Chapter 10 - The Unfinished Call
The front door of our suburban home clicked shut behind us, locking out the noise of the outside world.
Inside, the house was warm, quiet, and peaceful.
Luke had promised to meet us for dinner tomorrow evening after getting some rest at the motel, leaving Jonah and me alone in our sanctuary.
Jonah stood in the center of the kitchen, staring at his hands in the soft glow of the pendant lights.
For the first time since I met him two years ago, his shoulders weren't hunched forward in an unconscious attempt to appear smaller.
He stood tall, magnificent, and entirely at ease in his own skin.
I walked up behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist and pressing my cheek against his broad, muscular back.
“You were incredible today,” I whispered.
Jonah turned around slowly in my embrace, gathering me into his arms and lifting me effortlessly until my feet dangled inches off the hardwood floor.
He buried his face into the crook of my neck, holding me tight against his chest.
“I never knew what it felt like to have someone fight for me like that,” he murmured, his voice rumbling through my core.
“You fought for yourself, Jonah,” I smiled, kissing the warm skin below his ear.
“You just needed to see the truth.”
He set me down gently on the kitchen island counter, his massive hands resting on either side of my hips.
His dark eyes were clear, bright, and completely stripped of fear.
“Our flight to Oregon leaves at noon tomorrow,” he said, a slow, breathtaking smile curving his lips.
“A whole week at that secluded cabin by the lake.”
“No family drama.”
“No group chats.”
“No small-town gossips whispering through diner windows.”
“Just you, me, and as much leftover cake as we can fit into our carry-on luggage,” I laughed softly, feeling the last knots of anxiety dissolve from my chest.
He leaned in, capturing my lips in a deep, hungry, and unhurried kiss that took the breath straight out of my lungs.
There was no hesitation in his touch anymore.
No polite foot of distance.
No fear that his strength would break me.
He held me with the confident, protective passion of a man who finally understood that his love was a shelter, not a weapon.
We moved together toward the bedroom, leaving the wedding suitcases and travel documents stacked on the living room table.
For the next several hours, the world outside ceased to exist entirely.
We loved each other with the quiet intensity of two people who had survived a storm and arrived safely on the shore.
It was nearly three in the morning when the absolute stillness of the house was shattered.
From out on the living room table, Jonah’s phone began vibrating violently against the wood.
The harsh buzz echoed down the hallway like an alarm.
Jonah stirred beside me, blinking against the darkness of the bedroom.
“Leave it,” I whispered sleepily, resting my hand on his bare chest.
“It’s probably just another desperate apology text from Megan.”
Jonah reached over to the nightstand, checking the secondary screen synced to his phone.
The glow of the display lit up his face.
His brow furrowed instantly.
It wasn't Megan.
It wasn't my mother.
It was an unlisted, private landline number from out of state—originating from the state correctional medical facility two counties over.
Jonah sat up, the sheets pooling at his waist.
“What is it?” I asked, waking up fully as the old familiar dread crept back into my stomach.
Jonah picked up the phone, sliding his thumb across the screen to accept the call.
He put it on speakerphone so we could both hear.
A cold, automated operator voice crackled through the receiver.
“You have a collect call from an inmate at the Blackwood Medical Facility.”
“To accept charges from... Arthur Vance... press one.”
The breath vanished from Jonah’s lungs.
Arthur Vance.
His father.
The man Luke said had died ten years ago in an out-of-state timber accident.
The man who had built the cage of guilt around Jonah’s entire youth.
May you like
He wasn't dead.
He was alive.
