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I thought we were a team. I trusted him. I’m usually such a good judge of character—I know how to take people apart and decide whether or not I can trust them. It’s gotten me this far. Every time I looked into his dark brown eyes, I saw only his devotion to me.
But now, I’m not so sure.
I trusted him with my life, my future, and my heart. How could I have been so wrong?
I keep staring at the piece of paper, as though if I look at it long enough, it will say something else. But instead, it just gives me the same unsatisfying sentence.
My breath shudders in my chest. I can do this on my own. I know that now. I’m capable of surviving anything.
I’d just hoped I wouldn’t have to survive anymore.
For once, I’d seen light at the end of the tunnel. I’d let my fantasies run away with thoughts of a life worth living, not simply surviving.
Waking up with Archer. Making plans with Archer. Spending nights with Archer between my legs.
I wanted to learn his body. I wanted him to teach me how to use mine. I wanted him to teach me how to open my heart, the same way he’s opened his.
But now I have nothing but two lousy words. I’m sorry.
I close my eyes and tighten my fist around the note.
At least I’ll always have last night. I’ll always have this dangerous, frantic couple of days where, for the first time, I was with a man who stood by my side instead of on my neck.
I’ll always have my memories, and no amount of I’m sorry can take that away from me.
From behind the back of my eyelids, I hear the sound of a car approaching. My adrenaline spikes; my instant reaction is Jacobi. He’s come for me. The Rossi family has come for me. And I’m all alone.
But when I open my eyes, that’s not the case at all.
It’s our black SUV kicking up dust down the dirt road.
The car comes to a stop in front of the house. I can’t see through the tinted windows, and my heart is pounding in my chest.
Then he steps out.
He halts by the car, and his eyes lock on mine. As tall as he is, he looks smaller somehow. As though he’s trying to take up less space. He plants his hand on the hood and stays there, like a vampire who knows better than to cross a line of salt.
“Finley,” he says, “I’m—”
I don’t let him get the words out.
I don’t want his apologies. I don’t want his excuses.
I just want him.
I close the distance between us, take his face in my hands, and push my mouth against his. His beard scratches. The muscles in the back of his neck are taut and unyielding. He’s like an animal ready to run, and I clutch the back of his head, holding him there. Keeping him to me.
“Don’t leave me like that,” I say, my lips still centimeters from his because I can’t bear to take myself away from him. “Ever again.”
“I won’t.”
“From here on out…everything we do, we do together.”
He draws his hand up my arm, and he laces his fingers in mine. We’re entwined like this.
I don’t have to hold him. He’s not running.
“Together,” he promises and squeezes my hand.
