“I’ll never be ready,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “But at least this way, I’ll have time to make a plan. I can finish school, get away from Richland if I want to. I’ll have time to rebuild my life without having to look over my shoulder.”
Her words gut me. I hate that she feels like she has to make this choice. I hate that I can’t do anything but watch as she tries to piece herself back together. But I can’t argue with her logic. She’s trying to find peace in a situation that offers none.
I stay quiet for a beat, just holding her, letting her presence ground me. I promised her I wouldn’t freak out. So I won’t. For her sake, I’ll keep it together.
“I hate that you’re going through this,” I finally say, my voice rough. “I hate that I couldn’t protect you from any of it. And I’m trying to understand, I really am ... but part of me wishes you wouldn’t consider a deal. Part of me wants to ask you to push forward. To see the trial through and let the chips fall where they may, but,” I take a deep breath. “You have to do what’s best for you, and no matter what, I’ll be here to support you.”
“Thank you,” she whispers, her fingers tightening around mine. “I know you want to protect me, and I love that about you, but ... I think this is what I need to move on.”
Love?Did she mean to say that? Does saying she lovesthatabout me mean she lovesme? Like she’s in love with me or maybe falling in love with me?
No.
I’m getting ahead of myself here, but fuck. I like the sound of that.
I pull back just enough to see her face, but she’s avoiding my gaze now, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. I don’t ask her to explain herself or to repeat what she said, even though my heart is hammering in my chest at the thought of hearing those words from her again. Instead, I kiss the top of her head, letting the moment settle.
“Okay,” I say softly. “If this is what you need ... then I’ll support your decisions. But you have to promise me something.”
She looks up at me, her brows drawn in confusion. “What?”
“You have to let me in from now on. No more hiding things, no more making decisions like this on your own. We’re in this together, Cecilia. You don’t have to carry it all by yourself. I know we agreed to slow, but slow doesn’t mean solo. Alright?”
Her eyes soften, and she nods slowly. “Okay.”
“Good.” I tighten my arms around her, pressing my cheek to her hair. “Because I’m not going anywhere, no matter what happens. You and me? We’re a team now. Got it?”
She blinks up at me, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “Okay.”
I know this isn’t over and I know I should probably call the police. Report Austin’s mom for abduction or something, but I’ll let Mr. Ayala figure out how he wants to handle that mess.
After a few minutes, Cecilia shifts in my arms, looking up at me with a teasing smile. “So ... weren’t we supposed to go somewhere? Or did I manage to derail all your plans?”
I chuckle, the tension finally easing from my shoulders. “Nice try, but you didn’t derail shit. We’ve got a date to head out to.”
Her eyes brighten, and I can’t help but smile.That’s my girl.
“Where are we going?” she asks, slipping off the bed.
“It’s a surprise.”
CHAPTER 82
CECILIA
The pier feels like something out of a dream—or maybe a nightmare. It’s deserted, broken down, with boarded-up shops and the faded colors of a place that once thrived but now barely clings to life. The creak of the wooden boards beneath our feet is the only sound besides the distant crash of waves. Salt hangs in the air, thick and heavy, like it’s trying to settle in my lungs. I take a deep breath, feeling it sink into me. Somehow, it calms me.
“This place is incredible,” I whisper, more to myself than to Gabriel. He’s a few steps ahead, leading the way toward the rundown mini golf course at the far end of the pier. The wind catches in his dark hair, tousling it, making him look almost boyish.
He stops and turns, a small smile playing on his lips. “Used to be,” he says, his voice low. “Back when I was a kid, this place was always packed. People everywhere. Ice cream stands, the smell of churros in the air. The arcade would be lit up, and you’d hear the clink of quarters dropping into machines. Now …” He gestures around us to the broken pieces of what once was. “Now it’s just this.”
I follow him past what’s left of the arcade, the windows dark and smudged with years of neglect. But there’s something about it. I can see what it must’ve been like—laughter and life. And I understand why he comes here. It’s not about the place as it is now. It’s about what it used to be and the feeling it evokes.
“It’s kind of perfect,” I say. “Quiet. Empty. Peaceful.”
His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, something flickers between us—understanding, maybe. I’m not sure. But then he nods and keeps walking.
We reach the mini golf course, and it’s ridiculous in the best possible way. Plastic animals faded by the sun, a couple of torn-up windmills, and rusted metal obstacles that look like they’d fall apart if we touched them too hard. But it’s charming in a strange, forgotten way.
