“Easton.” His name rushes into the still air along with the uncertainty of my voice.“It’s not what you think,” I whisper.Please, look at me.“I didn’t expect him to come here.”
His eyes shut, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “You mean,” he says, voice low, rough, “you didn’t expect me to see.”
“No. That’s not—shit.” I reach up, tangle my hands in my hair, and the words spew out in a jumbled mess. “Shit. He was supposed to be in The Pitts. He was never supposed to—”
“The Pitts?” Finally, he angles his head and meets my gaze. His nostrils flare, and my eyes burn at the way he’s looking at me. “He’sthe reason you’ve been sneaking to The Pitts? Risking your safety? Yourlife?”
My mouth opens, but the knot in my chest is so tight I can’t speak. Everything inside me wants to tell him—to tell himeverything—but what would that do to Alejandro?
What would it do toEaston?
To ask the most honest person I know—a person who’s so determined to be a good cop he risks his parents disinheriting him over it—to keep myescaped convictcousin’s secret? Even if Easton decides to keep the knowledge quiet, what happens when the police academy sits him in front of a lie detector during his training? What would the circumstance be for becoming my cousin’s accomplice? Crusheddreams and a ruinedfuture? Or maybe even jail time?Prison?
But thatlookon his face. Thedespair. As if I could ever want anyone but him.
“Alejandro isn’t—” I breathe. “He’s not—”
Easton’s eyes flicker with something other than betrayal. It’s something deep and earnest. It looks like hope. Slowly, he stands and takes a step toward me, closing the space between us. I lift my chin to hold his gaze.
“What, Eva?” he asks quietly, almost fervently. His warm breath touches my lips, sending a shudder through me. “He’s not what?”
He’sfamily.
Just that word ringing in my head is enough to keep the secret from ever seeing the light of day. Alejandro is not just family; he’s the only family I have left. If I reveal I’m not completely alone, that I have someone out there who cares about me, questions will roll in. One open door is all it might take for Alejandro to be found out and locked away forever, and that would destroy him. Destroy me.
Pressure builds behind my eyes, in the back of my throat, and I crumble beneath a weight so stifling it’s like an anchor flattening me.
“I’m sorry,” I choke out. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t ... I can’t tell you.”
He stares at me, from my eyes to my lips and back again. My next breath hangs on his silence. It’s like he’s waiting for me to take it back. For me to make it right. For me to explain everything, but I can’t. I never can. And it kills me.
After an eternity of chances I let slip by, whiskey darkens to charcoal, raw and unnerving, and he takes a long step back. The pull from me is magnetic, drawing tears to the surface, and it takes everything in me not to let them spill over.
A buzzing sound slices through the wall of tension dividing us. Both our gazes slide to the island countertop.
Buzz, buzz, buzz.
As I read the nameWhitneythat lights up Easton’s phone, my insides turn sour. I look at him, at the ache, disappointment, defeatIput into his eyes, and I don’t understand the fear creeping up my chest. It spreads like a spider’s web, wrapping around my heart—a heart that belongs to him—and I’m terrified he’s going to drop it, step on it,abandonit. The fear stretches and stretches, spreading poison through my veins.
“What are you waiting for?” I whisper, and the sudden venom tastes like acid in my mouth. “Answer it.”
His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t budge. His patience is fuel to my budding turmoil. Why doesn’t he just get angry at me already? Anger would be so much easier to face than his heartache.
“Go,” I continue, hating myself more with every word I push out. “Run to your squeaky-clean girlfriend, Easton. You know you want to. You two are perfect for each other.”
I’ve hit a nerve. “Me and Whitney?” His low voice sends goose bumps up my arms. “You want to know thetruthabout me and Whitney?”
What truth?
“There is nome and Whitney,” he says coarsely. “There never was. We have a deal. I pretend to be her boyfriend, and she pays me.”
My mouth hangs open. “W-what?”
“Now you know. No more secrets. At least one of us can say our conscience is clean.”
Bridget’s heels echo down the stairs, and Easton shuts his laptop, slipping it and his phone into his backpack.
I’m stuck in place, shock bolting my boots to the hardwood.
