She stops so suddenly that I almost collide with her. Her back hits the wall, and before I can think, my hands plant themselves flat beside her head, caging her in. She looks up at me—eyes swollen, cheeks flushed. And even broken like this, she’s achingly beautiful—raw, unguarded, real.
“I need to know everything about my parents’ deaths,” she says, voice shredded to ribbons. “I need to hear it from you. Tell me everything. I don’t want to hear it from the cops.”
I drag in a breath, press my forehead to hers, trying to hold her still, to stop the tremor running through both of us. “Summer, not here. Not like this?—”
“No.” Her tone cuts, the crack of authority in it cutting through the air. “You will tell me. And you’ll tell menow.”
I exhale hard, running a hand through my hair, searching for words that won’t destroy her more than she already is. But the memory rises up anyway—vivid, merciless.
Smoke curling off blackened beams. The hiss of heat eating glass.
“Whoever did it got in through a back dining room window,” I start, my voice rough. “Your parents were in the sitting area. The fire started in the kitchen—it was deliberate.” My throat tightens, bile clawing up as I force the words out. “They both had a single shot to the head. Clean. Quick. They wouldn’t have felt a thing.”
Her breath shudders, tears streaming freely now, but I keep going, steady, the words scraping like gravel from my mouth. “The fire department got there before it spread that far. It wasn’t meant to destroy anything. It was meant to beseen. A beacon to draw in the authorities.” I pull in another ragged breath. “They wanted us to see it, Summer. They wanted us to know it wasn’t an accident.”
She lets out a quiet sob, her head collapsing against my chest. For a moment, neither of us speaks—the room holding its breath around us. When she finally looks up, her eyes are wet, rimmed with fear.
“Is that how you think they’ll come for me too?” she whispers.
The thought of losing her breaks something in my soul, and before I think any better, I crush my mouth against hers. I swallow her sobs, taste her tears, pin her so tight to the wall she can barely breathe.
She fights me, fists caught in my grip. Her body shakes against mine, grief and rage spilling out into my kiss.
I pull away from her, my lips remaining close to hers. “I love you,” I hum, “and no one, not even God himself, will take you from me. Because even in the next lifetime, I will hunt you. I’ll find you. And I will spend eternity protecting you.”
Chapter 25
Only Ever Yours
Summer
The car ride home is silent except for the low hum of the engine and the occasional hiss of the tires slicing through wet asphalt. My teeth chattering. I’ve been trembling since the hospital, since the detectives looked at me with those eyes that already decided Benny was tied to the kind of monsters who murdered my parents.
Constance and Adelaide had waited for us in the reception area. Their faces had broken into dismay when Jacob told them that Moore was out.
Now, they sit pressed close to each other in the back seat, their heads bent together, whispering things I can’t make out. Maybe comfort. Maybe fear. Maybe both. When we turn down their street, Constance squeezes my shoulder.
“You should stay with us tonight,” I whisper, like an offering I know she won’t accept.
“No, Summer. We all need to process this. We all need our own beds for the night.” She shakes her head. “And as much as it pains me to say—you’re in good hands.”
I nod my head, acknowledging that she’s right. With Jacob is the safest I will ever be—I realize that now. When we pull up outside Constance’s house, Adelaide opens the door, but before she steps out, she turns to me.
“We love you and we’re always here… no matter what.” Adelaide croaks, glancing back at me, eyes red, before she hooks her arm through Constance’s.
I watch them walk to the porch, their shadows stretched long and thin under the yellow streetlamp. I don’t breathe until they’re both inside, the door shutting quietly behind them.
When we pull into the drive, the house—our house—looms ahead. Silent, familiar, yet somehow foreign now. Jacob cuts the engine, the sudden quiet ringing in my ears. He turns to me, his expression unreadable.
“Stay here,” he says.
I part my lips to argue, to tell him I don’t care if the house is safe or not, that I can’t sit here doing nothing—but the look in his eyes stops me cold. It’s harsh, commanding, edged with something close to fear. I just nod, wrapping my arms around myself as he opens the door and steps out.
The car locks with a double click—then another, his thumb pressing the fob again and again, as if repetition could make it safer.
Through the windshield, I watch him cross the yard, a dark silhouette against the weak glow of the porch light. His shadow stretches long across the gravel before he disappears inside, leaving me alone with the steady thud of my heart and the whisper of wind against the glass.
Time blurs. Seconds, minutes—I can’t tell which. Then the door creaks open again.
