“Right,” I mutter, turning the key in the ignition. The groan of the engine is the only sound as we pull out of the Ledger driveway and head toward town.
The silence between us is unbearably awkward, broken only by the rolling of tires against the road. Every so often, I glance over, hoping to catch her eye, but she keeps her gaze fixed out the window. The passing streetlights trace over her profile, illuminating her features in soft, glowing light—plump lips captured with a nervous bite, sharp, high cheekbones that give her an effortlessly regal air, and delicate shadows cast by her long, dark lashes. Her skin, smooth and creamy, shimmers, and a loose strand of her dark hair brushes against her cheek, catching just enough light to gleam. She looks untouchable. So fucking beautiful it hurts.
“You know,” I start, desperate to fill the silent void, “this is the quietest I think I’ve ever seen you. It’s a little unsettling.”
Her lips twitch, and for a second, I think I’ve imagined it, but then a soft, reluctant laugh escapes her. “Don’t get used to it.”
“I’ll try not to,” I say, the corner of my mouth lifting.
The atmosphere between us shifts slightly, the awkwardness lifting just enough to breathe. But by the time we pull into the driveway of her townhouse, the distance is back. She unbuckles her seatbelt, one hand already on the door handle as she pauses to look at me.
“Why did you buy Sullivan Ridge House?”
Her question suspends in the air, taking me aback. Not because it’s accusatory, like I would’ve expected, but because it’s sad—sad in a way that makes my heart hurt. It’s as if it burns with every beat. She wants an answer, but maybe not the real answer.
I turn to meet her eyes, my voice steady but barely above a whisper. “You know why.”
Her breath hitches, and for a moment, Isee a flash of something raw beneath her perfectly cold exterior. But then she pushes the door open and steps out, her expression hardening like a slammed door.
“Goodnight, Dominic,” she says, not waiting for a response before shutting the door softer than I expected and walking toward her front porch steps.
I sit there for a moment, watching her retreating figure, her shoulders squared against whatever storm she thinks I’ve brought back into her life.
“Goodnight, Ellie,” I murmur to the empty seat next to me. Once she’s safely inside, I shift the cruiser into reverse and drive away.
One step forward, two steps back.
CHAPTER 8
Elyse
BETWEEN NOW AND FOREVER
17 YEARS OLD
“Earth to Dominic? You’re not paying attention.”
His head tilts, pretending to be annoyed, but I know better.
Smiling, I lean in close, resting against his shoulder and snap the picture. The rough brush of his scruff against my cheek sends a sprinkle of shivers down my spine.
Not that I need another photo—my phone is already filled with pictures of us. But with the sunset painting the sky behind us, I can’t resist capturing just one more.
Seated in the passenger seat of Dominic's old Honda, I feel the vibration of the engine beneath my feet. We're heading to our special spot—the old mansion on Sullivan Ridge. A discovery we stumbled upon as kids after wandering too far one day, and it's been ours ever since.
Crumbling and forgotten, its paint peels in brittle sheets, and its shattered windows gape like hollow eyes. The only way to get there is by walking or driving the barely-there pathbetween our property lines that snakes over the far side of Red Mountain.
Dominic's fingers drum against the steering wheel to the beat of the song on the radio. His jaw locked, his focus intent as he navigates the uneven terrain that can't really be considered a road.
I can't stop myself from staring. There's just something about watching him drive that makes my pulse race. The way his dark hair falls over his forehead, the crease of concentration in his brown eyes, and the way his toned arms flex when he grips the wheel—it's all so…hot. Especially hotter with the new tattoo wrapping around his forearm.
He catches me staring, and a slow smirk spreads across his face.
“See something you like, querida mía?”
"Wrong question,” I reply without hesitation. “What don’t I like about you?”
He laughs, tipping his head back as he rolls his eyes. I unbuckle my seatbelt, leaning across the console to cuddle up against his side.
