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“Are you okay?” I ask as I approach.

Gesturing at the foyer, she says, “I’ll call the cleaners for this.”

I don’t care about the fucking mess. I care about…her.

“Can I—”

She’s out the door before I can even finish asking for her number, so we can at least talk about this some more. I mean, fuck. We just kissed. This is fucking it?

I watch Kota hop into Guy’s Land Rover Defender without so much as a look back.

This is fucking it.

It’s not until the luxury SUV peels out, I realize she never gave me back my shirt. She took it with her. I don’t know what was packed in her suitcase, but hopefully Onyx was in there somewhere. She needs him. She needs…me. I can be good for her. I will.

I find my text thread with Dex and type out a message, telling him I need to learn how to drive.

Despite the early hour, he responds instantly, asking, “Automatic or manual?”

My reply’s even faster. “Both.”

This is the last time I get caught lacking.

Fuck summer in Sea Haven.

I’m out on the driveway, my hands trapped between my biceps and ribs as I watch for a car to pull in.

It’s been almost three months since Kota left Sea Haven. It’s been almost three months since Kota left me. Almost three months of stalking her every social media post, as well as the Heart and Hype Tour’s. According to Heart and Hype’s website, it was a bus tour, making stops in fifty-four cities across America. Their last stop was two days ago in Upstate New York, but I wasn’t sure if they’d be driving Kota home or if she’d fly back. So I paced the house all day yesterday, waiting, hoping. I also spent most of the night wandering around, checking the window by the front door, just in case. When the sun came up and she still wasn’t here, I called my dad. Considering I’ve gotten exactly jack shit from him all summer regarding his stepdaughter, I didn’t have the highest of hopes. Delusion mostly. Probably a little desperation as well. Thankfully, he had an update: Kota’s flying home today. To-fucking-day. Now. Or soon. Whenever her driver gets here.

I offered to pick her up from the airport—now that I know how—but apparently Sera had already set up for a car service to handle it.

I haven’t stopped moving since his text came through, so standing here now, imitating a fucking statue, is killing me.

The front end of a car comes into view, the trident on the grill unmistakable.

Why are they here so early? I thought they were getting back tonight. Did their flight change? I’m assuming it’s more coincidental than anything. I can’t see Sera adjusting her schedule just to get in the same time as her daughter.

This will make things a bit harder to explain. Whatever. I can play this shit off if I have to.

With my eyes trained on the small back window for any hint of that blonde hair I can still remember falling asleep with my nose in, I have to concentrate on keeping my feet rooted as the Maserati crawls up the driveway. I can’t run over there. That’s pussy shit. And I can’t rip the door open before the car’s even stopped. That’s crazy shit.

Sera parks her car, then the doors are opening.

Kota gets out and immediately begins twisting her top half, stretching.

I don’t even realize I’m smiling until my cheeks ache.

Thankfully she isn’t looking my way yet, so I relax my face, pulling it into what I hope is a semi-normal expression.

Cool. Play it fucking cool, asshole.

Dad raises his eyebrows at me but doesn’t question my presence otherwise.

His wife, on the other hand…

Dead fucking serious, Sera asks me, “Are you out here to get our luggage?”

Dumb bitch. She can’t be bothered to speak more than a few words at a time to me, yet thinks I care enough about her to lug her luggage around. I’d rather throw that shit into the Sound.