I can't sleep. I tell myself it's normal, the same thing since Jackson went berserk. But if I'm being honest, deep down, the sandman abandoned me the day I lost Marshal.

I'm awake after four listless hours, anxious as ever. It's barely past nine. I shower, dress, and head downstairs, just in time for the day's main event.

“Mom?” I freeze, one-step into the living room, staring at my mother like she's a phantom.

She turns slowly, dad eyeing her anxiously. “Nice to see you, dear. It's good to be home.”

I go running. For once in my life, I throw myself at my mother, wrap my arms around her, and she hugs me back just as hard.

I'm sure dad hasn't briefed her on the latest drama, or the fact that they'll be grandparents in eight months and counting. Too much, too soon, after weeks of intense psychotherapy. His eyes are warnings when they land on me, understanding, but begging me to take it easy.

“How are you? How was it?” Two questions down, and only ninety-eight more to go. It seems like an eternity since she's been away.

My mother sits up straight, little sign of her unruly fidgeting. “It was...dreadful, really. What else would you call being committed?”

“Steph,” dad whispers, rubbing her arm. He's trying so hard not to upset her, fearful something might trigger a relapse any second.

This is a trial run. If she can't hack it here, or backslides, then she could be away for months.

“Mom, you're okay.” I need her to be. Because I don't know what okay means anymore.

“Someday. For now, I'm just better. The pills help stop the urge to scream and tear our lovely home apart.” She looks at me and smiles. I'm thankful treatment hasn't broken her very blunt spirit. “And what about you, dear? Still babysitting for our friend?”

My smile fades. Dad's hand slides completely off her arm, his face going pale. I don't know what to say.

“Peter?” Mom looks from me to him, bewildered.

“Nothing, nothing. I just really need some coffee. Care for a cup, anybody?” He heads into the kitchen, aiming a desperate look my way. Don't say anything, his eyes say.

Mom turns back to me, a glint in her eye, leaning in. “So, you're toying with me. What's going on? Where's Marshal and that precious little girl?”

“Away.” I never knew one word could cut my throat. “He's left town, mom. Family business. Said it was urgent, I believe. I'm not working for him anymore.”

There's a small crash in the kitchen. We both turn. Dad looks at us sheepishly, lifting a small saucer out of the sink. Rather, one broken half of it. “Butterfingers. You gals are sure you don't need anything?”

Mom sighs, slumping in her chair. “I'm so sorry, dear. So, you're living here again full time then? Such a bore. My condolences.”

Oh, mom. You have no earthly idea.

* * *

I take coffee after all. Dad brews a fresh pot of decaf, just for me. I'm doing everything by the book for this pregnancy, well into weaning myself off caffeine.

Once he sees mom's brain is still in one piece, he's comfortable enough to leave us alone. I sit with my mother making small talk, sugarcoating the tragic irony growing inside me.

She gives the doctors and nurses who tended her brutal reviews. I pretend to give her my full attention, the impossible. Of course, there's plenty of guilt to go around.

How long will I have to sit on my secret? Weeks? Months?

If Jackson finds Marshal, maybe sooner. I hope he doesn't, and for no good reason.

“We did some work in your bedroom. Want to see?” I force a smile, hoping the clean new bedroom-studio waiting upstairs does her some good.

“Sure, dear. It's important to know where I'll be spending ten hours out of the day. These damn drugs are narcotics, I swear.” Yawning for emphasis, she stands and we walk together.

I lead her past dad mopping the dining room. He looks up, mouthing a single word: easy.

Duh, I mouth back, following mom upstairs.

She moves cautiously into the bedroom, past the miserable mess where I'm sleeping. I'm glad I remembered to shut my door. I've been too down the past few weeks to catch up on laundry, or even arrange the things Jackson retrieved from Marshal's place.

We stop at the entrance to the room. My mother pokes her head in and sniffs, then gives me a restless look. “Birch themed. Predictable, I suppose, but it'll do.”

