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“You mean it?” she said.
“I fucking mean it,” I told her, stepping forward. She came into my arms and I pulled her close, feeling her breathe against me. She dropped her purse and put her arms around my waist, grabbing me tight as I smelled the pretty smell of her hair.
“I don’t want his stupid number,” she said against my shoulder.
“Okay,” I said, leaning down and kissing the side of her neck. “We’ll throw it out.” I kissed her again. “You were amazing in there.”
“Thank you.” She sniffed lightly. “So were you. You’re always amazing, Max.”
“If you say so.” I lifted her chin and kissed her mouth, slow and sweet. She parted her lips and the kiss deepened. Fuck, I loved kissing Gwen. I did it so long that someone passing on the street saw us and shouted, “Get a room!”
I broke the kiss and touched my lips to the soft line of her jaw. “That’s an idea,” I said.
“What?” she said, her voice trembling a little.
“I’m still rich for a while longer,” I said. “Let’s go to San Francisco’s nicest hotel and get their nicest suite. Order room service. Take the rest of the day off in their nicest bed.”
She sighed. Then she leaned up and kissed me one more time. My Gwen.
“You’re the boss,” she said. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 27
Max - Three months later
We were both asleep when the phone rang. Gwen was sprawled over me in our big bed, her arm slung over my chest, one long leg hooked over mine. It didn’t bother me. I slept like a rock when I slept with Gwen.
But I woke up first and rolled over, reaching for my cell phone on the bedside table. I had finally left Shady Oaks, and Gwen had left her tiny apartment, and this was our place now—a modest condo in a low-rise building on the edge of Golden Gate Park. It wasn’t big, but we didn’t need much. We both liked the city, and I wasn’t a fan of stairs anyway. It was home.
“Um,” Gwen said as I grabbed the phone. I didn’t recognize the number, and it was after midnight, but I answered it anyway. “Hello?”
“Max?”
The voice was familiar. Very familiar.
“Yeah?” I said.
“It’s me.”
Oh, fuck. I hadn’t heard this voice in over a decade, but it was definitely familiar.
“Cavan?” I said.
Behind me, Gwen woke all the way up, her body tensing in surprise.
“Yeah,” Cavan Wilder said. “It’s me.”
Devon’s brother. Jesus. The last time I’d seen him was right after their mother had been murdered by her abusive boyfriend. The three of us had been living in LA at the time, where we all grew up together. Devon and Cavan’s father had split years before, and their mother had dated until she met the wrong guy, who murdered her one night when they had a fight. The guy was arrested for it immediately and was still on Death Row, but it had left Devon and Cavan without parents.
Cavan had been eighteen at the time, Devon sixteen. Instead of sticking around to take care of his brother, Cavan had left town, and neither Devon nor I had seen him since. We didn’t even know where he was. It was me who had helped Devon in the years afterward to avoid the foster system and keep body and soul together.
And now here Cavan was, phoning me in the middle of the night out of nowhere.
I sat up in bed. “Cava
n. Where the hell are you calling from?”
He paused for a second, and I thought I could hear either traffic or wind in the background. “I’m in Arizona,” he said finally. “I’m not sure exactly where. It’s a truck stop on the highway.”
