Page 29 of A Burning Rage

Luke runs down the hallway to Shane’s home office. “Daddy?” A moment later, he returns. “He’s not there.”

“Here.” I put Ava in her playpen. “Entertain Sissy while I go look for Daddy.”

As I’m leaving the room, I notice Luke picking up one of Ava’s stuffed animals and making it dance along the railing of her playpen. I can hear her giggling in response. Luke has such a good heart. He’s so much like his daddy.

I check our bedroom, but Shane’s not there.

After peeking in once more on Luke and Ava, to make sure they’re safely occupied—Luke is now improvising as he reads the story, from memory, about the green caterpillar to his sister—I head down the stairs to the lower level. Down here, we have a workout room, an arcade, and a playroom for the kids.

As soon as I reach the lower floor, I hear the telltale sound of someone hitting the punching bag. Instantly, I’m relieved to at least know where Shane is, but my relief is short lived when I try to open the door to the workout room and find it locked.

A chill runs down my spine. Shane has never locked me out.

I look through the glass door and watch him pummeling the heavy black bag, his punches relentless. He’s so focused on hitting the bag he doesn’t realize he has an audience. It takes me a moment to notice he didn’t bother to put on gloves. Instead, his hands are taped.

I gasp when I see blood on his knuckles.

He’s in there all alone, hurting himself, punishing himself for something that’s not his fault. My heart starts pounding as I try to think.

How do I help him?

Better yet, who can help him?

The fact that he locked the door tells me he doesn’t want me to see him like this.

I would call for Cooper, but he and Sam aren’t home right now.

I step back from the door and pull my phone from my pocket and make a call.

“Hey, Beth,” Jake says when he picks up. “What’s up?” He’s in a good mood. I can hear their three kids making a ruckus in the background. “Aiden, put your sister down, right now. Not on her head!”

“Jake—” My voice shakes. “I need your help. Or, rather Shane does.”

His voice sharpens instantly. “What’s wrong?”

“Shane has locked himself in the workout room, and he’s hitting the punching bag without gloves. His knuckles are bleeding. He’s hurting himself.”

Jake muffles a curse over the phone, and then he speaks quickly to Annie. A moment later, he says, “I’ll be right over.”

I run back upstairs and wait by the front door. Less than a minute later, Jake is there, standing beneath the porch light. He’s dressed in workout clothes—black biker shorts and a black muscle shirt. I open the door and step back for him to enter.

Jake squeezes my shoulder as he passes me on his way to the lower level. He disappears down the stairs, and I follow. As I reach the bottom of the stairs, I hear him knocking on the glass door.

“Open the door, Shane!”

I can still hear the hollow, rhythmic thuds of Shane hitting the bag.

Jake knocks again. “Hey, pal, you’ve got company. Let me in.”

Again, that rhythmic pounding continues.

Jake pounds on the door. “I didn’t bring my lockpick, but I can sure as hell break this door down if you don’t unlock it.”

From where I’m standing, I can just make out Jake standing outside the workout room.

The thuds stop, and Shane appears at the glass door, looking disheveled. His skin is glistening with sweat, his face is flushed from exertion, and his damp hair is matted to his head.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, mostly sounding curious and a bit surprised.