Page 100 of What Remains of Grace

But Cole was already in his truck, gravel spitting under the tires before Travis finished the sentence.

He broke every speed suggestion between the job site and his house. When he pulled in, Jenna’s car was there.

But she wasn’t inside it.

She was on his porch, clutching a yellow envelope as if it were the only thing keeping her from falling apart. When she looked up at him, her eyes were red, cheeks streaked, hair wild from running hands through it in panic.

Worry flooded his thoughts with a single, undeniable truth: something was wrong. “Jenna—hey.” He crossed the space in three long strides. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

She didn’t answer. She shoved the envelope toward him with a choked, unraveled sound.

He skimmed the top page. Legal letterhead. Plaintiff. Defendant. Property. Minors. Forced sale.

His jaw locked. “Okay. Come inside.”

But she shook her head, stepping back as if the world had suddenly narrowed, closing in on her.

“I can’t lose everything,” she whispered, her voice thin and broken. “Grace’s house. The bakery. Emmie’s future. He’s taking everything. I don’t have the money. My savings—everything is tied up. I can’t—Cole, I can’t—”

Her breaths grew short, sharp, terrified.

A panic attack. Bad.

“Jenna.” His voice softened instantly. “Look at me.”

She didn’t. She stared at the papers like they were knives.

“I ignored probate,” she gasped. “I should’ve handled it. I let everything pile up. I’m ruining everything. I’m going to lose everything. And Emmie—God, Emmie—I promised her—”

Her chest jerked in shallow, frantic movements. Her hands braced on her knees. Her eyes squeezed shut.

Cole didn’t hesitate.

He pulled her straight into him, arms coming around her tight, anchoring her, bracing her. “Hey—hey. You’re okay,” he whispered against her hair. “I’ve got you. Breathe. Slow. Right here with me. Breathe.”

She collapsed into him like he was the only solid thing left in the world.

He held her, long enough for the shaking to ease, long enough for her breaths to deepen. And when her knees gave a little, he simply swept her up the way you’d gather a child, one arm under her knees, the other steady at her back, carrying her inside before she could protest.

He set her gently on the bay window’s banquette bench and sank down beside her, keeping an arm around her until her breathing evened and her shoulders went placid. When she finally lifted her head, her lashes were wet, her face pale.

“Let me get you some water,” he murmured, starting to rise.

Her hand shot out, catching his shirt with a startled, desperate strength that surprised him.

“No—don’t—” Her voice cracked. “I can’t lose you either.”

His heart almost stopped.

She stood in a rush, pulling him with her, and before he could shape a single word, she surged forward, kissing him, hard, urgent, terrified, like he was the only thing left in a world falling apart.

“Jenna—” he breathed against her mouth, trying to slow her, steady her.

But she kissed him again, fiercer this time, fingers fisting in his shirt, dragging him closer, needing him like air.

And something in him gave way.

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