The breath I'm holding in slips out. No freakouts. That's good.

Before, mom refused to let anyone touch her things. Now, she's accepted the clean slate we've tried to give her. A few deflated words feels like a miracle, like we've averted a storm.

Maybe people really can change.

“Are you tired, mom?”

She shakes her head, brushing past me. “No. And I'm in no mood to work either. Not for a couple more weeks, the doctor said. I'd better pretend to listen. Give the drugs some time to settle before I fight them tooth and nail for my muse.”

I wish this was more of a victory. I'm trailing behind her, heading downstairs. I almost crash into my mother's back when she stops on the last step, her eyes narrowed, peeking through our glass door.

“What's that?” She lifts a finger, pointing to the small scrap of paper lodged inside.

Shrugging, I head over. Probably just an ad, but why in God's name anyone would want to brave an Iowa winter to go door-to-door, I'll never know.

I open the door and pull it out as fast as I can. There's no time for the familiar handwriting to hit me with mom standing over my shoulder.

A short, surprised hiss slips through her teeth instead. “Ah-ha. So, it's him, isn't it? I knew he didn't just up and leave.”

My cheeks combust, burning red insanity. I fight the urge to rip it up with my hands before I even open it. Surely, that's better than the scream I'm holding in.

“Oh, don't look so guilty, my love. I'll leave you to your love letters. Someone will fill me in sooner or later, but just between us, I hope it's you. Your father still thinks I'm liable to become a fire breathing dragon.” Mom claps me on the shoulder and trots away, humming to herself.

Dare I? My fingernail slides under the seal. It's harder than paper, more like tearing fabric.

The note falls open. A precious artifact from another life, which ended the day I threw Marshal's ring in my nightstand drawer, never to be seen again.

I take a deep breath. Let's get this over and done.

Dear Red,

I'm not risking everything to get this to you for sweet talk.

So let's get straight to the point: I love you.

Really. Truly. So fucking much.

Wish somebody told me love comes with a lot of regrets. Wish even harder none of the shit with your brother happened that night. Mostly, I wish I'd told you the truth from the get go.

This isn't getting on some high horse. We're both liars, him and me. Difference is, I'm finally coming clean. I'm done spending another second on this planet without you knowing the truth, thinking I'm a monster.

Maybe that's how it's supposed to be, but I'd rather lay it out and take my chances. Here's where we're at, darling.

I didn't kill Jenna. Once upon a time, I tried to make it work for all of one week. That's as much as the bitch and I could stand each other. Then she jumped on the highway and crashed in the river. It was so goddamned miserable I tried to forget it ever happened. I lied to myself so long I misled you, and I'm sorry.

I never cut her brakes. She left Mia hungry and ran off a cliff. Ask for the pages your brother omitted if you don't want to take my word for it. The cops put me through the wringer, and I walked out alive because I didn't kill her. Their investigation proved it.

Now for the rest: I did cut your brother's brakes.

You didn't read that wrong. I wanted his ass dead.

If you want to turn me in, here's my confession.

I've had a vendetta against his lying, scheming soul since the service. His bad intel killed three of my best friends, fellow Rangers, good men who left their families for nothing. He lied to our officers, led us into an ambush, and then called in an airstrike without checking to see if my team was out of the combat zone.

Death wasn't even the end of it. Their parents, their kids, their widows are still suffering. I was drunk that day on the Fourth and I couldn't hold it in anymore while our hometown hero passed by. I did something stupid, and he punched me in the face.

I tried to ruin him then and there, without thinking about it, and it backfired on me.

I've spent the last few years plotting the best way to get him ever since, to avenge my dead friends and my own fucking name. Until last Christmas, that was my obsession.

Then you came.

You slayed the demons. You gave me hope. You saying yes to being my wife was the best minute of my life. Right up there with the first time I ever laid eyes on my little girl.

You, Red, are the reason Jackson is still breathing. I tried to off him and I couldn't. Just fixed his shitty brakes instead, then drove his truck to your parents place, safe and sound.

