Page 113 of To All the Guys I Killed Before

And what do I deserve? A sister I adore but keep at arm’s length. A job I love and loathe in equal measure. A set of skills I have to keep hidden from the world. A kill list longer than Mom’s. And a… a Hugo.

I pull the blanket around me as a tear tracks down my cheek.

Is the universe telling me I deserve a man who gives me sweet smiles on my driveway and violates my privacy once I’m alone in my bedroom? A man who kisses me like I’m his oxygen and kills for me like I’m his mission, then accuses me of the worst things someone could do to a person like him?

Sobs start to roll through me, and I drop my head to my clasped hands and hope the onslaught will extinguish the fire Timms ignited.

But it’s not the tears that bring me back to myself. It’s a cold, wet nose nuzzling my hand and a warm velvet tongue licking my fingers.

“Cosmo?” I rub my puffy eyes. “Where’d you come from?” He’s standing on his hind legs, his white front paws resting on my thigh and his lopsided doggy smile in full effect.

I snatch him up and stand to scan my backyard, but Hugo’s not there. It’s me and the dog.

He gives a sharp yip and wiggles, so I set him down, then brush away my tears and sit on the step next to him. He immediately climbs into my lap, licks my chin, and snuggles against my stomach with a contented huff.

“Okay,” I say softly as I rewrap the blanket to cover both of us. Hopefully his doggo nose can’t tell I’ve been sleeping with it since I carried it out of Hugo’s house the night of his concussion. “How’ve you been, boy? Is your new dad treating you like the little prince you are?”

He doesn’t so much as crack an eyelid, but his tail thumps once.

“That’s good.” I run my fingers down one soft ear. “And how’s Hugo? Are his headaches better?”

Cosmo’s only answer is a wheezy snore that makes me laugh softly.

“Let’s assume that’s a yes. Is he getting enough sleep?”

Is he lonely? Is he sad? Is he drinking the tea I gave him? Can he rewind time and undo all of this? And if none of that’s possible, can I please just fill out the application for that beautiful brick townhome and move on with my life?

My hands curl around Cosmo’s little body as he twitches in his sleep, and I wonder if he has any bad memories he might associate with me.

“Hey, so your owner was horrible,” I remind him. “He was so mean to you. And to me. And to Hugo. We didn’t have any other choice.”

Unlike me, Cosmo’s unbothered. I take his lead and let myself drift into my new favorite pastime: thinking about Hugo and every unexplained thing that’s happened since I moved in. Tonight, I remember the birdseed in the feeder outside my kitchen window that never runs out as quickly as it should and the guy who used to hassle me at my favorite after-work bar but now keeps his head down and his comments to himself. That’s two more entries in the running tally of things Hugo may have done for me without my knowledge or consent—although I’m still not sure if confirming my suspicions will make any of this easier or harder.

By the time my visitor yawns himself awake, I’m ready to face reality again. There’s no way to rewind time. I can only move forward.

As if he senses my need to move, Cosmo stretches and hops off my lap, trotting down the steps with his collar jingling cheerfully. I watch him make a beeline to a spot halfway along the fence separating my property from Hugo’s, and with a few wiggles of his compact little body, he slips through a small crack between the boards.

“Thanks for everything,” I say too quietly for Cosmo or anyone else to hear. “Tell your dad I miss him.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Hugo

“Why are we sitting outside when there’s snow in the forecast?”

Quinn’s glare bounces right off me when Cosmo picks that moment to jump in my lap.

I gesture down at him. “It makes my dog happy.”

She rolls her eyes. “I bet if the princess next door was with us, we’d be inside where there’s heat.”

I now gesture at the top-of-the-line backyard firepit we’re gathered around while our Thanksgiving dinner digests.

“Offer still stands.” Pell grins at her from across the flames as he pats his lap. “Shared body heat saves lives.”

Her response is such a dead-eyed, icy stare that even our friendly resident sociopath shivers, drops his gaze, and reaches for the drink he’s been nursing since the three of us wandered outside.

“Remind me why he’s here?” Quinn’s asking me, but she doesn’t take her eyes off Pell.