Page 142 of Her Ex-Husband's Brother

“He’s never getting out of jail.”

I say it with more confidence than any man can honestly possess about the future.

Still, I believe it.

The judge set bond at two million dollars after hearing how strong the evidence was and how much danger Jake posed to Lennon. In spite of Kathy’s humiliating fundraising campaign, they came nowhere close to collecting enough to get him released.

Turns out even the most loyal family friends and church ladies have their limits.

A wife-and-fetus poisoner apparently exceeds them.

Jake will rot in county jail until trial. Afterward, God willing, he’ll spend the rest of his life behind another set of bars.

Lennon’s hand slides down my arm and into mine.

It still takes my breath away that her first instinct is to reach for me.

When she wakes from a nightmare, she reaches for me.

When grief takes her by surprise in the cereal aisle because she sees a mother holding a newborn, she reaches for me.

When she remembers something new about Jake and needs to say it aloud before it eats a hole through her, she finds my hand.

She allows me the privilege of holding her when she cries.

She trusts me to be there when she opens her eyes again.

I know hatred isn’t Christian. But I hate my motherfucking brother.

He’s fortunate he’s behind bars.

Frankly, so am I.

Because if I had the chance again, I’m not certain I could stop myself from killing him with my bare hands.

I squeeze Lennon’s fingers.

“Let’s go meet the newest member of the family, shall we?”

She looks up at me.

For the first time in weeks, her smile takes over her whole face. It’s the smile from the hot tub, the one that made me want her before I knew anything about her except that she was beautiful and sad and trying very hard not to be either.

She nods hard enough to make her hair bounce.

Then she practically launches herself out of the truck.

The moment we step inside, we’re met by barking from somewhere behind a closed door. The reception area smells faintly of disinfectant and dog biscuits, with an underlying animal warmth no amount of cleaning could completely erase.

A volunteer in a blue shirt greets us from behind the counter.

“We’re only looking,” Lennon announces.

I glance at her.

The volunteer glances at me.

Neither of us insults her by pretending to believe it.