Table of ContentsEpisode 1 · 13 episodes availableIn this Season · Bayou OaksReading order
About this story
Josie Tolbet knows exactly how dangerous her husband can be.
For months, she’s learned how to keep the peace, shield her baby, and survive a marriage that stopped feeling safe a long time ago. But when Keith drives drunk with six-month-old Caleb in the truck and crashes, Josie finally tells the truth—and everything changes.
Deputy Gabe Rivera meets Josie on the worst night of her life. He’s patient, steady, and careful not to push her when she’s already had too many choices taken away. But as Keith’s control begins to unravel, his behavior turns darker, and Gabe finds it harder and harder to stay on the sidelines.
Leaving Keith was supposed to be the hard part.
Josie is about to learn it may have been the most dangerous thing she’s ever done.
And Gabe? He’ll do whatever it takes to make sure Keith never gets the chance to hurt her or Caleb again.
Voice, speed & continuous listeningUses the voices already available on your device. Narration starts only when you press Play or enable continuous listening.View story content warnings
These warnings apply to the story as a whole.
Domestic Abuse
Emotional Abuse and Coercive Control
Stalking and Harassment
Threats and Intimidation
Alcohol Abuse and Drunk Driving
Car Accident
Child Endangerment
Violence
Attempted Murder
View story author note
His to Protect can be enjoyed as a standalone story, but if you'd like to get to know some of the familiar faces of Bayou Oaks a little better, I recommend reading Don't Answer the Door first.
You'll meet several of the characters who make appearances in this story, and you'll get to see where it all began with Beckett and Laney!
Of course, you don't have to read the books in order, but it's always fun to catch up with old friends!
The speedometer climbed past fifty-five.
I stared at it for another few seconds, hoping Keith would notice on his own and ease off the gas.
He didn’t.
“Keith, slow down.”
My voice came out calmer than I felt. Highway 12 was dark except for the sweep of our headlights, the narrow road twisting between stands of pine and stretches of pasture. The speed limit was forty-five through here.
Keith’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.
“Don’t start, Josie.”
I looked into the back seat.
Caleb slept in his car seat, one tiny fist curled beside his cheek. Six months old, completely unaware that his father was driving too fast after spending most of the evening hanging around the bar at the fundraiser.
I looked back at the speedometer.
Nearly sixty.
“I’m not starting anything. I’m asking you to slow down.”
“And I heard you.”
“Then slow down.”
Keith cut his eyes toward me.
There had been a time when that look would have immediately shut me up. Lately, it usually still did.
Tonight, Caleb was in the truck.
That changed things.
Keith gave a humorless laugh. “You’ve had something to say all damn night, haven’t you?”
I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know exactly what it means.”
“No, actually. I don’t.”
That earned me another look, and I knew exactly what it meant. I’d gotten very good at reading Keith over the last year—annoyed, angry, don’t push me.
I’d also gotten very good at deciding which battles were worth having.
This one was.
“Are we talking about the fundraiser?” I asked.
“What else would we be talking about?”
“I don’t know, Keith. You’re the one who’s mad.”
His jaw hardened.
“You really didn’t notice?”
“Notice what?”
“The way you were carrying on with every man who came near you.”
For a second, I honestly didn’t know what he meant.
Then I did.
“Oh, for God’s sake.”
“See? There it is.”
I turned toward him. “There what is?”
“That attitude.”
“I talked to people.”
“You flirted.”
“I did not flirt.”
“You stood there smiling at Tran for ten damn minutes.”
“Mr. Tran asked whether Daddy might donate a calf for next year’s auction.”
“Bet he did.”
I stared at him.
He kept his eyes on the road, mouth set in that smug line that made something hot twist low in my stomach.
Not fear this time.
Anger.
“You know what? I’m not doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“Defending myself because I had a conversation with someone.”
Keith laughed under his breath. “Of course not. Josie never does anything wrong.”
I looked down at the blue dress I’d spent too long choosing before we left. It had a fitted bodice, delicate detailing, and a soft, flowing skirt that fell just below my knees. Pretty, feminine, and completely appropriate for the fundraiser.
Keith had liked it once.
That was why I’d worn it.
The realization irritated me almost as much as he did.
Behind us, Caleb made a small, restless sound, and I twisted in my seat.
“Hey, baby.”
His eyes fluttered open.
Keith sighed loudly.
