Page 35 of Finding His Redemption

Echo had crept closer during their conversation. Not close enough to reach the treat, but close enough that he could see the uneven rise and fall of her ribs as she breathed.

“Looks like we’re both on lockdown,” he murmured.

Echo’s ears twitched, and she lowered her head to her paws, still watching him with those wary mismatched eyes.

“You know, I spent the first two years of my sentence in a cell not much bigger than yours. They called me insane. Maybe I was. Probably I was, because I honestly don’t recognize that guyanymore. Either way, I had to earn my way to a bigger cell.” He leaned back against the wall, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Every day was the same. Wake up. Take meds. Count time. Eat. Go to therapy. Take meds. Count time again. Sleep. Do it all over.” He shook his head. “You lose track of who you are in a place like that. Become whatever they tell you you are.”

Echo’s nose twitched.

“Sometimes I think I’m still there. That all this—” he gestured vaguely at the kennel, the building, the world beyond “—is just something I made up to cope.” He huffed a laugh. “If I was still in that cell, talking to a dog that doesn’t exist, there wouldn’t be any question about my mental status then.”

Echo had crept close enough that her nose nearly touched the treat. She sniffed once, twice, then darted forward to snatch it before retreating to her corner. The whole maneuver took less than a second.

Jax smiled faintly. “Smart girl. Don’t trust the hand that feeds you.”

She devoured the treat in two quick bites, then licked her chops, eyes never leaving his face.

“That’s a start.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out another jerky bit. “We’ll take it slow.”

When he placed the second treat a few inches closer to him than the last one, she waited only a moment before darting forward to take it. And, this time, she didn’t retreat all the way to her corner. She stayed near the wall, but closer to the middle of the kennel, watchful but no longer cowering.

“See? Not so bad.” He pulled out a third treat and placed it even closer. “Maybe tomorrow we try opening the kennel door? I’d like to get you out of this box for a bit.”

Echo’s tail had been tucked up hard between her legs, but now she relaxed it.

Progress. Small, but real.

“I should go.” He’d been sitting on the concrete for too long and, combined with the hours he’d spent in the saddle today, his body ached.

Echo immediately tensed, but she didn’t retreat.

“I’ll be back tomorrow.” He turned to leave, making it halfway to the door before her soft whine stopped him.

When he looked back, she was standing at the front of her kennel, head tilted slightly, those mismatched eyes fixed on him with something that wasn’t quite trust, but wasn’t fear either.

Jax felt something in his chest shift. A hairline crack in the wall he’d built around his heart.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I know. It’s hard being alone.”

He walked back to her kennel and sat down, cross-legged, in front of it. Echo watched him, then slowly settled onto her belly, still close to the front.

“I’ll stay a little longer.”

Outside, the afternoon sun cast long shadows through the kennel windows. Somewhere in the distance, a horse whinnied, and the ranch dogs barked in response. But in this moment, in this quiet space between him and Echo, something fragile was taking root.

Trust, maybe. Or at least the beginning of it.

chapter

ten

The nightmarealways ended the same way—with blood on his hands that wouldn’t wash off.

Jax jolted awake, sheets twisted around his legs like restraints, his skin slick with cold sweat, heart hammering against his ribs like it was trying to punch its way out of his chest. The mission—always the same mission—replayed in vivid technicolor behind his eyelids. The stench of cordite and copper filled his nostrils, though he knew it was just a phantom smell, a souvenir from the worst day of his life.

“Fuck.” He dragged a trembling hand down his face. Sweat made his t-shirt cling to his skin.

His quarters in the bunkhouse were pitch black, except for the red glow of the alarm clock: 2:17 AM. Too late. Too early. The wrong time for everything, especially this.

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