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“Seems like getting your cock wet has made you grow a pair of balls too,littlebrother.”
Leaning closer, I hold his gaze with eyes that are surely spitting flames and grit from between my clenched jaw. “Get. Out.”
My twin quirks a light brow. “Fine. Have it your way, prick.”
He shrugs me off roughly, twisting the doorknob as he makes to leave, not without stealing a glance over my shoulder before he does.
“I’ll join the dots eventually.” Archer winks as he slips out the door, shooting me a perfect white grin. “And when I do…”
The door clicks shut, leaving his parting words hanging between us.
Wanker.
I quickly locate the key above the architrave of the door and turn back to the bed, finding Summer still balled up underneath the covers. Relief floods my body with the realisation that her identity remains secret. For now.
But we need to keep it that way. We can’t be this careless again.
Climbing back in beside her, I gather her close once more, brushing her pale hair back from her furrowed brow repeatedly. Soothingly.
After what feels like a long time, the tension drains from her shoulders, and her eyelids flutter closed.
And rather than joining her in restful slumber, I spend the following hours mapping the well-known, much-adored contours of her perfect face as a plan begins to form in my mind.
* * *
I’m slammed back to the here and now when I reach Bella’s bedroom door, a smile lighting up my face when I hear her singing that song fromTrolls World Tourshe’s so obsessed with.
Her voice and her bare innocence remind me of my own childhood. Of Summer, God fucking help me.
She’d never have left under her own will, idiot. She could be long dead.
My stomach drops at the acknowledgement, knowing it’s probably not a stretch, and still needing to shove it from my mind as quickly as possible. The desire to live in ignorance is too great to think otherwise.
I’m about to push open the door to Bug’s room when my phone buzzes in my pocket, drawing my attention. I pull it out, unlock the screen, and my whole life changes in the blink of an eye.
Larry Simmons, the P.I. who I hired when I was a seventeen-year-old with a mission, has been retired for many years. But the ex-cop often claimed that his search for Summer was the one regret he had in his career.
I’d paid a small fortune chasing leads that got me nowhere, each dead end secretly breaking my already shredded heart. For close to a decade.
Until, eventually, I’d come to the conclusion that she didn’t want to be found–or that shecouldn’tbe found. And I’d told Larry to call it quits, locking things down with Layla once and for all.
After all, Lay had been the last link to my brother. To Summer. To the life I wanted. The life my parents had that I needed to emulate.
Happily married. House full of kids. Growing old together.
Living the fucking dream…
And even while everything from the last fifteen years plays through my mind, my eyes focus on the image on my phone from Larry.
Because right there–right there in blissfully excruciating technicolour–is my heart. My soulmate.
Summer St James.
It looks as though she’s grabbing a taxi outside an airport. In the U.K., considering the car registration plates on display.
She’s dressed in black leggings and a grey woolly jumper. Her hair is still the same white blonde, her skin shimmering like translucent silk. Those doe eyes that continue to hold my heart are as big and expressive as the last day we spoke, almost fifteen years ago.
And without any indication, my knees buckle from beneath me, and I fall to the floor outside my daughter’s room as Bug continues to sing “Perfect for You.” My stomach roils, and my heart palpitates in a synchronicity that, as an artist, would make me laugh.