I swore off killing him for you. Hell, I even realized I did wrong.

I still want to get even. But if I ever do him justice, it'll be legal, proper, and it'll happen without hurting a hair on his nasty face. Promise.

Also, we're leaving soon. I've got my little girl ready for a long trip. Mia misses you.

So the hell do I.

We want you with. If you're able to look past his lies, if you can handle my darkest truths, join us.

If you can forgive, even if I don't deserve it, then I'm ready for anything.

I'd love to have your lips. Still crave them more than air itself on the nights I can't breathe.

Pretty much every night since I lost you, Sadie.

Make that every night for the rest of my miserable life if it's really over.

Come see us at the old junction stop by noon if there's any love left in your heart. Call a cab. We have to leave today and we'll sort the rest later.

Yours forever,

Marshal

I can't move until I've read it three more times. Then my knees just work like they're lighter than a cloud. They carry me upstairs.

My hands, light and happy, plow through the mess of my belongings. They stuff the essentials in a suitcase. There's a shiver up my spine as I slide my ring back on.

I hadn't realized how truly naked I felt without it. I tuck the note into my purse and sling it over my shoulder.

I pass dad at the base of the stairs. He's heading up and I'm going to sit by the door, waiting for my ride.

“Where's the fire, Sadie? Looks like you're going away for a long time...” He frowns, trailing off.

Crap. I'm caught and I know it. I stand there silently, staring at my dad adjusting his spectacles.

“It's nothing. Honest. I'll be home before you know it, dad. I'm...just going into town to unload some junk.” I've never been an awesome liar. This comes out so weak, even I'm ashamed.

He lifts an eyebrow. “Sadie?”

There's no fooling him.

I should've known. He's too experienced for this. Spent too many years unraveling Jackson's lies, ever since he started acting out in his teens, and then too many more dealing with mom's torrid half-truths and exaggerations.

“Let's try this again: I'm going away with a friend. It's everything going on here, dad. I just need to get away before I lose it. Promise I'll stay safe. I'll call whenever I can. It might...honestly, it might be a while.” I look down, wondering if he'll let it go. “I'm sorry to do it like this, especially today. But, dad, I have to leave now. My mental health is kinda at stake.”

His hand lingers on the banister, rough grip sapping his strength. He hangs his head and sighs. When his eyes return to mine, they're conflicted, then understanding. “I can't keep you here. Please, babe, just don't do anything illegal or dangerous. If it's him...damn it, just stay safe. Get out of here before Jackson comes sniffing. He hasn't been thinking clearly since the day he almost knocked you down.”

“Dad?” I'm in disbelief. I drop everything and squeeze him until his glasses come loose. “I'll never forget this. Thank you.”

“Yeah, now run along. Looks like your taxi's here. I'll tell your mom everything tomorrow over brunch. We'll manage, one way or another, just like we always do.”

I give him one more hug and then grab my things. It's hard to believe I've gotten so lucky.

Now, I just have to decide whether the next time I lay eyes on Marshal, I smother him with kisses or slap his face into a tailspin.

* * *

“Here, ma'am? You're sure?” The middle aged cab driver looks back in the mirror, doing a double take at the dirty place I've asked him to drop me off.

I search for signs of Marshal. It's several seconds before I catch faint movement, a reflection inside one of the few windshields still intact in the parking lot.

A signal. It has to be.

“I am, and thank you,” I mutter, shoving a ball of cash at the cabbie. An ultra-generous tip should keep him from asking any questions.

I wait until he starts pulling away before I move. Then I'm speed walking through the opening in the rusted chain link fence, careful not to trip over the debris. I hear a car door open.

Suddenly, he's running toward me. It's less than a minute before his massive arms crash around me, and the lips I've needed for weeks forge tears.

Our kiss is a collision. I put my hands around his neck and sink my nails in his skin.

We come together like a storm.

Angry. Blistering. Melancholy. Raw.

