I ease out of her carefully, disposing of the condom and tucking myself back into my jeans before turning her to face me. Her eyes are glassy, lips swollen, a fresh hickey blooming on her skin.
Mine.
“We’ll figure it out.” I drag my thumb across her lower lip. “Together. Promise.”
“Okay.” She offers me a tender smile.
“Okay.”
I kiss her again, slower this time. Tender. A promise sealed in the only language I’m fluent in. When we part, I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
“We should get back before they send a search party,” she whispers.
“Probably.”
She grabs her shirt and runs a hand through her hair. “Do I look… obvious?”
“You look perfect.”
A small smile tugs at her lips. She opens the shed door, checking to make sure no one’s nearby before stepping out. I follow, keeping a respectable distance as we walk back toward the gate. Every instinct screams to not let her go, but I respect her need for space.
For now.
I don’t know what’s coming. Don’t know how to solve the problem of her family’s hatred for mine. But I do know one thing with absolute certainty: I’m not letting her go.
Not now. Not ever.
THIRTY-TWO
DAKOTA
The sun sinks behind the tree line, painting the sky in murky orange and purple streaks. I drag my knife’s blade across the wooden porch railing, watching tiny splinters curl and fall.
Opposite me, Sienna sits with her back against the railing, a similar blade clutched in her hand. “Your mom giving you the silent treatment?”
“When she’s not giving me the ‘you’ve ruined everything’ look.”
“Fuck ‘em.” She stretches her legs out in front of her. “Not to be a bitch, but they were pretty shit parents before the world went to hell.”
I laugh, but it comes out more like a cough. “Says the girl whose parents cut her off and tried to force her into medicine.”
“At least mine never hit me.”
She’s right. Doesn’t make it easier.
I focus on the fence where Cameron and Ramirez stand guard, shotgun and rifle slung over their shoulders.
“Sorry.” Sienna nudges my foot with hers. “Too far?”
“No, it’s…” I chew my lip. Ramirez climbs to his lookout spot on top of the shed. “It’s fine. Just weird having everyone know.”
“If it helps, I think your dad coming in drunk and calling you a whore kind of overshadowed the ‘he used to hit me’ revelation.”
I snort, an ugly sound that’s half-laugh, half-sob. “Great. Which do you think they’re gossiping about more—that or me sleeping with Julien?”
“Definitely the Julien thing.” She grins, then sobers. “How’s Amelia taking it?”
“She’s not screaming at me, which somehow makes it worse. Just this disappointed silence. Like I betrayed her.”