“Great.”
I turned back. “What?”
“Now you’ve got him worked up.”
“He’s six months old. Babies wake up.”
“He can feel you being tense.”
I actually laughed.
It slipped out before I could stop it.
Keith’s head snapped toward me. “What’s funny?”
“Nothing.”
“No. Go ahead. Tell me.”
I looked at the road disappearing beneath the headlights.
“Watch where you’re driving.”
“I am watching.”
“You were looking at me.”
“For two seconds.”
“And you’re going over sixty.”
“Jesus Christ.”
His foot pressed harder on the accelerator, and the engine surged.
My stomach dropped.
“Keith.”
“Stop telling me how to drive.”
“Then stop driving like this.”
Caleb began to fuss behind us.
Keith swore.
“Slow down.”
“I said I’ve got it.”
“No, you don’t.”
That did it.
He turned his head toward me again, anger flashing across his face.
“Watch your mouth.”
A familiar chill worked its way through me.
There it was. Keith rarely started loud because he didn’t have to.
I knew what came after that tone—a hand clamped too tightly around my arm, hours of silence, my phone being taken because apparently I couldn’t be trusted. Questions about where I’d been, who I’d talked to, why something had taken five minutes longer than he thought it should.
And later, somehow, I would be the one apologizing.
Usually because I was exhausted. Sometimes because Caleb was sleeping. Sometimes because keeping the peace felt easier than fighting a battle I already knew Keith would never admit he’d started.
But I wasn’t apologizing for this.
“Caleb is in the truck,” I said.
“I know where my son is.”
“Then act like it.”
His face changed.
For one second, I wondered if I’d gone too far.
Then he laughed, low and ugly.
“This coming from the woman who spent half the night putting on a show for every man at that fundraiser.”
I stared at him.
“You’re drunk.”
The words were out before I could stop them.
Keith went very still.
“I am not drunk.”
“You’ve been drinking.”
“I had a couple beers.”
“You had more than a couple.”
“You keeping count now?”
“I saw you at the bar.”
“Oh, so while you were flirting, you were watching me too?”
My hands curled into fists.
“How is everything always my fault with you?”
His head whipped toward me.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
The truck drifted toward the center line.
“Keith, the road.”
He jerked the wheel back, and Caleb started crying.
Not fussing now.
Crying.
The sound cut straight through me.
I twisted around as far as the seat belt allowed.
“It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s right here.”
“For Christ’s sake, make him stop.”
My head snapped around.
“He’s scared.”
“He’s tired.”
“He’s scared because you’re driving like a maniac.”
The speedometer climbed past sixty-five.
“Slow down!”
“I said I’ve got it!”
“No, you—”
Something moved in the headlights.
Big and dark.
Keith swore and slammed on the brakes.
A steer filled the road.
Everything happened at once.
Tires screamed against the pavement. The truck jerked hard to the left as Keith yanked the wheel, and I heard myself yell Caleb’s name.
We missed the steer.
The road disappeared beneath us.
The Silverado hit the soft shoulder, bounced violently, and slid sideways toward the ditch.
Then the world tipped.
Metal crunched.
The side-curtain airbags exploded around us with a deafening bang.
My shoulder slammed against the seat belt hard enough to knock the air from my lungs as the truck rolled once and came down hard on the passenger side.
Then everything stopped.
For a few seconds, there was nothing except the hiss of the airbags and a high ringing in my ears.
Then Caleb screamed.
“Caleb.”
My hands shook so badly I fumbled with the seat belt.
The truck had landed on my side, leaving me hanging awkwardly above the passenger door. Keith was suspended above me in the driver’s seat, held in place by his belt.
“Caleb.”
“I’m fine,” Keith groaned.
I didn’t care.
I released my seat belt and dropped the short distance against the passenger-side door.
Pain exploded through my left ankle.
I cried out.
“What the hell?” Keith muttered.
I ignored him.
Caleb was crying so hard he could barely catch his breath.
He was still strapped into his car seat behind me, but with the truck lying on its side, the whole back seat had turned sideways. I twisted around and tried to push myself toward him.
My ankle protested immediately.
I dragged myself anyway.
“Caleb, Mommy’s here.”
The front seat blocked most of my way, so I braced one hand against the center console and worked myself backward into the rear passenger area, awkwardly using my good leg and both arms.
Every movement sent another pulse of pain through my ankle.
