Page 20 of Finding Peace
And of that, I’ve had plenty.
Hopping off the horses, the two of us work in silence for a few minutes as we adjust the fence posts, hands busy, minds loud. The sun crests the horizon, painting the snow in pale gold, and for a moment, the world looks almost peaceful. Like nothing bad could ever touch this place.
But it has.
Itdid.
The juxtaposition causes a sharp and humorless laugh to slip free.
“What?” Lawson asks without looking up.
“I want to burn everything to the ground,” I admit. The words spill out before I can stop them. “I want to kill every single one of them with my bare hands.”
The Bratva. Keller. The Coates brothers.Anyonewho ever thought they could touch her. Use her. Threaten what’sours.
Lawson stills. “I know, Jas. Me too.”
I scrub a hand over my face, frustration clawing up my throat. “Tell me how not to drown in it,” I say, my voice rough. “Tell me how to stayhere—with you. With all of you. Withher.”
This time, Lawson does look at me. “You don’t kill it,” he says. “You don’t bury it. You learn to carry it without letting it steer you. You remember why you’re fighting in the first place.Whyyou’re lucky enough to feel such anger in the first place.Whyyou feel such a sheer sense of protectiveness.”
“And if that’s not enough?”
“Then you lean on the people who know who you are at your core,” he says matter-of-factly. “The ones who won’t let it swallow you whole.”
I scoff softly and kick at the snow with my boot. “You mean you.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “Among others.” His smile grows wider before he says, “Or I could just call your sister. She’d tell you to breathe. Then she’d tell you to stop being an idiot.”
I freeze.
Really freeze as my heart kicks hard against my ribs.
How did none of us think of this sooner?
“I know who can help us find them,” I rush out.
Lawson’s gaze meets mine, eyes already dark with understanding.
He doesn’t ask me to clarify.
Because he already knows who I’m about to say.
And just like that, the storm inside me shifts.
My focus sharpens.
Purpose settles deep in my bones.
And suddenly, for the first time since we realized Abigail was missing, I feel like I might be able to breathe.
Chapter eight
Abigail
Palewinterlightfiltersthrough the windows in thin bands, catching on the frost at the edges of the glass and turning the room a muted gold. The sounds of what should be a perfect morning on Willow Creek Ranch sing in perfect harmony. A soft song floating through the speakers, the sound of the fire crackling, and Lincoln and Beau talking quietly in the kitchen as Beau makes me breakfast.
Because I’m awake.
