Chapter Fifty Three

Jake

I look at her, her eyes are wide, shimmering with fear. She is sitting across from me on the edge of the bed, clutching the blanket like it’s the only thing keeping her steady.

“Kyla,” I say softly but firmly, leaning forward. “We can’t keep dancing around this. You need to tell me everything. Tonight. Right now.”

She swallows hard, her lips parting as if the words are on the tip of her tongue. Her hands tremble. I can practically feel the storm she is holding back.

“I” she begins, her voice breaking. “Jake, it’s not that easy. If I tell you, everything changes. You will look at me differently. You will”

A sound cuts her off.

A dull thud, followed by the faint crunch of gravel outside the window.

Both our heads snap toward the noise. The room plunges into silence, so sharp that I can hear the frantic beat of her heart and the rush of my own blood in my ears.

Kyla’s face drains of color. She grips the blanket tighter.

“What was that?” she whispers.

I raise a hand, silencing her. My instincts kick in, the instincts that never really die no matter how far you move from the city or what you tell yourself about living a normal life. My muscles coil tight, alert.

Another sound. Softer this time. Almost like footsteps retreating.

I move quickly, quietly, crossing to the window. The curtains are drawn, but I slide them apart just enough to peer into the night. The moon spills pale light across the driveway, but nothing stirs. Just the shadows of the tall pines that surround the house.

“Jake?” Kyla’s voice shakes.

I let the curtain fall and turn back to her. She looks like she’s seconds away from breaking down.

“It could be nothing,” I lie, even though my gut tells me otherwise. “Probably an animal. The woods are full of them.”

But the way her eyes search mine tells me she doesn’t believe me. Maybe because I don’t even believe it myself.

She wraps her arms around her stomach and rocks slightly. “I told you. We are not safe. I feel it, Jake. Someone is out there. Watching. Waiting.”

Her words strike harder than I expect. Watching. Waiting. It’s too specific, too fearful, like she’s speaking from experience, not paranoia.

Before I can respond, a door creaks down the hall. My body stiffens, and Kyla’s eyes dart to the sound.

“Mom?”

It’s Chanel’s small voice, followed by the soft padding of her feet against the wooden floor. Seconds later, her brother’s sleepy face appears in the hallway too.

“Why are you both out of bed?” I whisper, kneeling quickly to meet them.

Ava rubs her eyes. “We heard noises. Outside.”

My jaw tightens. The kids heard it too. That means it wasn’t just my imagination or Kyla’s fear.

I force a calm smile I don’t feel. “It’s nothing to worry about. Probably a raccoon or deer. You are safe here. But I need you both to stay in your rooms, okay? No more sneaking out until morning.”

They nod, but their eyes are wide and uncertain.

I guide them back to their rooms one by one, tucking them in with extra care. My chest aches when Ava clutches my hand.

“Will you stay close?” she whispers.

“Yes,” I promise. “I’m right down the hall. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Her little fingers finally let go, and I wait until her breathing steadies before pulling away. I repeat the ritual with her brother, who fights sleep but eventually surrenders to it.

When I step back into the hall, Kyla is waiting, hugging herself like she’s trying to keep from unraveling.

Her voice is raw. “You see? I wasn’t imagining it. Someone’s out there. They’ve always been out there.”

I move toward her slowly, lowering my voice so the kids won’t hear. “What do you mean ‘always’? Kyla, you need to explain. What the hell are we dealing with here?”

Her lips part, then close again. She shakes her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I can’t. Not now.”

I grip her shoulders gently but firmly, forcing her to meet my eyes. “Then when? Because if someone is out there, if someone’s watching this house, I need to know what the hell they want. Are they after you? The kids? Both? Tell me, Kyla.”

She’s trembling under my hands, her breath ragged. “You don’t understand, Jake. I tried to leave it all behind. I tried to disappear. But it doesn’t matter, does it? It always finds me. It always comes back.”

Her words send a chill through me, colder than the night air outside.

I want to press harder, demand answers, but then another sound cuts through the house this time sharper. A metallic clang. Like something striking against the gate outside.

Kyla gasps, her fingers clutching my arms.

I don’t even think. I grab my phone and stride to the front door, flicking on the porch light. The yard floods with harsh yellow, illuminating nothing but the gravel drive and the trees beyond. The gate at the end of the driveway sways slightly, the chain rattling as if it’s just been disturbed.

My pulse hammers.

“Stay here,” I order over my shoulder.

“Jake, no!” Kyla hisses, but I’m already moving, stepping out onto the porch.

I scan the yard carefully, every muscle taut, ready for a fight I can’t see. But there’s nothing to figure, no movement, no sound except the wind in the trees. Whoever was out here, if anyone, is gone.

Still, I don’t like it. Not one bit.

When I finally return inside, Kyla is standing in the middle of the living room, pale and trembling.

Her voice is barely above a whisper. “This is what I have been afraid of. This is why I never wanted to come back. They will never let me live my life Jake. Never.”

I close the door and lock it tight.

Her words settle heavy in my chest. “Then you need to stop running,” I tell her, my voice low but firm. “If someone’s after you, then I need to know everything. Because I can’t protect you if you keep me in the dark.”

She meets my eyes, her face twisted with fear and something else guilt.

Before she can answer, a floorboard creaks above us. One of the kids shifting in their sleep. The sound slices through the silence like a warning.

Kyla presses her lips together and shakes her head. “Not now,” she whispers. “Not in front of them. Please.”

I stare at her, torn between fury and fear. My instincts are screaming that we are running out of time.

But for now, I swallow the urge to push her further. Instead, I step back, letting the distance between us grow, though every nerve in my body fights it.

“We will talk tomorrow,” I say finally. “But no more secrets, Kyla. No more.”

She nods, but the look in her eyes tells me tomorrow might already be too late.