“Are you capable of going with the flow?”
“Juju”—I take her hand and pull her closer to the street to keep an eye out for our ride—“I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”
After I change into jeans and a T-shirt at my hotel, we get a ride to Beverly Hills. And June wasn’t wrong. Her house is mind-blowing. It looks like a small hotel, not a single-family residence.
I swallow my reaction to thetwostaircases going to the same place. It makes no sense.
“Stop,” she whispers, taking her bag from me and rolling onto her toes to kiss my jaw just below my ear.
“Stop what?” I force a toothy grin.
“We all go to the same place when we die,” she says. “None of this matters.” She pulls me up the stairs.
I kinda love that she said the thing I’ve tried to tell myself for weeks.
“Where is everyone?” I ask.
“Grandma is probably on the terrace reading or napping. My parents should be at the stables. My mom texted me this morning about it.”
This is a modern contrast to the Rawlings’ older home. Sharper lines. More glass and less marble. Sleek instead of ornate.
“Where are the stables?” I ask.
“In Hidden Hills where there are trails for riding the horses.” She opens a door to a corner bedroom with floor-to-ceiling windows and a private balcony.
She left this life for an apartment in Minneapolis?
“Have you ever been on a horse?” she asks from her closet.
I stare at the photos on the built-in shelves. There’s not a single one of her with her cello. Just photos of her with her parents. Several where she’s on a horse. Another with Juni and maybe her grandpa? There are a few with groups of girls, maybe friends. It’s all so normal. Not photos of people rich with wealth, just rich in life and love. I would have given anything for that life.
Family.
Friends.
Belonging.
“Flynn?” She steps out of her closet in shorts and a tank top while gathering her hair into a ponytail. “Have you ridden a horse?”
I shake my head. This is wrong. I have to tell her. She’s all smiles and making plans to get an apartment with me. She’s playing concerts to motivate her grandma to keep living. This woman loves me, but I feel like a fraud. Even if I’m not the same person who went to prison, it’s part of my story. How can I ask her to be part of it, too, if she doesn’t know everything that made me into the man she loves?
“Babe.” She presses her palms to my cheeks. “Earth to Flynn.”
I wrap my hands around her wrists. “I have to tell you something.”
“You sound so serious.” She tries to laugh it off and pull away from me, but I keep her hands on my face.
Her smile fades. “Flynn, what is it?”
I close my eyes for a second.She loves me.Her love is the truest thing I’ve ever experienced.It’s why I don’t want to tell her. It’s why Ihaveto tell her.
“I did something stupid when I was eighteen.” I open my eyes. “Because I needed money. I stole a car.”
Her brow furrows. “Like when you took Rupert’s car for a joyride.”
I slowly shake my head. “Like I stole a car and sold it for the money. And I spent a year in prison for it.”
The tension in her brow deepens. “What?” she whispers.