Every last feeling on passion's atlas, plus some uncharted. I try to suck the life out of him, but he does it better, drinking my pain and love and confusion. And I taste his, sweet sustenance, even in its dark and ugly parts.

I see the sun when his grip finally lessens, and I'm able to gaze into those blue eyes I've missed like priceless pearls.

“Never letting you out of my sight again, woman,” he growls, his fingers pressed against my back through my coat. He's going to shear it off my body, I swear, leaving nothing but his warmth for protection.

I think I'm okay with that.

“Idiot, you'd better not. Because I can't believe I'm standing here, bags packed, considering...I don't even know what.”

“Say you'll still be my wife. Run away with me. Leave all the crap in this town behind. It's not too late to find our way, the one we were always meant for.”

There's so much happening between the words I don't even know. This gorgeous, rough man in front of me can't even give me any hard answers.

But it's his eyes that win me over.

They always do.

Scorching blue as morning sky. Intense, alive, and always hopeful.

That, I can work with. I can take his hand and fight. We'll sift through this drama, somehow, someway. And maybe after a while, we can let go of everything that's been holding us apart, dragging us down.

“Darling, say it,” he growls, pressing his forehead to mine. “Let me hear those words coming from your lips.”

“Yes, yes, yes. Of course I will, Marshal. I love you, and today that's enough.” It really is.

Truth is never more powerful than when it's spoken out loud. Everything else becomes a flimsy apparition. All our troubles, our doubts, our woes are destined to melt in the daylight of my heartbeat for him. They always were.

“Love the fuck out of you,” he rumbles, sweet baritone roughness vibrating through his chest. His thick hand cups my cheek and he digs his fingers in just slightly, holding me for his eyes. “I thought I'd lost you.”

“Not quite.” I smile. “Not ever. There's things we'll need to discuss, questions I really need an answer to –“

“Red, say no more. I'll break my ribs and hand you my still-beating heart if it gets us good again. No more secrets. I promise.”

“Promise, what'd you promise, daddy?” A little singsong voice stands behind him, tentatively clinging to a busted tractor tire.

We let go. Marshal takes my hand like it's the first day of the rest of our life. Then we both walk over to greet Mia together, him hoisting her up, and we race to find out who smothers the little cherub in kisses first.

“Your daddy just promised to make me the happiest woman on earth, honeybee,” I say. “And I know he will. There's a good man in there – even if he struggles to find his way out, sometimes.”

Marshal holds his little girl closer, ruffling her dark brown hair. “He needs the right woman. Lucky him, that shouldn't be a problem anymore.”

Mia's tiny face wrinkles. “Does...does this mean mama's coming to Alaska, too?”

Mama. My heart goes to pieces for probably the thousandth time today.

Marshal just looks at me and grins. “Yeah, honeybee. I think it does, assuming she doesn't give us a warmer option. I hear Arizona's nice this time of year. Even knew a guy in Phoenix from my army days, Knox or whatever. He's doing well there, I hear.”

I wipe my brow, just imagining the furious summer heat. “Alaska it is. Sorry, I need my seasons, even if they're short.”

Mia laughs and it sets off a chain reaction. For the briefest moment, we're lost in a winter sunbeam. The clouds have lifted, the sun is shining, and everything is rosy.

Then there's a sound that doesn't fully compute in my brain.

A car door slamming. Footprints crunching weirdly close to us in the snow. A voice.

“Well, well, if it isn't the happy family. Jesus Christ, sis. I knew you came out here to talk to him, but you're running away with this psycho?” Jackson stops, only several feet away, his hand shoved awkwardly inside his coat.

Marshal turns. He presses one hand against the small of my back, holding Mia closer with the other arm. “My daughter is here. Whatever you want, it'll have to wait.”

“Oh, no, motherfucker. We're not playing that game again. I would've had you by now if I hadn't let you run, hiding behind the kid. Nearly broke my damn back skidding on the ice. I took my sweet time coming after you because I didn't want to scare her. Not gonna make that mistake again.”