I barely noticed.
All I could hear was my baby crying.
When I finally reached him, I ran my hands over his arms, legs, and head as best I could without removing him from the car seat.
No blood.
No obvious injuries.
Thank God.
“Shh. You’re okay. Mommy’s right here.”
“Make him stop screaming.”
I froze and looked toward the front.
Keith hung above me, a thin trail of blood running from his forehead.
“What did you say?”
“My head is killing me, Josie. Make him stop.”
Rage cut through the shock.
“He’s a baby who was just in a rollover accident.”
“Because you wouldn’t shut the hell up.”
I stared at him.
“My fault?”
“If you hadn’t been nagging me—”
“You were driving drunk.”
“I was not drunk.”
“You were speeding. You were looking at me instead of the road. You could have killed Caleb.”
“You need to calm down.”
I almost laughed again.
Even now. Even hanging sideways in a wrecked truck.
I was the problem.
“You could have killed our son.”
Keith’s face hardened.
“Don’t you dare—”
Lights flashed through the broken windows.
Red.
Blue.
For half a second, I thought I was imagining them.
Then I heard an engine approaching.
Relief hit me so hard my eyes burned.
Help.
Someone was here.
A door slammed, followed by footsteps crunching through gravel and grass.
“Sheriff’s office!”
Caleb kept crying.
I pressed my hand against his little chest.
“We’re in here!”
A flashlight swept across the interior.
“Ma’am? Sir? Can you hear me?”
“Yes!”
Keith answered at the same time.
“We’re fine. Hit a steer.”
Of course.
Already rewriting it.
The light disappeared, then footsteps moved around the truck.
A man’s face appeared above us through the driver’s-side rear window, now facing the sky.
“My wife’s panicking,” Keith added. “But we’re okay.”
The deputy’s gaze shifted past Keith and found me crouched awkwardly beside Caleb.
Then his attention moved to the baby.
He didn’t look panicked or rushed. He looked like someone who knew exactly what he was doing.
“Ma’am, is the baby injured?”
“I don’t think so. I checked him. He’s crying, but I don’t see any blood or anything wrong.”
“That’s good. Leave him buckled in for me.”
My hand tightened around the edge of the car seat.
“I need to get him out.”
“You will.” His voice stayed calm. “But right now that seat is the safest place for him. Let me help you do this right.”
I wanted Caleb in my arms.
Every instinct I had screamed at me to pull him free and hold him.
But the deputy’s gaze never left mine.
Steady.
Certain.
I swallowed and nodded.
“Okay.”
“Good.”
Keith shifted above us.
“I can get out myself.”
Deputy Rivera looked toward him.
“Stay where you are until EMS gets here.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“And I heard you.”
Something about the way he said it made Keith go quiet.
Not rude.
Not loud.
Just final.
Rivera turned back to me.
“What’s your name?”
“Josie.”
“Okay, Josie. I need you to stay with Caleb while we stabilize the truck. Fire and EMS are almost here.”
I nodded.
“Can you do that?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He disappeared from the window.
I heard voices outside, the slam of another vehicle door, then the heavier rumble of equipment being moved.
Caleb’s cries had dropped to broken little sobs.
I stroked his cheek.
“Mommy’s right here.”
Keith groaned again.
“This is ridiculous. We don’t need half the parish out here.”
I ignored him.
A few minutes later, Rivera appeared again, this time with another responder beside him.
“Okay, Josie. We’re going to get Caleb out first.”
I looked up at him.
“How?”
“We’re going to lift the car seat through this rear window. I need you to release the seat from the base, but leave him strapped into it.”
My hands started shaking again.
“I don’t know if I can.”
“You can.”
There was no hesitation in his answer.
“I’ll talk you through it.”
I reached for the release.
It took two tries before my fingers cooperated.
“There,” I said.
“Good. Now keep one hand on the seat while I take the weight.”
I did.
Rivera reached down through the window, and a firefighter leaned in beside him.
Between the three of us, we maneuvered Caleb’s seat upward.
My heart climbed into my throat the second his weight left my hands.
“I’ve got him,” Rivera said immediately.
“Don’t let go.”
“I won’t.”
The car seat disappeared through the window.
I pushed myself upright enough to see.
Rivera handed Caleb directly to a paramedic waiting beside the truck.
“He’s right there,” he told me. “You can see him.”
I could.
