to him, this time. Again, she waited, watching him with those unnerving eyes. Again, she crept forward to take it before retreating.

They repeated this dance three more times, each piece placed a little closer to him, until the last morsel sat just inches from his knee. Echo hesitated longer this time, clearly torn between hunger and fear.

“It’s okay,” Jax said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

He’d said the same to Nessie.

As they had then, the words felt hollow—a promise he had no right to make. He’d hurt people before. People he’d cared about. How could he promise this damaged creature anything?

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