“Jackson, no! She's just a little girl. Let me, please.” I'm pulling on Marshal's arms, trying to get her. He reluctantly lets go, passing her to me. “Come here, baby,” I whisper, doing my very best to cover her ears.

My brother snorts. I look up, raw hatred lighting fires in my veins. What he's become makes me sick.

“Go home. We're not out to hurt anyone. We just want to be left alone.” I don't know why I try to reason with him.

Marshal knows it won't work. He steps in front of us, spreading his arms protectively. “Let them go. At least to my truck. Then we can talk, man-to-man.”

Jackson looks me over. I guess there's a faint thread of humanity left inside him because he nods, motions to Marshal's vehicle, and finds his most condescending tone. “You get in the truck with her and stay, sis. Do not fucking move unless I say.”

I want to do so many other things. Defy him, tell him to go to hell, pull Marshal into the driver's seat and take off, leaving this madness forever. But that can't happen.

Nothing is ever easy while there's a dangerous, self-righteous demon controlling my brother.

“Let's sit, honeybee. This'll all be over soon.” It's hard to make my legs work, but I do.

Less than a minute later, she's in my lap. I press her weary face to my chest, hiding the gut-wrenching scene unfolding through the windshield no more than twenty, maybe thirty feet away.

My brother finally takes his hand out of his jacket.

He points a gun at the love of my life.

Marshal raises his hands, says something I can't hear, and rips open his jacket.

He's bearing his heart for his executioner.

I don't even look away because the tears blurring the world are too much.

They leak. They burn. They remind me how helpless I am.

I'm waiting for the gunshot to rip through the silence, but it never comes.

Instead, I see Jackson lay his gun on the ground. His heavy winter coat falls off, and he's coming toward Marshal, whose fists are bowed viciously at his sides.

I don't know what's worse once the first blow lands on my love's face: watching them kill each other in slow motion, or knowing there's nothing I can do.

He told me to keep Mia safe. He meant it. So, I do, trying to drown out the agony unfolding behind the glass.

This has to play out. I doubt my brother called the police, or they'd be here by now, breaking up this sick gladiator match.

Mia stirs in my arms. “Mama?”

“Shhhhhh. Sleep, baby. I'll tell you when to wake. This will all be over soon.” It's amazing how I'm able to sound so calm, carefully mouthing each word, watching two of the men I care about most hit the ground.

They're tearing into each other like animals.

This will all be over soon. I try to believe it, closing my eyes, dynamite threatening to blow my temples apart while I muster every last ounce of strength not to cry.

I count numbers slowly in my head, one by one, for what seems like forever.

It's eerily quiet. My eyes snap open after God knows how long and I look around. There's no sign of them. Just furious, angry chaos left in uneven snow. Plus the uneven footprints that may be stained with blood or rust.

I can't tell.

I really don't want to.

Oh, but the movement in the rear view mirror brings new questions. They're behind the truck now, next to the building, moving inside. Both men are still fighting. Still trying to kill each other.

Panting, my brother staggers backwards, disappearing through the broken doorway. Marshal follows, his face bloodied, a thousand curses engraved on his busted lips.

Then they're gone. I can't see anything.

A terrible memory from high school science class snatches at my brain. Remember the experiment with the cat in the box that might be living or dead, but not until it's opened and seen?

I'm living it right now. Just like I'm living every soft breath of the tiny little girl in my arms, every slow beat of my heart, and every prayer.

Please don't let him die. Not when he just came back. Not when we were going to make this right.

This isn't fair. There are so many things I haven't had a chance to say.

I haven't even mentioned the secret growing inside me! Marshal deserves a chance to be a father again, this time with a family, like he always wanted. My eyes open, drifting toward the quiet sky.

Please.

We deserve a second chance.

Hell, we deserve a first.

We've fought too hard to be whole just to see it all burn down in front of me.

Please don't let it do this. Please just let him come back to me.

Please!