Page 103 of What Remains of Grace

Still laughing, Cole shifted, rolling smoothly until he hovered over her, one arm braced beside her head, his mouth finding hers again.

This kiss was different, less desperation, more promise.

When he pulled back enough to see her clearly, her smile softened. “I’m scared,” she said quietly. “Of everything.”

He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t look away.

Didn’t give her empty reassurance. “We’ll figure it out,” he said. “Together.”

She went still because she believed him.

More than she trusted herself.

More than she trusted the legal system.

More than she trusted the thin line she’d been walking between grief and survival. She believed Cole.

And that terrified her most of all.

She curled closer into his chest, the sunlight warm against her back, and whispered the only truth she had left: “Don’t let go yet.”

Cole tightened his arms around her. “Not a chance.”

26

The Reckoning

The envelope sat on the kitchen table like it was waiting to explode.

Jenna had moved it three times already: off the counter, onto the table, back to the counter, before finally leaving it right where it was, dead center, its yellow edges sharp and accusing. Ignoring it hadn’t eased anything. Staring at it didn’t help either.

Jenna braced her hands on the table and took a slow breath, though it didn’t do much. Her throat was tight, her heart a frantic flutter. She had rehearsed what she would say a dozen times, but every version had ended with the same throbbing grief.

Footsteps sounded on the front porch. Then a key turning.

The door opening and shutting. “Aunt Jenna?” Emmie called, her voice drifting down the hallway.

“In here,” Jenna said, surprised at how even she sounded.

Emmie slid into the doorway, backpack slung over one shoulder, earbuds dangling around her neck. She had her hair pulled up into a messy ponytail, pieces falling loose around her face, and she looked young. Too young for what Jenna was about to put on her shoulders.

Emmie’s gaze flicked from Jenna’s face to the envelope on the table. Her expression changed instantly.

“What happened?” she demanded. “Who is that from?”

“Come sit down,”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Em,” Jenna said, gently but firmly, “please.”

Emmie hesitated for several seconds, studying her with narrowed eyes, before finally pulling out a chair and sitting across from her. She set her backpack on the floor with a thud, crossed her arms, and waited.

Jenna swallowed. “Something happened this morning. Before you woke up.”

“I knew it,” Emmie muttered. “I heard the door.”

“It wasn’t a delivery,” Jenna said gently. “It was a process server.”