Chapter Thirty-Seven
Jackson
I’m losing my mind.
The cabin was a dead end. The search grid turned up nothing new. And every hour that passes is another hour she’s out there alone.
“My money’s still on the eastern ridge,” Dal says, dropping a map onto the counter beside me.
Bos is pacing again, jaw tight. Linc’s already typing, entering new coordinates. They’re all trying to keep moving. Trying to keep focused.
I’m trying to keep myself from breaking.
I grip the edge of the counter hard enough that my knuckles go white. My badge hangs at my hip, mocking me. I’ve found missing people my whole career. I’ve brought families closure. I’ve tracked killers into places no sane person should go.
But Brooklyn isn’t a case file.
She’s the person I breathe for.
“Jax,” Dal says quietly.
I lift my head. I know what he sees in my eyes. I don’t care.
“We’re not stopping,” I tell them. “Not until she’s home. I don’t care how many hours, how many miles, how many rules we break. We find her.”
“But it’s been days,” he continues, trying to get me to see reason.
“I don’t care. I can’t give up.” My throat grows thick with emotion, the words catching in my throat as I say, “I won’t.”
Bos nods. Linc closes the laptop. Dal reaches for his pack.
We move out the door.
No hesitation.
Not anymore.
The sky is a flat gray sheet as we move through the snow-covered trail, the kind of gray that swallows the horizon and time along with it. The cold doesn’t bother me anymore. Or maybe I just don’t notice it. Everything in me is focused forward, like my body is just a vehicle for one thought:
Find her.
Dal is ahead of me, methodical and steady. Bos moves with restless tension, constantly scanning the treeline. Linc walks in silence, unlike his usual talk-through-the-problem pace. Everyone is operating on instinct now.
But it’s quiet.
Too quiet.
The kind of quiet where your mind has room to think.
I hate thinking right now.
I haven’t slept in—honestly, I don’t even know. I haven’t eaten, either. I only remember coffee so bitter and cold it burned my throat. I barely tasted it. I didn’t care.
Because every time I close my eyes, I see her.
Not how she looked that night as she fell asleep in my arms. Not the way she smiled against my chest, hair tangled, skin warm, safe.
No.
I see her afraid.
Alone.
I see her calling for me.
And I wasn’t there.
I swallow hard, and my breath feels thick, sharp in my chest. I don’t let myself stop walking.
Bos suddenly speaks. “We will find her, Jax.”
I hate how much I want to believe that. How badly I need it to be true.
“I know,” I say.
But my voice is rough. Worn down.
Because the truth is—hope is starting to feel like a thread I’m hanging from by my fingertips.
Dal glances back at me, like he hears what I didn’t say out loud. “She’s resilient,” he says simply. “She’s smart.”
“But she's pregnant,” I answer, knowing they can all three understand the fear I’m currently feeling.
With the loss Aspen suffered.
After what Raleigh went through.
The wind moves quietly through the pines. No one speaks for a long time.
Because we all know—pregnancy changes everything.
Her body is doing double the work.
She shouldn’t be fighting for survival.
She should be home. Warm. Safe. Laughing. Planning. Sleeping next to me.
And I wasn’t there to protect her.
I stop walking.
My brothers do too.
I press both hands over my face and breathe through a wave of something crushing and enormous. Fear. Guilt. Love. A kind of love that’s painful.
“I was supposed to protect her,” I say, voice cracking before I can stop it.
Bos’s jaw flexes. Linc’s eyes lower. Dal steps closer, but he doesn’t reach for me. He knows better. Touch right now might be enough to break me apart.
“You still will,” Dal says. Quiet. Certain. Unshakeable. “She’s still out here. She’s still fighting.”
My chest aches at the truth of that.
Brooklyn isn’t soft.
She’s gentle, and kind, yes.
But she’s steel when she has to be.
She’s survived this long.
She’s still holding on.
And I have to be strong enough to get to her.
I lower my hands and breathe out slowly. Steadying myself. Rebuilding the part of me that collapsed a moment ago. I can’t afford to fall apart. Not even once. Not until she’s in my arms.
I look at the others.
“Let’s move,” I say.
We continue forward through the snow.
But now I’m not just searching.
I’m coming for her.
And whoever took her—
I will find him too.
One of us won’t walk away.
And I already know which one.
The snow is falling harder now, thick flakes swirling in the kind of slow motion that makes everything feel distant. Blurred. Quiet.
We’ve been following the ridge line for nearly an hour. Bos is ahead, checking for tracks even though the storm is already covering anything left behind. Dal scans the treeline with that calm, calculating stare of his. Linc's studying the terrain, adjusting our path with little hand signals we barely have to look to understand.
We’ve moved together our whole lives.
But this is different.
This time, the stakes aren’t a hunt.
They’re her.
We reach the base of an old stand of pines—tall, ancient, their trunks scarred and dark against the snow.
Bos stops first.
Not dramatically. Just… stops.
The rest of us freeze behind him.
“What is it?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer right away—just kneels, brushing snow aside with his gloved hand.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Something dark shows beneath the white.
Fabric.
My heart slams into my ribs.
I drop to my knees beside him before I even realize I’ve moved. My hands shake as I uncover it fully.
It’s a piece of sleeve. Torn. A scrap of blue cotton I know by touch more than sight.
Because it's mine.
Brooklyn was wearing it when I found her in bed that evening.
I can feel it like a pulse beneath my fingertips.
“She was here,” I whisper.
The words don’t feel like words. They feel like oxygen. Like air rushing back into my lungs after days underwater.
Dal crouches beside me. “Not long ago.” He rubs the edge of the fabric between his fingers. “Cold, but not frozen. Maybe hours."
Linc is already scanning the ground. “There’s brush disturbed. Something was dragged—or someone moved through here fast.”
Bos stands, jaw clenched. “She was running.”
The world tilts for a moment.
I see her—breathing hard, stumbling, desperate, alone.
Running.
Terrified.
But alive.
Alive.
Something inside me rises—sharp and fierce and steadying.
“We’re in the right area,” Dal says. “We stay on this line. No breaks. No stops.”
Bos nods. “We’ll find her.”
Linc looks up at me.
“Jax.”
I realize I’m still holding the torn piece of fabric. My hand won’t unclench. I curl my fingers around it tighter, like letting go would mean losing her all over again.
“She’s close,” Linc says. “I can feel it.”
I stand slowly. Not shaking now. Not falling apart.
Focused.
Clear.
This is no longer a search.
This is a path.
And I’m following her.
I tuck the scrap of fabric into my jacket—over my heart. Where she belongs.
“We go,” I tell them.
And we move again, faster than before, urgency driving us deeper into the woods.
The storm howls, the trail is faint, but I don’t care.
She’s out here.
Breathing.
Waiting.
And I’m coming.
I swear it to the trees.
To the mountains.
To the sky.
To whoever took her.
I’m coming.
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