Love Rents A Room
Chapter 59: A Restful Night

Chapter 59: A Restful Night

JD felt the pain simmering inside her. He could see it in her eyes—the weight of everything she had endured, the terror of that night still lingering in her bones. And she had faced it all alone.

"You’re one strong woman, Joanne," he said, his voice steady, certain. "And I don’t use that phrase easily."

She let out a soft, unexpected sound—half sob, half laugh—her emotions colliding in her throat.

Somehow, for reasons she couldn’t think of, dared not to think of, and hoped not to discover, she felt happy that he understood.

JD wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. She let herself lean into him, her body warm against his. They sat like that in silence, sipping beer, the weight of the past lingering but no longer suffocating.

Before he knew it, he turned slightly, his nose brushing against her hair. She smelled like the meadows and... food. Like home.

He almost kissed the top of her head. Almost.

But at the last second, he caught himself, pulling back.

Joanne cleared her throat and stood abruptly. Had she noticed? Had she realized what he was about to do?

A part of him feared that she had. That she might think he was taking advantage of her vulnerable moment, that she might be disgusted with him.

"I’ll go to sleep now..." she murmured, giving him a small wave as she walked to the door.

JD didn’t want her to leave. Not like this.

"Are you going to drink more?" he asked. His voice was casual, but the concern was real. Drinking to drown pain—he had seen that path before.

Joanne paused, considering. "Nah," she finally said. "I’m sleepy. I’m going to bed."

JD studied her for a moment, then asked, "Why do you drink so much?"

Joanne turned, gripping the doorknob, and grinned. A real grin. "I’m Irish! I always have a reason to drink!"

JD exhaled, shaking his head in exasperation. She was back to joking. That was a good sign. More importantly, she didn’t notice what he almost did.

But then, just as she was about to step out, she turned back, her eyes softer. More serious.

"Thank you for today," she said. "I understand why the boys took the risk, but you... Thank you."

She noticed how he stood by her side, shielding her, almost reflexively. She didn’t tell him what to do, she didn’t ask him for help but he offered himself, not minding his own safety. He didn’t have to do that, not for her.

JD smiled. "I might have only known you for a short time, but you’re very important to me, Joanne Smith."

That was the truth.

He loved her.

He couldn’t say it—not yet—but he could say this much.

Joanne left his room with a small, quiet smile.

And that night, for the first time in a long time, she slept peacefully. She didn’t have to be on alert.

Because if something went wrong...

She had JD.

-----

The next morning, Joanne woke up feeling refreshed—and blissfully hangover-free.

It was nice.

She stretched, savoring the rare lightness in her body, then checked on the children. They were still curled up together in a single bed, limbs tangled in a mess of blankets. It was a beautiful sight.

After tending to the animals, she set about making breakfast. The scent of sizzling butter and warm maple syrup filled the kitchen as she flipped the last batch of pancakes onto a plate.

Timmy was the first to come downstairs, already washed up and bright-eyed.

"Do you like pancakes?" Joanne asked, placing a stack in front of him.

Timmy hesitated. She could see it—the way his eyes lit up, the slight twitch of his fingers, the way he was salivating but trying so hard to hide it.

Instead, he squared his shoulders. "Can I do some farm work?" he asked. "You don’t have to pay me or anything."

Joanne understood. This was the plight of proud, poor kids. She had felt it too—the need to earn kindness, the fear of being a burden. You don’t want to owe anyone but you depend on other’s kindness. It was a hard place to be.

She smiled. "Have your breakfast first." She set the plate in front of him. "Honey or syrup?"

Timmy blinked, unsure.

"Farm work is backbreaking," she added. "You’ll need all the energy you can get." She didn’t need child labor, but that was the only way to soothe this boy’s heart.

Just as she expected, it convinced him. His shoulders relaxed. "...Honey."

Just then, the rumble of an approaching truck echoed from the driveway. Joanne glanced outside and instantly knew Liam was pissed.

His truck skidded to a stop, and before the engine had even fully settled, he was already out, slamming the door shut.

He stormed up the porch, jabbing a finger at her. "I was two minutes away! Two. Friggin’. Minutes! And you couldn’t call me?" he shouted, climbing the steps two at a time.

Joanne barely blinked.

Instead, she gave him an easy smile. "Timmy’s having breakfast. Want some?" she said, her tone light but pointed. There was a traumatized kid in her house and he would get startled with such a loud voice.

Liam’s nostrils flared—then he exhaled sharply, reigning himself in.

"...Lemonade," he muttered.

Joanne grinned. There he was.

He had always been this way—hot-headed, overprotective, always wanting to be there for her whenever she was in trouble. And for the past four years, she had missed this side of him.

Timmy peeked cautiously from the dining room. "Who is it?" he asked, voice small and uncertain.

"Liam," Joanne said. "He’s a friend. A great car-doctor."

Timmy frowned. "Car doctor? You mean a mechanic?"

Joanne chuckled. "Yes, a mechanic."

Timmy rolled his eyes, and Joanne laughed again. Of course—he wasn’t a baby. No need for baby talk.

They made their way to the garage.

For the first time in a long while, Joanne pulled back the cover of her Papaw’s car.

"I don’t even know if it still starts," she admitted, running a hand along the hood. She hadn’t tried in two years.

Liam stood still for a moment, taking it in. Timmy too was impressed with the car.

The car sat gleaming under the garage lights—dust-free, well-maintained, its paint polished like she had been waiting for someone to admire her again.

Liam’s rough hands traced over the curves of the body, slow, reverent. A quiet smile pulled at his lips.

"The first car I ever worked on..." he murmured. "I learned most of what I know from this car."

Joanne watched him, warmth blooming in her chest.

She was glad he still had fond memories of this car, of this place—of them.

Then, Fiona’s words echoed in her mind.

Talk to Liam.