Caleb was still crying, but he was safe.
My eyes burned.
“Now you.”
I looked toward the front of the truck.
“How am I supposed to get out?”
“You’re going to come toward me through the rear seat.”
His gaze dropped briefly to the swelling before returning to mine.
“I need you to keep as much weight off it as you can.”
I braced my hands against the seat and started pulling myself upward.
The cab felt like a wall now that the truck was on its side. I had to climb from what had become the bottom of the vehicle toward the driver’s-side windows above me.
It wasn’t graceful.
Not even close.
I pushed with my right leg and hauled myself forward with both arms.
The second my left foot brushed the seat, pain shot halfway to my knee.
I gasped.
Rivera’s expression changed.
“Don’t put weight on it.”
“I’m trying not to.”
“I know.”
I made it high enough for him to reach me.
His hand closed securely around my forearm.
“Easy.”
“I can manage.”
“I’m sure you can.”
Something almost warm flickered in his eyes.
“You’re still letting me help.”
Before I could argue, he and the firefighter took most of my weight.
They guided me through the window, and the second my hips cleared the frame, Rivera shifted his grip.
One arm went around my back.
The other slid beneath my knees.
Suddenly I was being lifted the rest of the way out.
“Oh!”
“I’ve got you.”
“I can walk.”
“Maybe.”
My good foot touched the ground, but he didn’t let go.
“You can argue with me later. Right now, you’re not walking on that ankle.”
I blinked at him.
He raised one eyebrow.
“I said you could argue with me later.”
Despite everything—the wrecked truck, Caleb crying a few feet away, Keith swearing behind us—I almost smiled.
Almost.
Rivera carried me the short distance to where the paramedics had Caleb.
The moment we reached them, I held out my arms.
“Can I have him?”
The paramedic gave Caleb another quick look, then nodded.
“Of course.”
Caleb was placed carefully into my arms.
I pressed him against my chest and kissed the top of his head.
Another deputy brought over a blanket, and Rivera draped it around my shoulders without fuss.
“Sit down for me.”
“I’m fine.”
His eyes dropped to my ankle.
“You’re not.”
Not unkindly.
Just matter-of-fact.
“I need to make sure Caleb’s okay.”
“EMS is doing that right now. They’re going to check both of you.”
Behind us, Keith started complaining again.
“I don’t need an ambulance. Get me out of this damn truck.”
Rivera glanced toward him.
His entire expression changed.
Not dramatically, but the warmth vanished.
“I’ll get to you.”
“I’ve been hanging here for—”
“You’re conscious, talking, and breathing. Your wife and infant come first.”
Keith fell silent.
I looked at Deputy Rivera differently after that.
Not because he’d defended me.
Not exactly.
Because he hadn’t made a production of it. He’d simply decided what mattered and acted accordingly.
The paramedic examined Caleb while I held him.
“He looks good,” she said after what felt like forever. “We’ll want him checked at the hospital, but I’m not seeing anything concerning.”
My whole body sagged with relief.
“He’s okay?”
“Looks that way.”
I pressed my lips to Caleb’s head.
Thank God.
The paramedic pointed toward my ankle.
“Now you.”
“It’s probably just twisted.”
Rivera made a quiet sound.
I looked at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That sounded like something.”
His mouth twitched.
“Pretty sure it’s more than twisted.”
“You a doctor now?”
“No, ma’am.”
Somehow the word didn’t sound patronizing when he said it.
“Just a guy who knows what swelling looks like.”
I looked down.
My ankle had already started ballooning above my sandal.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
The paramedic crouched beside me.
“Let’s get that shoe off before the swelling gets worse.”
Behind us, Keith finally emerged from the truck with help from another deputy and a firefighter.
He swayed when his feet hit the ground.
Rivera noticed.
So did I.
Keith straightened quickly.
“I’m fine.”
Then the breeze shifted.
Even from several feet away, I smelled alcohol.
Rivera’s face went still.
He looked at Keith, then at me, then at Caleb.
Something settled in his expression.
Professional.
Controlled.
Cold.
“Mr. Tolbet?”
Keith frowned. “What?”
“I’m going to need you to stay right there.”
“Why?”
Rivera stepped toward him.
“Because we need to talk about how much you’ve had to drink tonight.”
Keith’s face changed.
And for the first time since the truck left the road, I felt something stronger than fear.
Relief.
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