“Once the recovery is over,” I tell her, “you’ll both feel a lot better.”
It’s the best I can give her without lying. Because I really don’t know. Maybe he has changed.
She watches my hand on hers.
“Okay,” she whispers.
I squeeze her fingers once.
“You’re doing very well,” I say.
She huffs out a humorless breath.
“Am I?” she asks.
“You’re here,” I say. “That counts.”
The street curves, and the stone wall comes into view. It’s the same iron gate I’ve driven through countless times. Same place I’ve walked through so many times I could do it blind.
My stomach tightens anyway.
Erica straightens in her seat, smoothing her dress again, checking her hair in the side mirror like she’s trying to get herself ready for impact.
I slow to a stop at the gate.
A small light blinks.
The gate opens.
Erica’s breath catches.
We drive through, and the gate closes behind us.
I don’t look at her because if I do, I’m going to see the nerves on her face, and it’s going to make me want to turn the car around and take her home and keep her to myself.
Instead, I keep my eyes forward and guide us up the drive.
The house comes into view—lights on, windows glowing warm in the deepening light, cars already lined up in the drive. Of course they are.
No one was going to miss this.
Erica’s fingers squeeze mine.
“You sure?” she whispers one last time.
I lift her hand and kiss her knuckles again.
“Yes,” I say.
Then I pull up in front of the house and kill the engine.
Chapter Thirty Nine
Erica
The moment I step out of Nico’s car, I have the strongest urge to turn around and get back in.
Not because I don’t want to be here.
